How to Dazzle a Duke

by Claudia Dain

  As the event was at the Countess of Lanreath’s home and as her sister the Countess of Paignton had engaged in a very poorly concealed affair with Katherine’s husband, her delays were entirely logical. But they could delay no longer. If Katherine could face Lady Paignton, she could face anyone. And indeed, must be able to face anyone.

  Life, for all its sorrows, must be lived.

  He believed it. He just had the devil of a time convincing Katherine of it. She’d always been given to melancholy, even as a child. He had very likely indulged that side of her nature too freely. It hadn’t done her a bit of good, and he was going to make amends for it by dragging her, if need be, to Lady Lanreath’s doorstep. It might actually come to that.

  “You need to get out of this house, Kay. It’s swallowing you whole.”

  “I may need to get out of this house, but I don’t need to go into that house,” she said, fussing with the back of her hair. Katherine had warm brown hair with strands of gold, quite like Sarah’s hair. In fact, his daughter and his sister looked much alike, which pleased him profoundly.

  “I need you at my side,” he said, taking her hand in his. “This is no easy thing for me, either.”

  “I don’t believe you for an instant,” she said, smiling reluctantly up at him. “Don’t think I haven’t heard the rumors, Hugh. Some pretty young thing wants to be the next Duchess of Edenham. What do you have to worry about?”

  “That some young thing wants to be my next duchess?” he said, grinning. “Don’t you think I’ve had enough wives?”

  “No,” she said, taking his arm as the door was held open for them. “And I don’t believe you think so either. Some men love to be married and you, dear brother, are one of them. Oh, you’re in scarce supply, I’ve no doubt of that, but you exist, you marrying men, and we women must hunt you down like the rare things you are.”

  “That sounds positively ghastly and quite utterly ruthless.” Katherine smiled as they walked out into the night. “And so it is.”

  “AND so it is that I find myself here unfashionably late, Lady Lanreath,” Lord Dutton said, his penetrating blue eyes trying very hard to pierce her civil and slightly distant exterior to the heart he must assume beat within. Assume because she gave no outward appearance of being at all interested in men in general or of Dutton in particular. Antoinette knew this to be true because she had made something of a practice of appearing completely proper and entirely inaccessible her whole adult life. It had made being married to a man as old as her father slightly more bearable than anyone could have supposed. She had never actually denied him anything, but she hadn’t welcomed him either. A fine line and she walked it very well. “I do hope you can forgive me.”

  “Without hesitation,” she said. “You are not alone, Lord Dutton. There seems much lingering at White’s this evening. I suppose you were caught in the same net?”

  Dutton smiled and shrugged. “I was. ’Tis wager upon wager tonight, quite entertaining.”

  “Isn’t it always?” she said, being purposefully vague.

  It was quite the most ridiculous thing, but she had never understood the fascination most of the ton had for wagering. It seemed a complete waste of time and capital. As she had married to secure a bit of capital, she was very concerned that her sacrifice not be dribbled away over a series of poor wagers. Wager upon wager, it was always the same and with the same result. Someone ruined. Someone desperate. Someone, briefly, victorious. Until the next wager.

  “You may well find,” Dutton said, looking particularly handsome, to be honest, “that your soiree is the most talked about entertainment of the Season.”

  “I do hope so, naturally,” she said, “but hardly think it likely. I have been told by my cook that the oysters delivered today are not at all up to his standards. I can’t think what my guests will say.”

  Dutton smiled. He was quite good-looking and fairly discreet, by all reports, which would have been an oxymoron in any town but London. “Lady Lanreath, I refuse to believe that any oysters you serve would be anything but perfection on the tongue.” There was something about the way he said on the tongue that was very deliberately provocative.

  She liked that.

  “I was, of course,” Dutton continued, leaning in closer to her, teasing her with the scent of him, “referring to the Duke of Edenham and Lord Iveston. They are the subjects of countless wagers, which I do hope will be decided tonight.”

  “A wager concerning … ?”

  “A woman, naturally.”

  “Naturally. All the most contested wagers involve a woman.”

  “But this woman,” Dutton began slowly, his eyes scanning the room, “is not the sort one usually wagers over. It is most remarkable and quite unusual, which surely speaks to something.”

  “To be remarkable and unusual is surely a point of considerable pride for her,” Antoinette said, watching Dutton’s gaze, noting when it halted upon Mrs. Warren and Lord Staverton, lingered, burned, and then moved on to where Sophia Dalby was passing through the doorway from the reception room to the drawing room, Mr. Grey at her side. Mr. Grey was quite remarkable and unique himself; she did hope Bernadette was not tempted to bite from that particular fruit. Mr. Grey was no London dandy, or even something so common as a rake. Her gaze drifted back to Lord Dutton. Rakes had their own charms and their own dangers, and certainly Bernadette had ample experience of them, but Mr. George Grey was nothing so simple as a rake. “I take it she has never been married?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Dutton said, pulling his gaze away from Mrs. Warren. “Oh, yes, certainly. Never married, which makes the wager all the more titillating, naturally.”

  “Truly? I had heard that there was something of a rush on wagers concerning unmarried women of late. Starting with Sophia’s daughter, wasn’t it? Then moving to Lady Louisa Kirkland and then, so very recently, Lady Amelia Caversham. It seems to have become the fashion to get a wager placed on White’s book, though I do wonder how these girls manage it. It wasn’t at all the thing when I married, but times and fashions do change so rapidly, don’t they? I shouldn’t think but that the new challenge will be for a woman of some experience of the world to work her way onto White’s book. The trouble, surely, is that what could the wager possibly entail?”

  Dutton smiled at her, a slow smile of seduction that she quite appreciated. She’d yet to take a lover, quite unlike Bernadette who took up lovers the way most women took up hats. She lived a careful life, but sometimes, on drizzly winter mornings or long summer evenings, she did wonder if being careful was quite the wisest course. Then she discarded the thought because being careful and precise was far more comfortable a habit than being the reverse. Yet, Dutton was a supremely seductive man, quite in the prime of his beauty. He would not be a bad choice to invite into her bed. Surely she could do worse.

  “Lady Lanreath,” Dutton said softly, “if you want your name to appear on White’s book, you have only to ask it. I am quite certain I can think of something provocative to wager concerning you, something that will rouse the most avid speculation.”

  “Lord Dutton, I do believe you mean to flatter me.”

  “And are you flattered?”

  “When you’ve placed the wager, tell me of it, and then I shall answer you,” she said, looking again about the room. About half the party had drifted into the drawing room, following Lord Iveston and Miss Prestwick, one could only assume. “Until then, won’t you tell me what the wager is and whom it concerns?”

  “It is very unusual, I must say, even as these wagers are becoming something of a fashion, because it involves not one man and one woman, but two men and one woman.”

  “On White’s book? Is that quite the thing?”

  “No, no, you misunderstand me. I mean to say that it involves the question of which of two men will marry the girl. The men are, as you may have guessed, the Duke of Edenham and Lord Iveston. The girl—”

  “Miss Penelope Prestwick,” Antoinette said, cutting him
off. She really did have to get into the drawing room. Dutton was amusing, but she did have a soiree to host.

  “You’d heard?”

  “Not precisely, Lord Dutton. It is only that Miss Prestwick was most enthusiastically escorted from this room by Lord Iveston upwards of a half hour ago. To see how he looked at her, well, the conclusion is inescapable.”

  “Truly? Inescapable?” Dutton said.

  “I should say so,” Antoinette answered. “You are certainly encouraged to see for yourself.”

  And so saying, they walked into the drawing room side by side. A sight not unnoticed by Mrs. Warren.

  Sixteen

  “I suppose you want to begin kissing me now,” Penelope said stiffly. “The room is quite full and you would ruin me entirely, which I suspect would cause you no little amusement.”

  Iveston smiled and said, “You sound very much as if you want me to ruin you. Do you?”

  “Of course not!” she said sharply.

  Little Miss Prestwick was quite appealing when she was sharp, very nearly gleaming like a blade. He had never thought to find such behavior in a woman at all attractive, but on her, it was very nearly adorable. Of course, he didn’t believe a word of her story about the groom. Oh, it was very obvious she’d been kissed before, briefly and perhaps pleasantly, but an afternoon in a stable with a groom? She’d likely heard the story as shared between two milkmaids. A milkmaid and a groom sharing an amorous moment was to be expected. Penelope with a groom, his dirty hands on her face, his roughly shaven chin rubbing against the skin of her jaw … he quivered in outrage just imagining it. No, she had kissed no groom. He was not going to entertain the thought for another moment. But he was going to kiss her. And he was going to teach her a lesson about kissing in the bargain.

  How exactly he was going to do all that, he had no idea whatsoever, but he was convinced that he would do it and that he would do it well.

  “Of course not, for then how could you induce Edenham to marry you? Foolish of me to have forgotten that.”

  “It certainly was, though I don’t think you need to say it so often. It’s not as if I’m going to forget my purpose. And someone might overhear you.”

  “The Duke of Edenham, for example.”

  “If he ever arrives,” she said on a huff of annoyance, casting a glance about the room. “I can’t think why you’re wasting time with me now, when he’s not yet arrived.”

  “Can’t you? How peculiar. But then, you are in the habit of being peculiar.”

  Penelope flared like a match, her dark eyes glowing like coals against her flawless skin. “Perhaps only with you, Lord Iveston. Did you consider that?”

  “No, actually, I did not.”

  “Perhaps you should.”

  “Now, now, Miss Prestwick,” he said, grinning amiably, “is it quite wise of you to berate me? I thought we had made a bargain, and it is you who need my aid, not the reverse.”

  “Really?” she answered smoothly. “I had come to the conclusion that what you wanted from me was kisses, the more the better. The sooner the better as well, given your latest declaration. What to think but that you are a very inexperienced sort of rake who must bargain a woman into dallying with him.”

  He was no longer amused. Not even remotely.

  “Have a care, Miss Prestwick, or I shall be moved to true anger. You would not enjoy that.”

  Penelope shrugged slightly and looked about the room. “You have no idea what I would enjoy, Lord Iveston.”

  “From your own lips, kissing hapless grooms, for one.”

  “He was far from hapless, which I think annoys you considerably.”

  “If I believed it, perhaps it would.”

  He did so enjoy taunting her. He couldn’t think why, although the fact that she intended to use him to attract another man might have had a bit to do with it.

  Penelope lowered her chin and stared hard into his eyes. “You think I would lie?”

  “I think you, indeed any woman, would embellish the truth to get what she wants.”

  “And what do I want from you, Lord Iveston, that I do not already have? You have agreed to play a part. For money. I need not lie to you about anything. As to the groom and his sultry kisses, only my future husband need be kept in the dark about that. While I did it for him, I am not such a fool as to think he will appreciate my efforts to please him. No, I told you. Because what you think, Lord Iveston, does not matter. Can you possibly have believed otherwise?”

  He could feel his blood roaring through his veins, pulsing like a drum through the chambers of his heart and belly. Lower, and lower still. Never had a woman treated him this way. Never had anyone sought to anger him when soothing and petting him would have been the better choice. All of his life, he suddenly realized, he had been petted and protected, sheltered and cozened. He was Hyde’s heir, beloved son, esteemed brother, eligible bachelor. Until Penelope, who saw him only as a tool to be wielded to attain a better man.

  There was no better man. And he would prove that to her on her very skin.

  “You did it to please him?” he said in a hushed voice. “It did not please you, then? You kissed a man and found no pleasure in it?”

  “I did not say that.”

  “You almost said that,” he taunted. “I think, Penelope, that you may be the sort of woman who cannot find pleasure with a man. With any man. How do you think Edenham will react to that?”

  “As long as I am the Duchess of Edenham, I don’t care.”

  “You don’t care that he leaves you at his estate, alone, while he stays in Town, finding his pleasure with a woman who can share it?”

  “I am not that sort of woman!”

  “Prove it,” he said softly. “Prove it upon me, with me, now.”

  She looked like a landed fish, all gaping mouth and staring eyes. “What? You’re mad.”

  Iveston shrugged as casually as he could manage. “I know Edenham, and I like him. He has had troubles enough with his various wives. I’ll not send you into his life so that you may give him trouble of a different sort.”

  “I am going to be the ideal wife! Anyone with any intelligence can see that.”

  “Convince me of it. Convince me you will be a warm and lively wife for Edenham.”

  “Good heavens, you really are pathetic, aren’t you? Now you’re trying to bargain me into your bed. Is that the only way you can get a woman?”

  He swallowed his rage and said, “You flatter yourself, Miss Prestwick. I do not want you in my bed. I only seek to protect Edenham, and to judge for myself how experienced you truly are.”

  “Of course, you couldn’t manage it the normal way, could you? Seduction is far beyond your skills.”

  “Why should I trouble myself to seduce what I can merely demand?”

  “And I’m to deliver myself up to you? Honorable, aren’t you?”

  “It is still within the parameters of our bargain. I will not ruin you. I don’t seek a wife. I only seek satisfaction.”

  Penelope laughed mirthlessly. “Yes, of course you do. You are a man, by all reports.”

  “By your report, very soon.”

  She eyed him carefully, the wheels of her mind turning furiously. Hardly any artifice at all, had Miss Prestwick. Perhaps she actually had kissed a groom. His mind spun just considering it.

  “A few kisses,” she said cautiously, “a sign of some warmth on my part, that is all you require? You shall not ruin me. You shall not ruin my chances with Edenham. That is the sum of our agreement?”

  “The sum total.”

  “And you will stay true to it?”

  “You doubt me?”

  “Completely. You have shown yourself to be a man, which is bad enough, but a man of changeable temperament, which is the worst thing a man can be.”

  “Hardly the worst,” he murmured. “It is comments like that which shout your innocence, Miss Prestwick, but then, there is the way you kiss which whispers otherwise.”

  “Yes, I
understand you completely. You are confused. I am hardly surprised.”

  He could not understand why, but he found himself smiling again. She was such an odd, forthright little thing. It was quite charming, taken in certain lights.

  “You agree to the slight amending of our bargain?” he asked.

  “This is to be the last adjustment, Lord Iveston. I can’t abide these ridiculous amendments made for no other purpose than your wandering attention and odd conclusions.”

  He nodded.

  “Then, I will agree.”

  “Agreed, then.”

  “When would you like to commence? As soon as possible, I daresay,” she said, looking him up and down. Yes, well, he did look interested just beneath his waistcoat. It was most bold of him, but she could just take the blame for that herself. “I would like to get this behind me so that I may concentrate on Edenham.”

  “Now?” he suggested. “Before Edenham arrives would seem wise.”

  “Oh, very well, then,” she sighed. “Now.”

  “NOW what are they doing?” Lady Paignton asked Mr. George Grey.

  “The same thing they’ve been doing,” Grey said, staring at Penelope and Iveston as they walked with intense purpose out of the drawing room. He was not alone in staring. The whole room was staring. And placing wagers.

  Bernadette looked up at Grey with a very considering gaze. Sophia knew that look well and knew what it boded. Not that her nephew would mind in the least, though John might. Women who used men like toys for their pleasure were not to John’s taste. He was hardly alone in that. Most men, indeed perhaps all men, liked to be thought of as more substantial than playthings. Of course, they didn’t mind in the least and certainly never noticed when a woman was treated so. Why should they? They had, in most every way, all the power. It was why stripping them of some of it was such a pleasant pastime.