Duke Du Jour

by Petie McCarty

  She glared at the earl. “You always were protecting his back.”

  “Precisely.”

  As Dexter turned to lead the widow Valentine down the steps to the ballroom, he glanced back at Jared and mouthed the words, “You owe me. Go get Lady Ariana.”

  Jared gave him a curt nod. He would give Ari a piece of his mind—when he got his hands on her. He allowed Dexter and the sultry widow time to reach the dance floor, then followed them down.

  ****

  “It is so nice to see you in that beautiful gown,” Aunt Felicity soothed as the carriage trundled down the darkened streets.

  Ari knew her aunt’s calm would be of short duration. For the past two days, her aunt had ricocheted between happiness at having Ari temporarily under her roof and anger at her recent stunt of traveling in disguise with a three-man escort no less.

  “I still cannot believe my brother allowed you to travel to London dressed as a boy, with the Earl of Dexter and the Duke of Reston as bodyguards. The only bodies those two scapegraces guard belong to women of loose morals. And I sent a letter to Albert telling him so.”

  There it was. Her aunt was not going to let it go. She was like one of Ari’s dogs with a soup bone.

  “I was in no danger,” she protested for the thirtieth or fortieth time. “The earl and the duke behaved like perfect gentlemen, as they had promised Papa they would. I already explained why we had to travel that way. Papa did not want me at Wakefield with the highwaymen loose in the area, and we could not find a chaperone in time.

  “Rubbish!”

  “No, it is not,” Ari said calmly. “It is what Papa wanted.”

  “I cannot believe Albert blessed your trip with that rakehell Reston.”

  Rakehell, indeed. Jared had not even bothered to check on her since dumping her in Lady Morton’s mews the day before. What if her aunt had not welcomed Ari with her open, albeit outraged, arms? He had probably gone right back to his skirt-chasing, now that he was back in London. The area near her heart suffered a painful ache. Jared’s kisses had made her think he had come to care for her.

  She had even toyed with the idea of taking Aunt Felicity’s carriage out to search for the wayward duke, to be sure he was all right, but Aunt Felicity had other plans for her carriage. An entire day of shopping on Bond Street so she could outfit Ariana.

  “As a lady should be attired,” her aunt had chastised.

  So Ari had suffered through an endless fitting at the modiste and the purchase of three ready-made gowns on hand the dressmaker had sculpted to fit, with only a few minor alterations. Lady Morton then dragged her to the milliner, the glove shop, the cobbler, and the ribbon maker in not-so-quick succession. Ari’s mood had only cheered when the carriage headed back to Mayfair. Maybe Jared had come by to pay a call.

  As soon as Felicity’s butler, Conrad, had taken her pelisse and bonnet, Ari asked, “Did I have any visitors? Or messages?”

  Conrad glanced at Lady Morton standing behind her, then said, “No, my lady.”

  Ari swiftly turned to her aunt as he answered and caught only Felicity’s blank stare.

  “How could you have a message or a visit when no one yet knows you have arrived in London?”

  “Reston and Dexter know I am here, aunt.”

  “Those two do not pay social calls,” her aunt replied and when Conrad disappeared, descended into yet another diatribe on Ari’s irresponsible trek to London.

  “Ye’re back, milady,” Ari’s new lady’s maid, Alice, said, descending the stairs. “Will ye be wantin’ a bath drawn before the ball tonight?”

  “The ball?” Ari turned to her aunt.

  “The Marsden’s ball. We have received an invitation. Actually, I did, but I sent a note to Lady Marsden informing her of your arrival, and she insisted I bring you along.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “You do want to go, do you not?” Lady Morton asked.

  Jared and Dexter had ordered her to stay out of sight until they caught Jared’s attackers, and thus far, she had done anything but. A lot they cared. Neither one had come to check on her. To the devil with them both. She would go to the ball just to spite them, though she doubted they would ever find out. But she would know.

  “I would love to go to the ball.” She turned to Alice. “And yes, please draw me a bath,” she said and hurried past the girl up the stairs.

  Alice was her same age and pretty enough to look at, yet Ari did not care for the new maid and could give no real reason why except for the girl’s nosiness. Felicity had counted herself lucky indeed to locate a maid for Ari within hours of her arrival at the Morton townhouse. Alice had knocked at the servant’s entrance seeking a chambermaid’s position, and Felicity had swiftly conscripted her into temporary service for the duration of Ari’s stay in London. Thus, Ari had kept her opinions on the new maid to herself.

  “Your hair looks lovely,” her aunt was saying now, as Ari turned from the night view out the carriage window. “I had no idea Alice would be so skilled at coiffures. I shall have her do my hair, too, for the Wentworth’s musicale tomorrow evening.”

  Ari made no comment. She had not wanted to go to the ball or the musicale, but she would make the best of both events to please her aunt. A half hour later, she and Aunt Felicity had greeted the Marsdens and made their way to the ballroom.

  “Lady Marsden must be thrilled,” Ari said, unable to stop herself from searching the crowd for Jared. “This ball is an absolute crush.”

  “Oh! There is my dear friend, Alexis,” Lady Morton said. “Stay here, dear. I will be right back.” Her aunt maneuvered through the guests toward her target.

  Ari had been foolish to look for Jared tonight. He had obviously gone to be with one of his widows or opera singers, and he was welcome to them.

  “The oaf,” she muttered under her breath.

  “I shall keep you company until your aunt returns,” a deep voice said at her shoulder. A familiar voice. A wholly unwelcome voice.

  “Good evening, Lord Dalton,” she said and turned to face her would-be suitor.

  He smiled and flashed yellowed teeth. Ari shifted her gaze to his cravat.

  “I have already given you leave to call me Oxley,” his voice rumbled low, so nearby guests could not hear.

  “So you did.”

  “Yet you still address me as Lord Dalton,” he protested. “It is acceptable to use the Christian name of your fiancé.”

  “That is true, but I do not have a fiancé.”

  Dalton leered. “You will very soon, my dear.”

  “That is highly unlikely.”

  “We shall see.”

  She glared at him outright. “We shall indeed.”

  “May I have the honor of the first dance?” Dalton bowed.

  Heaven forbid!

  The musicians had warmed up for a waltz to start the festivities, and she hadn’t noticed. She had been far too busy searching for Jared. Now the baron had caught her off guard.

  “Your dance card cannot be full. You have only just arrived.”

  “I—”

  To turn him down would be beyond rude, without a good reason. She had none. Yet she considered doing just that, rather than allow his big bear-like arms to swallow her. His yellow teeth flashed again in a grin, and she shifted her gaze to a spot over his shoulder to avoid looking at them.

  And froze.

  Jared stood with Dexter just beyond the receiving line, and a beautiful redhead clung to Jared’s arm. Ari had not wanted to be right about him going back to his women, but she was. Jared had returned to his favorite sport—wenching.

  Lord Dalton turned to see what had attracted her stare, then chuckled so hard his belly shook and vibrated his waistcoat buttons.

  “Why, if it isn’t your trustworthy neighbor, the Duke of Reston, and he has the widowed Lady Valentine well in hand, I see.”

  The beautiful widow tugged Jared toward the ballroom stairs. He looked so very handsome in his formal attire—blac
k-tailed coat and matching black trousers set off by a snow-white waistcoat and cravat. She could imagine his scent even from here. The clean smell of soap and shaving cream with a hint of sandalwood cologne and Jared’s unique masculine scent would allow her, even blindfolded, to pick him out of a crowd.

  Did the widow know his scent as well as Ari did? The woman had certainly eased close enough to signal familiarity. Ari would die of mortification if Jared casually waltzed past, with her standing all alone at the edge of the dance floor.

  She glanced back at the yellow-toothed baron. “Of course you may have this dance, Lord Dalton.”

  ****

  By the time Jared reached the bottom of the stairs, Ariana and Dalton had melded into the swirling crowd on the dance floor. Taller than eighty percent of Marsden’s guests, he strained for a glimpse of Ari’s red-gold curls among the dancers. She had worn her hair piled up in a complicated coiffure atop her head, which should have made her easier to spot.

  He briefly considered cutting in on the irascible baron at midwaltz and immediately discarded the idea. Cutting in was not acceptable behavior in this century, and Dalton would never allow it. To do so would cause a scuffle, which in turn created scandal. In the highly unlikely probability his assassins were not yet aware of his presence in London, a scandal here would rectify that.

  Jared had no choice but to cool his heels on the sidelines and wait for the waltz to end. He moved to the edge of the dance floor, fighting for every foot forward until he could see the dancers. Thorpe waltzed by with some young debutante and made eye contact only, so Jared would know he was watching out for him. Dexter swirled by next with the widow Valentine in his arms, and the brazen little baggage winked as they passed. He shuddered at the trouble that woman could have caused him, had Dexter not been at hand to gainsay her ploy.

  He caught sight of Ariana at the far end of the dance floor, held much too close by that blighter Dalton. He stifled a growl.

  Those smiles are mine, dammit!

  He stepped closer to the dance floor to track the couple’s progress. Dalton spied his movement and swept Ariana into a turn long before they reached Jared’s end of the floor.

  Damn that miserable sod’s hide.

  “Well, well, well,” a sultry voice purred at his shoulder, “my favorite duke in all of England.”

  Jared turned to face Lady Wilder. He had just been handed the perfect opportunity to find out how much she knew of the French spy, Comte Roulet.

  “I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you,” he growled low, aware of the guests crowded close.

  “Ooh, I had hoped so.” Her eyes glittered with desire. “I have missed your hands on me, Your Grace.”

  “That is not what I meant.”

  “No?”

  “I have questions, and I want some answers.”

  His tone silenced her playfulness like a wild dog muzzled.

  “About what?” She eased back a step.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” He took her hand and placed it onto his arm.

  “I have other guests waiting to see me.” She tried to tug free, but he held her hand captive on his arm. “It is unseemly for you to drag me off.”

  “Let them wait. You and I are going someplace private.”

  Lucilla ceased struggling, and a reptilian smile slithered onto her lips. “Private?”

  “What a chameleon you are,” he muttered.

  “A what?”

  He spied an open door near an alcove by the orchestra, and he discreetly steered Lucilla into the darkened corridor beyond, lit only by a few wall sconces. Jared opened the first unlocked door they came to and hoped the room would be unoccupied. Evidently, they had entered a small study and reading room, probably for the countess—bookshelves on two walls, an escritoire, and a seating area with a settee and a chaise. The room was indeed deserted.

  Jared closed the door behind them and unceremoniously dumped Lucilla on the settee. “Now, you will answer my questions, and I want the truth.”

  “About what?”

  “About Jean-Claude Bellevere, the Comte Roulet.”

  “Who?” She batted her eyelashes.

  “Don’t bother trying to turn me up sweet. The word is out. While I was on the continent, you took off for London and came home later bragging how you landed a French comte.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about. And why talk when we could be doing other more pleasurable things?”

  She tried to reach for him, but he stiff-armed her back against the settee, braced one arm on the back, and leaned over her. “You know exactly who and what I am talking about.”

  She heaved a resigned sigh. “All right. I admit it. I was lonely after you left to go fight old Boney.”

  She slid her hands up his chest, but he caught her wrists. “Go on.”

  She tugged free and huffed back against the settee. “I met Jean-Claude at a ball. He was charming and an excellent dancer.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Lucilla cast him a withering glance. “You wanted the truth. I am giving it to you.”

  “Go on.”

  “We had a wonderful time gadding about London to balls and exhibits and musicales. And then one day, he said he had to return to France to retrieve some of his family’s heirlooms if he could. Jean-Claude said he would write, but he didn’t. So I went back home.” She made a discontented moue.

  “But you came back to Dolan and bragged about landing a comte,” he pressed.

  “You can hardly blame me. I couldn’t very well come back to Dolan and admit my comte had just taken off for the continent without me, after I had already sent glowing letters home about meeting him.”

  She sniffled demurely. “Besides, he was only a pleasant diversion for a while. I didn’t care anyway. Eventually, I had planned to tell everyone I gave him his congé because my heart belonged to another.”

  She wrapped herself around him, crushed her breasts to his chest. “I had never gotten over you.”

  “This won’t work, Lucilla.”

  “Of course, it will. I knew you didn’t mean what you said in Wakefield’s garden.”

  When he reached behind to pull her locked hands free, she went up on tiptoes and kissed him hard. His mouth opened in surprise, and she took full advantage. Her tongue swept into his mouth as she forcibly deepened the kiss with a signature sensual moan.

  He heard the creak of the door hinges and pulled free as Lucilla murmured against his chest, “Jared, my darling, I would never betray you with another. We have always meant so much to each other.”

  Ariana stood poised in the doorway, one hand on the knob, her eyes sparking in accusation. Before he could push Lucilla off, Ari had turned and fled.

  He started after her, and Lucilla fisted a hand in his sleeve. Her seductive grin had an evil tinge. “She has seen us. You have compromised me.”

  “I suggest you leave go of me, madam, lest you find yourself interrogated at the War Office this very night.”

  “Jared, I didn’t—” she called as he strode for the hall.

  “Save it,” he snarled over his shoulder, then broke into a sprint down the corridor.

  Dexter bolted into the hallway. “What is going on? You disappeared from the ballroom.”

  “Lucilla is in the study.” Jared jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Maybe you can get some answers out of her about Roulet.”

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “Ariana walked in on us. She ran.”

  “Bloody hell!”

  “Precisely.”

  As Jared opened the door to the ballroom, Dexter called from the study, “There’s no one here.”

  “Find her,” he hollered and moved into the ballroom crush.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lord Dalton attempted to dip and sway Ari in their waltz as though he had some skill, which he did not.

  “Ow!” she squealed when one of his giant dress shoes crushed her little toe.

  “Oh, come now,”
he wheezed, out of breath from the exertion of the dance, “that didn’t hurt.”

  His arm tightened about her waist, and she used the hand on his shoulder to push him back. She had lost sight of Jared, and she was not about to let Dalton manhandle her if Jared and his lady friend were not present to witness the drama. At the next turn, she spied him moving toward the edge of the dance floor—all alone. Her gaze darted all around him, but no Lady Valentine could be seen.

  “You hold me much too close, my lord,” she complained to Dalton, not wanting to look friendly with the baron if Jared had come to the dance floor alone.

  “Not nearly close enough, Ariana,” the big oaf wheezed, swathing her cheeks with onion-stenched breath.

  “I have not given you leave to use my Christian name, Lord Dalton.”

  The baron glowered at her. “Do you allow that rakehell Reston to call you Ariana?”

  “Of course not,” she said on a gasp, as he twirled her much too fast on a turn.

  Her answer seemed to appease him. He whirled her more gently in the next turn, as they neared the terrace end of the dance floor. “Maybe we should take a stroll on the terrace to cool off and get a breath of fresh air.”

  The thought of being alone at night on the terrace with Oxley Pearson sent a shudder rippling down her spine.

  You are the reason I need a breath of fresh air.

  “The waltz is not over, my lord.”

  He grinned with a flash of the yellow teeth. “Whatever you say,” he said and whirled her again to make the long run of the floor.

  As Ari spun about to face the crowd of guests, she spied Jared.

  Conversing with Lady Wilder.

  He had traded the redheaded widow for Lucilla.

  Damn the man. How could he?

  Dalton kept turning them in his efforts to show off his nonexistent dancing dexterity and reduced her glimpses of the couple to a flash here and there. The baron whipped her about yet again, and Ari watched Jared capture Lucilla’s hand on his arm.

  One more turn.

  Dear Lord, no! Not again.

  Jared led Lucilla toward an alcove along the floor. No, not an alcove. The two disappeared through a hidden door, no doubt to a corridor leading off to any number of private rooms.