A Duke to Die for: The Rogues' Dynasty

by Amelia Grey

  Standing in the drawing room with Constance and the three extraordinary men in front of her, for the first time in her life Henrietta was looking at the duke the way a woman looked at a man she desired, a man she wanted to marry.

  Candlelight, candlelight, and more candlelight. Henrietta had never seen so many candles lighting a home in her life, nor had she ever seen so many people in one place. This had to be what the Society Pages meant when they said a party was a crush. All she could see before her were ladies dressed in beautiful, colorful gowns and gentlemen clothed in richly detailed evening coats with elaborately tied neck-cloths. Every lady’s gown was adorned with feathers, flowers, or lace—and some had all three. Large jewels hung around their necks, dripped from their ears, and graced their arms, hands, and fingers.

  The main party room at Lady Windham’s house was hot, even though the spring evening was cold and damp. The air was filled with a mixture of scents ranging from perfume to food to candle wax.

  In an adjoining room, a buffet table with a starched white cloth had been covered with beautifully arranged platters of fowl, fish, and lamb. A host of fruits and vegetables from every season and in every color were piled high in expensive china bowls. Henrietta had never seen such lavishness. It looked so delicious she wanted to sample everything on the table—except the mushrooms—but she couldn’t touch one bite of the food. Constance had insisted she eat before she dressed, saying that a young lady would never eat at her first ball.

  Some of the people danced to the lively music, while others talked in small groups or as intimate couples in faraway corners. The opulence of the house with its gilt fretwork, carved moldings, and velvet draperies was so magnificent that Henrietta felt as if she were in one of the many chateaux she had read about that had been built in France.

  Henrietta didn’t know how long she had been at the ball, and time didn’t seem to matter to anyone. She had done nothing but be presented to a steady stream of people, so many that her head was spinning with all the names and faces of the people she had met.

  Hours earlier she had realized there were way too many viscounts, earls, and barons to keep straight, though some would be easy to remember. Lord Waldo because he always followed his brother around the room, Lord Snellingly because he quoted poetry to her while Blakewell rolled his eyes in contempt, and an Italian count who tried to kiss his way up her arm but was stopped when His Grace pulled her hand out of his clasp, causing Henrietta to hide a smile behind her fan.

  “Do you feel all right, Henrietta? You are looking tired,” Constance said with a sudden wrinkle of concern creasing her brow.

  “Me? Of course, I feel fine,” Henrietta said, thinking Constance was entirely too perceptive. “The ball is all that I expected it to be with the grandeur, the glamour, and the excitement.”

  “Good. I’m sure the small village dances you attended at your last home cannot compare to something as magnificent as this party.”

  “Only in the gaiety of the people.”

  “Perhaps she is as bored as am I,” Blakewell said.

  “I am not bored, Your Grace.”

  “You’ve done nothing but stand in this stuffy, overcrowded room and meet people,” he countered.

  “That is true, Your Grace,” she said, giving him a grateful smile. “This is a lot to take in at one time, and I’m afraid I wasn’t prepared for so many people.”

  “I understand your frustration,” Constance said, “but it’s best to get all the introductions out of the way. With that done, all future parties and balls should be more entertaining for Henrietta.” She looked at the duke. “Perhaps it is time for the two of you to dance.”

  Henrietta glanced over at Blakewell. He was the one who looked pale, though Constance obviously hadn’t noticed with all the flurry of people. He’d been too quiet the entire evening. She couldn’t help but wonder if he were completely over the bout with the bad mushroom.

  Blakewell looked at Constance and said, “It has been a tiring evening for all. Perhaps we should wait until tomorrow night to dance, Constance.”

  “Nonsense, Blake, you must not wait. There are gentlemen here champing at the bit, just waiting for you to give the signal that they can ask Henrietta to dance. You need to introduce her on the dance floor so they will feel free to ask. Don’t you see how everyone is looking at her as if she were a precious jewel?”

  He looked down at Henrietta, and she saw admiration in his eyes. It thrilled her that she pleased him.

  “Yes, I have noticed how everyone is admiring her,” he said. “There’s a dance starting now. Henrietta, may I have this dance?”

  She curtseyed with all the warmth she had for him filling her heart. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”

  He raised his right arm, took hold of her fingertips, and led her to the dance floor. They took their places in the long line of other dancers. When the music started, the duke winced as he moved his left arm behind his back. She watched him carefully as the dance continued. With all the moves using his left arm, he grimaced, but his right arm seemed to be fine. The dance was a quadrille. The music moved fast, but Blakewell didn’t. He was rigid and had none of the joy on his face that she saw in the other dancers’ expressions.

  Something was wrong with his left arm, and she intended to find out what had happened.

  Earlier in the evening, she had wondered if something was wrong as they climbed into the carriage. He seemed stiff, but she had been a bit nervous herself, so much so that she’d forgotten that until now. As she twirled beneath his right arm, he was careful not to lift or move his left arm behind his back any more than necessary.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Morgandale walk up behind His Grace, and as easily as if they were moving as one, Blakewell handed her over to Lord Morgandale, and suddenly she was dancing with the earl. Henrietta was stunned by this maneuver. She missed a couple of steps. Lord Morgandale smiled and gave her an approving nod. They danced until Lord Raceworth smoothly replaced the earl. Before the dance ended, Sir Randolph Gibson changed places with Lord Raceworth, and suddenly she was dancing and laughing with the dapper old gentleman.

  Henrietta’s chin lifted a little higher. She didn’t know if they knew something was wrong with the duke’s arm or if they were following their usual pattern, but she felt wonderful. No matter the reason, these men were letting Society know that the Duke of Blakewell’s family accepted her. Her chest swelled with warmth and gratitude. She felt the prickle of tears in her eyes, and she blinked them away. For the first time since her parents’ death, more than twelve years ago, Henrietta felt as if she had a family.

  This realization was so overwhelming that she didn’t remember the rest of the dance. She curtseyed to Sir Randolph when the music stopped, and he escorted her back to where the others were standing.

  “Henrietta,” Lord Morgandale said as she and Sir Randolph approached the others, “you will need to be patient with Blake. He doesn’t know anything about being the guardian of a young lady. He will probably make many mistakes.”

  “I shall do that, my lord. I am well versed in this as I have had five previous guardians. I promise I will treat him gently and with the utmost care while he learns.”

  Everyone laughed at her remarks, including Constance and the duke. But Henrietta saw tightness around his eyes and mouth and once again worried that something was wrong.

  “By that comment, I have no doubt that you will keep him well in hand,” Lord Morgandale said.

  “And I, for one, can’t wait for you to begin his schooling,” Race said.

  “Bravo, gentlemen,” Constance said as she lightly clapped her hands. “Morgan, Race, and Sir Randolph, it was a touch of genius for the three of you to dance with Henrietta before Blake finished his dance.”

  “I’m glad someone finally recognizes our genius,” Race said.

  “Geniuses?” Sir Randolph asked with a grin.

  “You can’t believe anything Constance says tonight,” Blake s
aid in a teasing voice. “She’s had far too much champagne to drink and can’t be trusted. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

  “I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” Constance said in mocked horror. “I haven’t left your side all evening. You know well that I’ve had nothing to drink but punch, just like you. We needed all our wits about us tonight. And, thankfully, I think we passed the test. Gentlemen, I’m sure Blake won’t forget your support tonight.”

  “If I know these two blades standing beside me, they’ll see he doesn’t forget,” Sir Randolph quipped.

  “Seriously, gentlemen, all of you have let everyone in Society know Henrietta not only has the duke’s protection, she also has yours.”

  “That was our intention,” Morgan said.

  Constance gave them all a satisfied smile. “Everything is working out perfectly.” She beamed. “Now, Blake, we can go home. We won’t attend another party this evening, nor will we let any other man dance with her tonight. We’ll keep the mystery surrounding her at the highest level if we leave now. Everyone will want to know what parties she will be attending tomorrow night, and everyone will be watching to see who gets the first dance with her.”

  While Constance was talking, Henrietta watched as the Italian count she had met earlier, make his way toward them. He was a short, rotund man with black, curly hair and small dark eyes. He would be difficult to miss because of his regalia. He wore a full military uniform complete with a sword strapped around his waist. One side of his black coat was crowded with military medals, and large gold epaulets topped each shoulder.

  The proud, strutting man walked up to Blakewell and said, “Ah, ha, good evening again, Your Grace. I see that Miss Tweed is now accettare i balli. I have been waiting tutta la notte for this opportunity.”

  The duke looked at Henrietta. She was trying to tell him with her eyes that she didn’t want to dance with this flashy man. The duke smiled at her, and she relaxed.

  “I’m sorry, Count Vigone, but Miss Tweed is tired and we were just leaving. Another time, perhaps.” He turned to Henrietta and said, “Let’s go.”

  Thirteen

  My Grandson, Lucien,

  Study on this by Lord Chesterfield: “In business a great deal may depend upon the force and extent of one word; and in conversation, a moderate thought may gain, or a good one lose, by the propriety or impropriety, the elegancy or inel-egancy, of one single word.”

  Your loving Grandmother,

  Lady Elder

  A HARD STINGING RAIN WAS PELTING THE GROUND by the time Henrietta and Blakewell dropped off Constance at her home and returned to his house. The footman opened the carriage door for them, holding out an umbrella. The duke jumped out and took the umbrella from him before reaching back to help Henrietta down the two steps. Taking hold of her arm, he ran with her through the rain to the front door, pooled water splashing all over Henrietta’s velvet slippers and the hem of her dress.

  As they neared the door, Ashby opened it and immediately took the umbrella from Blakewell when they entered the warmth of the vestibule.

  “It’s not fit outside for man nor beast, Your Grace. Would you like me to prepare you a cup of hot tea?”

  “None for me. How about you, Henrietta?”

  “No, thank you,” she said untying the ribbon of her new, fur-trimmed cape.

  Henrietta noticed how Blakewell didn’t use his left arm as he threw his rain-sprinkled cloak off his shoulders and handed it to Ashby. Lifting his left arm only slightly, he carefully helped Henrietta with her cape and handed it to the butler, too.

  “You had best hurry to your room, Henrietta, and get out of your wet shoes,” Blakewell said.

  Not yet, she thought.

  “If you don’t mind, Your Grace, may I ask you something before I go to my room?”

  His brow wrinkled with annoyance. “You don’t need permission to ask me a question, Henrietta. You are always free to ask whatever you desire.”

  The tightness around his forehead, eyes, and mouth seemed more pronounced than it had been earlier in the evening. He looked tired for the first time since she had met him.

  She remained quiet for a few seconds, hoping Ashby would excuse himself, while she took time to peel off her long gloves and lay them on the side table with her reticule.

  When Ashby continued to stand with them, she breathed deeply and took the liberty to say, “May I speak to you alone, Your Grace?”

  Blakewell looked at Ashby, who stood solemnly beside them holding the wet cloaks. “Thank you for your assistance tonight, Ashby. You’re free to go to bed now.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Henrietta waited until the stiff butler had left the vestibule. She then steadied her breathing and calmly said, “I wanted to ask about your arm, or maybe it’s your shoulder, but you have been favoring it all night. I know something is wrong.”

  He lowered his lids over his eyes and curtly said, “It’s nothing.”

  “I don’t believe you, Your Grace.”

  “You are too bold for your own good, Henrietta.”

  She nodded once. “It’s one of my weaknesses, Your Grace.”

  He let out a half chuckle. “Only you would look at it like that.”

  “You might have fooled Constance and duped your cousins, Sir Randolph, and all the other people at Lady Windham’s party tonight, but you have not been able to hide your injury from me. When we were dancing, you grimaced and winced every time you had to lift your arm higher than your waist or put it behind your back. I know you have been in pain all evening.”

  “Damnation,” he muttered, rubbing the space between his eyes. “Sorry for swearing, Henrietta, but I had hoped no one would notice.”

  I notice everything about you.

  “I’m not sure anyone else did,” she answered in a reassuring voice.

  He sighed. “You see far too much for someone so young.”

  “Age has nothing to do with my intuitiveness.”

  It has to do with how I feel about you.

  “All right, yes, I hurt my shoulder while I was at Valleydale with Morgan and Race. Now are you happy that I’ve admitted it?”

  The curse!

  Her eyes filled with concern, and she took a step closer to him. “I’m not happy that you’ve been hurt. I knew something was wrong when I first came below stairs and saw you standing in the drawing room. How serious is your injury? Did your cousins not know?”

  “Yes, of course, they knew. Morgan took care of my shoulder at Valleydale. That’s probably why they came to my rescue and relieved me when I was on the dance floor with you, though they’d never admit to doing anything nice to help me.”

  A pang of disappointment stabbed Henrietta, even though she had thought that might be the case. Still, for a few moments tonight, when his cousins and Sir Randolph had stepped up to take his place dancing, she had felt as if she was part of their family.

  “I’ve tried to tell you that you are in danger, Your Grace. First, you eat a poisonous mushroom, and then you almost fall out of the balloon, and now this.”

  His gaze slowly swept up and down her face. “My life was never in danger in any of those incidents, Henrietta. I saw a physician today. He said my shoulder is fine, and I should be feeling better in a couple of days. Now, if you don’t mind, I really need a glass of wine to help ease the pain.”

  “Why haven’t you already had one?”

  “I didn’t want anything to keep me from protecting you in case some rake like that fake Italian count decided he wanted to get fresh with you.”

  “He’s not really a count?”

  “I don’t know for sure.”

  “Well, in any case, you shouldn’t have denied yourself a glass of wine, Your Grace. It wasn’t likely anyone would accost me with you, Constance, Sir Randolph, and your cousins standing guard over me all evening. I was lucky I could breathe. Let’s go into your book room. You can sit down, and I will pour you a glass of wine.”

  “You don’t h
ave to do that. I’m not helpless.”

  The way he looked and the huskiness of his voice caused a quickening in her lower abdomen.

  “I can see that. I can’t imagine you ever being helpless. I want to do this for you.”

  “You need to get out of your wet shoes. Constance will never forgive me if you get sick and can’t finish the Season.”

  “It would not bother me if I didn’t finish the Season.”

  His eyes locked on hers. “It would bother me.”

  She felt a stab of pain at his words and swallowed hard. Every moment she spent with him made her want to stay with him all the more and never leave his house or his side. She wanted to be with him. He might not need her help tonight, but she needed to help him.

  “I understand, Your Grace. I am very healthy and not given to sickness, but to ease your mind, I will take off my shoes.”

  She lifted the hem of her skirt to just above her ankles and stepped out of her wet velvet slippers. She picked them up and put them on the bottom stair so she wouldn’t forget them when she headed up to bed.

  “Henrietta.”

  “Come, Your Grace, you’ve done so much for me these past few days. Please, let me do this simple task for you by pouring your drink.”

  “Very well, I’m in no mood to argue any point with you tonight.”

  She walked ahead of him into the book room. Once inside, Blake sat down in one of the two wing-backed chairs in front of his desk. Henrietta lit the wick of the oil lamp that sat on the desk in front of him. A soft golden light filled the room while raindrops pitter-pattered against the windowpanes.

  From the side table, she poured a generous amount of the dark burgundy-colored wine into a glass. When she returned to Blakewell, he was trying to untie the complicated knot in his neckcloth with one hand. His injured arm lay still at his side.

  “Here, you drink this and let me untie that for you.” She placed her hand on top of his to stop him. His skin was smooth and firm. She immediately felt as if a blanket of enticing warmth covered her. It was unforgivably bold of her to touch him without his permission, but she had no desire to stop herself.