To Dance with the Dangerous Duke: Clean Regency Romance (The Nettlefold Chronicles Book 2)

by Arietta Richmond

  She had thought, in the seconds after he had collided with her, as she revelled in the sensation of his arms holding her, that he was going to kiss her. Which would, she supposed, be thoroughly in line with his reputation as a rake. But he hadn’t. She rather wished that he had. The idea was thrilling – not because she had never been kissed – for she had – but because she wanted a comparison. She suspected that a kiss from this man would be in a whole different class from the kisses she had received from Banfield.

  She had repressed her disappointment when he had released her, and resorted to rather inane conversation. The question about London was the only thing which had come to her mind, which might allow her to keep conversing with him. For she did not want this moment to end. This was her chance to discover more about him, to perhaps begin to understand what was hidden in the depths of those brown eyes. She forced her breathing to steadiness, and considered his question – what did she want to know?

  “I do not care much about fashion, I will admit – a good gown is essential, but I cannot make myself care deeply about every tiny detail. I am far more interested in people – which people are ‘in fashion’ now, and why? What fads have taken the interest of the ton? And the truth of the character and condition of those supposedly eligible gentlemen. I would not like to find myself being courted by a man who had gambled everything away, or one whose character was cruel or utterly uncaring for others.”

  He appeared to contemplate her words in all seriousness, which somewhat surprised her. Men rarely did, except for Garrett. They usually cared more for her body than her mind.

  For a short while, there was no sound beyond the crunch of their feet on the icy gravel of the path. Everything seemed amplified – the sound, the scent of him – some mix of warm exotic spices, the like of which she had never smelled before – and the thunderous beat of her own heart. Eventually he spoke again.

  “You, Lady Isabelle, are an unusual woman. I feared that you might hope for an insight into fashion, but you have confounded me with a question better suited to a politician. I cannot inform you of the state of the affairs of every eligible man of the ton, but I can certainly mention a few whose pockets are to let, or whose… personal characteristics… would make then undesirable for any woman seeking a husband who might provide her with some happiness in life.”

  “I will take that as a compliment, Your Grace.” She thought a moment, tempted to say something which was, by all measures, rather outrageous. Why not? This man appeared to be so far from what she had previously experienced, that he might well give her an honest response. “I will be most happy to hear the details of who to avoid. But I must say, Your Grace, with no disrespect, that, based on the snippets of gossip which have reached me here in the country, I might have concluded that you belonged on the list of men a young woman might be better to avoid.”

  He turned those deep brown eyes on her, his expression startled, as they came to an abrupt stop on the path. For a moment, she thought she saw sadness there, or bitterness of some kind. Then that was brushed aside by humour. He smiled – a smile which transformed his face, and lit his eyes – then burst into laughter.

  “Lady Isabelle, you are a delight. Honesty is rare, and to be valued. You are probably correct – I should be on that list. A large number of those rumours are at least based on truth, if not wholly true. But I will assert the fact that my character is not so terrible. I am not cruel, although the young ladies I refuse to pursue might say otherwise, and I do not lack in courtesy, or in funds. But the rumours of duels… and other things… yes, they are based in truth.”

  “So, you are not the inveterate gambler that it was suggested you were?”

  “No, indeed, I rarely gamble much. For a few months, early this year, yes. But I found it, shall we say, an ineffective distraction. So I stopped. I am not like Lord James Richards, or Lord Chatterton, who spend all of their days gambling and carousing. Those two would be at the top of my list to avoid.”

  Isabelle was glad that they stood still, for if they had been walking, she would have stumbled. He knew Lord James Richards – Banfield’s brother. And if he knew Lord James, then he likely knew that whole set. Which was a terrifying thing to realise. Even if Dangerfield was not really one of them, if he knew them, then… there was chance that he had seen her in London, and seen her in the worst possible place of all – the place where she had absolutely not been meant to be, and if knowledge leaked out of that, she was ruined. She did not think that anyone but Banfield and his staff had seen her there… but she could not be sure.

  Fear coiled in her, and she drew back from him. He was no longer simply an intriguing man. For her, he truly was the heart of danger.

  She smiled, a rather strained smile, and nodded.

  “I am glad to hear that you are not so much a reprobate as you have been painted, Your Grace.” She made her voice light, and turned to begin walking back to the house. “I really should be away to prepare for the day. But should you be prepared to provide me with a further list of those to avoid, I would welcome it.”

  “I will endeavour to do so, my Lady.”

  ~~~~~

  Chester Nonningham, Marquess of Scarpdale, stood at the French doors of the morning room in Kilmerstan Castle, staring out at the wintry gardens. He had just arrived for Kilmerstan’s house party, after a tiring journey. Coming towards the house through the gardens was a young woman. He licked his lips at the sight – she was as beautiful as she had been, when he had first glimpsed her at Owlfege Manor near London, some six months past.

  If his plan went as he hoped, she would be his before Christmas, and his financial woes would be resolved. If he was going to marry for money, he might as well get the pleasure of a beauty in his bed as well. And he had the perfect leverage to force her to accept his offer. Smiling, a smile that could not be described as pleasant, he turned from the window to seek the warmth of the fire.

  Chapter Four

  When Isabelle returned to her rooms after the morning walk in the gardens, her heart was pounding, and she felt rather faint. What was she to do? What if Dangerfield had seen her in London? What if he remembered doing so? She changed into a gown suitable for the day, and decided that she could not face going downstairs yet. She settled in an armchair by the window. She had intended to read, but the book lay in her lap untouched, and she stared blindly out at the landscape. Her mind was filled with imagined situations, in which Dangerfield revealed her secrets before everyone.

  But those imaginings were interspersed with ones in which he kissed her, as he had almost done by the hedge. Surely, she was mad, to think of such things! He was the most dangerous man alive for her, and she should keep well away, not imagine kissing him!

  But she could not stop herself. He was handsome, listened to her, did not treat her as stupid, and did not ogle her breasts and ignore her face, as so many men did.

  He was the most fascinating man that she had ever met, and his rakish reputation, and dark brooding, dangerous manner, made him even more so.

  After some time, there came a tap at her door.

  “Isabelle?”

  It was Eugenia.

  “Come in, Eugenia.”

  The door opened, and Eugenia slipped in, and came to sit in the other chair.

  “Isabelle, are you well? Why are you hiding away up here? More guests are arriving all the time.”

  Isabelle looked at her sister, and struggled to find words that might make her go away and let Isabelle not have to deal with the day. There really was nothing she could say – not that she could expect Eugenia to accept, anyway.

  “Yes, I’m well. I just… wanted some peace and quiet before the rest of the busy week happens.”

  “Oh Isabelle! I really don’t understand why you don’t find this exciting! I can’t imagine avoiding it. But if you really want some time away from it, before it gets too busy, why don’t you go to visit Marguerite for a few hours? It’s not that far, and she always likes your company.�
�

  Isabelle stared at her sister for a moment, rather taken aback by the fact that Eugenia had come up with such a good solution. Every few hours spent away from the Castle was more time when she could not be recognised, could not be ruined by careless words.

  “What a wonderful idea! Will you ask Warton to get the carriage brought around?”

  “Of course.”

  Eugenia went out to do just that, and Isabelle rang for Betsy. Soon, dressed warmly, and with Betsy accompanying her, she slipped down the back stairs and out to the stableyard, where the carriage waited, away from the chaos of arrivals at the front of the house.

  ~~~~~

  By early afternoon, the number of guests who had arrived at Kilmerstan Castle had doubled. Lyon knew many of them, but thankfully, most of those were not close acquaintances, nor were they of the set who had seen him at his worst, after Josephine had thrown him over.

  Still, there were a few less salubrious types, and he wondered how they had come to be invited. Perhaps Kilmerstan did not know them very well?

  He stood near the window of the parlour, looking out at the front drive, where even more carriages were to be seen arriving. This was going to be a crush, by the night of the Ball. In the room, people gathered in small groups, cups of mulled wine in hand – old friends catching up, others being introduced to people they had not previously met. Lyon was alone, as he preferred it.

  It was always better to observe others than put up with gossip and inane conversation. His stern expression and dark brooding looks seemed adequate to keep people away.

  He drank sparingly, allowing the heated, spiced wine to warm him, and considered the room, wondering who he should warn Lady Isabelle about. He almost laughed at that thought – here he was, having met the woman yesterday, and spoken to her twice, and yet he had almost kissed her that morning, and now was assessing men for her protection! He was, obviously, mad. But he continued with his assessment.

  Only one of those present was truly of some concern. Scarpdale. Perhaps Lyon was biased, but he could not like the man at all. As far as he knew, Scarpdale’s pockets were to let – so far that a trail of those he owed money to lay behind him, all becoming progressively more pointed about his need to pay. The man thought himself charming, but Lyon found him overly obsequious in his manner to women, and rude in his dealings with men. He shuddered, and turned his eyes elsewhere, back to contemplation of the minor chaos of carriages at the front of the Castle.

  ~~~~~

  When Isabelle returned to Kilmerstan Castle, feeling far more composed and able to face the guests, she changed again, into a gown which always made her look her best, had Betsy put her hair to rights, and went down to the parlour.

  It was crowded, full of people who had arrived that morning. Many of them were people she did not know, and she quailed a little inside at the risk inherent in simply walking into the room. But she could not let fear of something which might never happen rule her life. She walked over to where Garrett stood, speaking to some of the new arrivals. He turned to her, smiling.

  “Isabelle – I wondered when you would appear! Let me introduce you to some of our newly arrived guests.” Garrett half turned back to the man he had been talking to. “Lady Isabelle Rutherford, may I present Chester Nonningham, the Marquess of Scarpdale. Scarpdale, Lady Isabelle, my sister.”

  “Charmed.”

  The man took her hand, and bowed over it, with just too much flourish. His eyes ran over her body, as if she was a horse at Tattersall’s, and he a potential buyer. She felt that look, as if a hand had touched her, and shivered slightly. He smiled, and the smile reminded her of a dog baring its teeth before biting.

  “Lord Scarpdale. I don’t believe that we’ve met before?”

  She was quite certain that they hadn’t, and was glad of it.

  “Lady Isabelle, are you certain of that? When I saw you, I had the feeling that I knew you, that we had met before – in London, perhaps?”

  A chill ran through her, like ice. His watery blue eyes met hers, and she saw something in them that terrified her. He knew. In that instant, she was utterly certain of it. What might he want? Why was he being so indirect? She took a deep breath, and forced herself to be calm.

  “I don’t believe so, Lord Scarpdale, for I have barely been near London in two years, and have not been to any social events there. You must be mistaking me for someone else.”

  He shook his head, as if disappointed.

  “But, my dear lady, I am quite sure it was you… Perhaps you will remember… later.”

  “Perhaps.”

  At that moment, Garrett rescued her, bringing forward another man to introduce – an older gentleman, the Earl of Ballymill, who was all bright cheerfulness. She spoke to him for some time, about horses, and the weather – but she could feel Lord Scarpdale’s eyes upon her, the whole time.

  The fear settled into her, an icy ball in her stomach, a cold hand clenching her heart. As she finally turned away from Lord Ballymill, she looked desperately for someone safe to talk to. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Scarpdale moving towards her. How was she to survive this week – for now there were two men who could expose her with a few words, and ruin her. Her sanity felt fragile in that moment, and it was all that she could do not to run from the room.

  ~~~~~

  Lyon had watched as Lady Isabelle entered the room, finding himself unable to look away from her as she walked to her brother. She was so stunningly beautiful, and so seemingly unaffected about it. She did not attempt to use it to attract the men around her – although his were not the only eyes that followed her.

  Were it not for what had happened with Josephine… no! He would not expose himself to such pain again. But he could not drag his eyes away. When she reached Kilmerstan, the man he had been speaking to turned, and Lyon realised that it was Scarpdale. It seemed that Kilmerstan performed the introductions, for Scarpdale bowed over her hand, with an excessive flourish.

  Lyon discovered that he had clenched his teeth at the sight. He forced the tension from him, eased the grip he had on his cup of wine, and swallowed a sizeable gulp. It was just that he disliked the man, nothing more. That was surely enough to warrant this sudden impulse he felt, to protect Lady Isabelle from the reprobate.

  It seemed that they spoke a few words, then he saw Lady Isabelle tense – for a few seconds, she was completely still, and her face paled – what had Scarpdale said? Lyon forced himself not to rush across the room. But he continued to watch. Moments later, Kilmerstan drew Lady Isabelle aside to introduce her to Ballymill – who was a harmless and fairly charming older man, whose wife of many years was an invalid.

  Lyon breathed a sigh of relief, but that sensation was short lived, destroyed in an instant when he saw Scarpdale’s face, as he watched Lady Isabelle move away from him. Scarpdale looked… predatory. There was no other word for it. Before he was even aware of moving, Lyon found himself halfway across the room. He slowed, and chose a spot closer to the fire, as if simply wanting greater warmth – but it put him closer to Lady Isabelle than Scarpdale was.

  Ten minutes later, he was glad that he had moved. For Ballymill went off to talk to a group of older men who had just arrived, and Lady Isabelle turned, her expression almost hunted, and looked around. When she saw Scarpdale, who had immediately begun to move towards her, that expression changed. What he saw on her face looked like raw fear – but why? He could not bear it. Quickly, he stepped forward, into her path, reaching her before Scarpdale could. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scarpdale pause, and scowl. Interesting.

  Lady Isabelle’s eyes widened as he appeared before her, and for a moment, that fear was present again – not so strongly as when she had looked at Scarpdale, but still… what had he done to deserve that look? He found that it hurt to have her look at him that way. Then the look was gone, replaced by what seemed a genuine smile.

  “Your Grace. Delightful to see you again. I trust that your morning ride did not lea
ve you too chilled?”

  So, it was to be bland conversation. So be it – anything was worth it, to save her from a cad of a man like Scarpdale. As Lyon thought that, a bitter twist of dark amusement ran through him – for all of the things that were rumoured of him, were true of Scarpdale, but more so – well, apart from the duels – in that area, his reputation rather exceeded Scarpdale’s, for the man was too much of a coward to fight. It was as if the wolf was protecting the hare from the fox.

  “Not at all, my Lady. Invigorated, rather than chilled. But that may have been as much the conversation as the ride.”

  Her eyebrows rose, and a half smile came to her lips. His own breathing came easier, as she relaxed. But damn it all – he was flirting! He had not meant to, but with Lady Isabelle, it seemed that he could not help himself.

  “You flatter, Your Grace. But I will allow it – this time. I do not generally find flattery to hold much truth…”

  “I do not generally flatter, unless there is truth to use…”

  Chapter Five

  As soon as she could, Isabelle escaped the parlour, carefully choosing a moment when Lord Scarpdale was engaged in a conversation and looking away from her. She slipped down the hallway to the back of the house, and let herself into the private family conservatory which was attached to the back wall of the building. The scent of growing things assailed her, and she closed the door behind her before standing still, and simply breathing it in.

  This was one of her favourite places, especially in winter, when the heated air that kept the plants alive made it a wonderful place to be. She dropped onto the bench which sat beside the lemon trees, and allowed herself to feel the fear that she had been holding in since the moment that Lord Scarpdale had been introduced to her. She shook, and tears came to her eyes. She let them fall for a few minutes, until the shaking stopped. Then, resolute, she drew out her handkerchief and wiped them away. She could not permit fear to rule her. But what was she to do? She had the terrible feeling that Scarpdale not only knew, but fully intended to use that knowledge.