Enchanting the Duke: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 5)

by Arietta Richmond

  “Would the love of a woman serve to restore you and rescue you from this most diabolical spell, my good Lord?”

  “Oh, yes. Oh, yes, indeed. But where under heaven’s great skies may I ever find such a love, Lady Cordelia? For surely am I a lost soul without it.”

  “You do not need to look any further, my Lord, for I would happily rescue you from this abomination with my own true love and release you forever from the terrible curse that binds you.”

  Edward smiled as he stepped closer. They were alone on that side of the room, the other guests settled around a chess table to one side, and involved in their own conversation.

  “And would you seal the bargain of my liberty with a kiss, sweet enchantress?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded her assent as Edward drew nearer and, with infinite care, brushed the outline of her lips with his own.

  “Tis done, my Lady. I am now freed from my curse and I owe my life to thee and the gentleness of those beautiful lips.”

  Cordelia thought that her heart had stopped. An electric tingle ran down her spine and she wondered if time had stopped completely. Slowly, she opened her eyes and Edward was standing there, looking at her with a hint of mischief and a devilish grin.

  “My beautiful Lady Enchantress, if my curse should prove more stubborn than we had both supposed, would you deign to offer the remedy of your lips again, should the need arise?”

  “Willingly and gladly, my Lord.” She smiled from the soles of her feet to the crown of rich dark hair on her head. “Willingly and gladly.”

  It was a miracle that Cordelia was able to find sleep at all that night, after having her passions aroused in a simple game of wit and playfulness with Lord Edward. She was utterly enthralled by his charm, his looks and his extraordinary talent as a musician. Childish tales of imps and curses had only made their encounter more exciting, more thrilling, especially knowing that such a kiss was forbidden, yet he had kissed her with others but paces away! She found it all irresistible.

  With great effort, she pulled the embroidered blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes in the hope that she would dream of the young Lord. Much to her disappointment, she did not dream, and she felt she had slumbered for barely a few minutes when Georgiana burst into her bedchamber to announce that breakfast was being served, and that Cordelia was a slug-a-bed for not rising sooner.

  It was morning, the sun was already up and the day of the Ball had finally arrived.

  ~~~~~

  Throughout the early summer afternoon, a succession of carriages brought guests to the great house and servants busied themselves with coats and hats, and offered, in the drawing room, warming silver cups of spiced punch to revive the travellers. There was laughter and merriment as the visitors renewed old acquaintanceships and offered their respects to their smiling host and, with a greater deal of restraint, to the Duke.

  Curious eyes followed Baron Setford, who was not often seen about in society, as the ton wondered how Baron Tillingford had drawn him out.

  The Ball began with a delightful range of drinks and a refreshment table to one side, laden to capacity with roast meats and a dazzling array of delicacies and confectionary, to ensure that, throughout the evening, no guest would go hungry. The Baron had access to a prestigious wine merchant in London who, despite the Royal Navy’s blockade of French ports, mysteriously managed to acquire a regular supply of excellent Burgundy wines.

  The guests expressed their approval in a series of rousing toasts and some of the gentlemen showed evidence of the effects of a surfeit of wine quite early in the evening. Servants had prepared couches in an adjacent parlour for those guests who required some time to recover from an overindulgence – in wine, or in energetic dancing. But most of the guests were more sparing in their imbibing, and enjoyed the feast and the wine without impinging too greatly upon their sobriety.

  Including Miss Millpost, who had decided that she would not let Cordelia out of her sight, for fear that young Lord Edward might behave in a thoroughly inappropriate manner.

  After their conversation the previous afternoon, when the Baron had explained to the Duke the reason for his decision to host the Ball, and his concerns about Lord Edward, he was confident that the elegant nobleman would cast a critical eye over the young and dashing suitor who was showing such a romantic interest in his lovely daughter.

  Standing quietly to one side of the room, watching as his guests gathered to dance a country dance, in a swirl of colour and energetic movement, Baron Tillingford reminded the Duke and Setford of his concerns. The Duke’s response was immediate, and comforting.

  “Do not worry yourself, my friend. I’ll have the measure of the man soon enough, and then we’ll see what he’s made of.”

  ~~~~~

  In truth, it was no hardship for the Duke to watch Lady Cordelia, keeping an eye out for her welfare. He found her a most pleasant sight, quite thoroughly enchanting. She was young, and currently infatuated, but seemed, otherwise, to be a talented, intelligent and modest young woman. He should, he realised, have expected nothing less, for Tillingford’s wife had been all that, and Tillingford was a sensible chap.

  She drew his eye, her gown a rich fuchsia shade unusual for a young woman – yet it suited her – she carried it well, and it made her dark hair and soft glowing skin all the more beautiful.

  He resolved to dance with her, to see if he could draw her out into a little conversation while he did so. Perhaps he would even be a little scandalous, and see if he could manage to capture her for a waltz – which would, after all, present a much better opportunity for conversation! It was, he realised with a start, a very long time since he had danced, and even longer since he had considered the idea with pleasure. This was turning into a much more interesting house party than he had expected.

  He moved quietly in her direction, intent upon adding his name to her dance card as soon as possible.

  ~~~~~

  The musicians had fortified their spirits and lubricated their repertoire with a constant flow of warm punch, ably assisted by the serving girls who kept their glasses charged, and revived their spirits with stronger vintages as the evening wore on. The ballroom was bathed in the flickering light of a thousand candles and the ladies’ jewellery sparkled as they twirled and dipped and followed the intricate patterns of the latest dances.

  As a beautiful and dainty dance partner, Cordelia proved to be very popular with all of the gentlemen in attendance who vied for her attention and then pretended to be heartbroken when another gallant took her hand and swept her across the polished dance floor. They were all, however, most careful to stand by propriety, and only dance one dance each with her. Her dance card was full within a very short time, and she was flushed with excitement at being so much the centre of attention.

  She was especially flattered when the Duke sought her out to claim a dance, boldly writing his name against the first designated waltz of the evening. Close up, he was as imposing as he had looked from a distance, and the warmth of his touch as he kissed her hand made her cheeks flush prettily. His intense eyes, the rich golden brown of brandy, held hers, and his smile simply emphasised the handsome lines of his face. He was elegance personified, in an understated and powerful way. For a moment, looking at him, she quite forgot about Lord Edward.

  Lord Edward was as accomplished a dancer as he was a musician it seemed, a dandy on the floor in his high-waisted black velvet tail coat, adorned with gold buttons that bore his family crest. His silk waistcoat shone in the candlelight and he moved with grace and assurance, aware that all eyes were upon him as he demonstrated his mastery of the most fashionable dance steps, delighting each of the ladies he danced with.

  Yet the Duke, for all his air of austerity, was a fine dancer too. Less dramatic than Edward, perhaps, more formal and less flamboyant, yet polished in his skill and utterly confident, Cordelia found herself watching him as he danced with others, almost as much as she was watching Lord Edward. When he came to claim
Lady Cordelia for his waltz, she found herself unaccountably breathless as he took her hand and led her to the floor. Quite a few of the ladies in the room watched him with admiration for his handsome person, and for his skill and effortless command of the dance. Cordelia was swept up in the sensations as the room swirled around them, a kaleidoscope of colour and motion.

  She was intensely aware of his hand on her waist, of the warmth of his body, so close to hers, of the subtle fragrance of leather and pine that surrounded him, mixed with something indefinable, yet somehow exciting, and of the appreciative look in his eyes as he smiled at her. Somehow, he made dancing easy – she need not concentrate on what her feet were doing at all, he simply moved and she magically moved with him. It was a sensation like none she had felt before.

  After some time, the music faded to a stop, leaving Cordelia a little breathless, and oddly bereft, as the Duke courteously released his grip upon her, and escorted her back towards Miss Millpost where she stood to one side. As she allowed him to lead her across the floor she saw Lord Edward, standing with his friends near the doors to the terrace.

  Cordelia noticed that Lord Edward, for the first time that she could remember, was not smiling, a sullen expression on his face that she had not seen before. Perhaps he was jealous. Now that would be a truly fine thing, she thought, as the Duke led her across the floor, for, after all, the Duke was a very fine-looking gentleman indeed. Then Lord Edward’s eyes met hers, and his face changed, the familiar smile greeting her warmly. Perhaps she had been mistaken before…

  ~~~~~

  The Duke had also caught the expression on Lord Edward’s face and read a quite different message in the young man’s eyes. He suspected, as he escorted the young girl from the floor, that young Fitzhugh was piqued by the fact that he was no longer the centre of attention in the room, that people’s eyes had followed Lady Cordelia as she danced with the Duke, instead.

  That particular character trait did not bode well for Lady Cordelia Branley’s future, should she become attached to the young man. It did not bode well at all.

  He found, of a sudden, that he cared quite a lot about Lady Cordelia Branley’s future, more than simply for the sake of his long friendship with her father. Despite his best intentions, they had barely spoken a word to each other as they danced. He had become utterly caught up in the sensation, enchanted by her unspoiled innocence of manner, and the graceful way in which she gave herself to the dance, flowing easily with him on the crowded floor. Her wide violet eyes had looked into his with delight, as if she too found the sensation wonderful. The thought crept in unexpectedly – he had not felt that way when dancing with a woman since Angelique, since that terrible night when he lost her, and their child.

  Her face came to his mind at the thought, but it was no longer sharp in his memory and, astoundingly, the terrible ache in his heart, whilst still present, was muted, softened. He was not sure what to make of that – it felt a little disloyal to no longer hurt so much.

  He turned his attention back to Lady Cordelia, whose prettily flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes told the tale of how much she was enjoying herself. He hoped, selfishly, that a little, at least, of the enjoyment was due to his attention to her, to that wonderful dance.

  Could he dare to think that he might have truly distracted her from young Fitzhugh, even if only for a short time?

  ~~~~~

  Whilst the dancing filled the room with energetic movement, Baron Setford was drawn aside by a footman.

  “My Lord, a messenger has just delivered this for you.”

  He proffered a letter on a silver salver. Setford took it, nodding his thanks. He moved to a quiet alcove, sheltered by some potted palms, and settled into a chair before breaking the seal. This was the report that he had been waiting for. His informant was a man with access to the private financial dealings of the Earl of Bolton’s family. He had asked the man to report on just one aspect of the family dealings. The result was not unexpected, and could, perhaps, explain a great deal. In three sentences, his informant laid out the salient facts.

  The Earl of Bolton, disgusted at his younger son’s failure to follow him to war, had, more than 6 months ago, cut off all allowances to the boy, pending such time as he should take up a commission and do his patriotic duty. His brother George had honoured their father’s decision – he had not responded to Lord Edward’s pleas for funds, and had refused to speak to him since shortly after their father’s decision. Young Lord Edward was without funds, unless he could raise them himself – which he appeared to have been doing rather successfully, at the card tables.

  Setford tucked the letter into his pocket, and went in search of Rotherhithe and Tillingford. Seeing Tillingford surrounded by his guests, he turned to Rotherhithe who stood near Miss Millpost, both of them watching Lady Cordelia dance with Lord Edward, for their one allowable dance of the evening. Rotherhithe’s face showed a careful casual unconcern, but his eyes followed the young couple, and there was a tightness to his posture. Interesting indeed.

  “Rotherhithe, a word if I might.” Setford bowed to Miss Millpost, and, at the Duke’s nod of assent, led him out onto the terrace.

  “I’ve just received a most interesting missive. Thought you should see it before the evening goes much further.”

  Setford passed the folded letter to Rotherhithe and waited as he perused it. After a moment’s consideration of the content, the Duke passed it back to Setford.

  “Well, that puts a rather different colouration on things, doesn’t it? I’ve a suspicion I know what the young popinjay’s playing at, and I don’t like it, not at all. For a man in his position, Lady Cordelia’s dowry would be a tempting opportunity – even more tempting than the chance to continue his ‘run of luck’ at the cards, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Exactly, Rotherhithe. I’ve my suspicions about that ‘luck’ too, but we’d need to prove it. I’d prefer that the boy’s own actions expose his less than honourable intentions, if that is what they are, well before Lady Cordelia makes a commitment she may regret.”

  “Indeed, I couldn’t agree more. I would go a long way to protect the Lady’s interests. It seems, then, that I feel a strange inclination for some time at the card tables this evening.”

  The Duke’s wry smile as he spoke brought an answering smile to Setford’s face, and his deep laughter followed the Duke as he stepped back into the ballroom.

  ~~~~~

  As the musicians began to tire from their exertions - and from the effects of the wine that they had consumed so enthusiastically during the evening - the guests began to move in small groups to the spacious drawing room with its comfortable seating, crystal decanters of fine cognac and a scattering of card tables.

  The Ladies were fanning themselves, sipping cordials for refreshment and some of the gentlemen had already taken their seats to play a hand of cards. It was entirely permissible to wager on the outcome of each game and it was widely considered as good sport and an entertaining way to pass an evening.

  Cigars were available and footmen trimmed the fine cheroots and offered tapers to light them as the players settled down to their game.

  Within a half hour, a small crowd had gathered around the table where Fitzhugh was playing, and his luck was drawing gasps of amazement as he won a series of hands and gathered before him an impressive pile of gold coins.

  “Pon my soul, young man, but you have the luck of the Devil himself.”

  A well-dressed nobleman threw down his cards and exclaimed to the onlookers.

  “Five hands in a row and he has taken the prize each time! I have never seen the like. Tis sorcery and black magic! We should summon a bishop to bless the deck.”

  Edward smiled and raised his hands in innocence.

  “Pray, good Sir, it is surely not the work of the Devil but the generous hand of Lady Fortune that favours the draw of the cards. I cannot help the way the cards fall and I do not complain that they seem to work to my advantage. Perhaps it is nothing mo
re than beginner’s luck.”

  His fine words soothed the gentleman’s displeasure and the crowd murmured in approval at the young noble’s display of tact and modesty.

  Just then, the Duke stepped forward and asked if he might take the departing gentleman’s place at the table. The crowd seemed excited at the prospect of watching the great man play a hand of cards. Edward looked up and bowed his head with the utmost courtesy and expressed his delight that the Duke had chosen to honour the game with his presence. Rotherhithe took his seat and placed a small, hand-tooled leather purse upon the green baize of the playing surface.

  “We haven’t been formally introduced. I am Philip Canterwood, Duke of Rotherhithe, and I have the honour to be acquainted with your father.”

  Edward smiled once again and nodded his head in respect as he shuffled the cards.

  “It is an honour, Your Grace, an honour. And, as you are apparently aware, I am Lord Edward Fitzhugh, second son of the Earl of Bolton.”

  Lord Edward quickly dealt the cards under the watchful gaze of the Duke.

  “You enjoy the gaming tables, do you not, young Fitzhugh?”

  “I have played occasionally, Your Grace.”

  “Come, sir. You seem most uncommonly familiar with the cards, for I have rarely seen them shuffled and dealt so expertly.”

  “I may have a minor talent in that direction, Your Grace.”

  “Is that how you spend your time? Playing cards and wagering on the outcome?”

  “As I said, Your Grace, I do play on occasion. But it is for pleasure rather than for the sport or for the winnings.”

  Lord Edward looked up from his cards at that moment and found himself staring into the Duke’s steely eyes, their golden tones darkened to almost black.

  “Judging by the coin you have accumulated this evening, it would seem to be a most profitable pastime for you.”