How to Catch a Devilish Duke: The Disreputable Debutantes

by Bennett, Amy Rose

  Charlie’s brow creased with concern. “I should go so you can get some rest.”

  “Yes, I think that would be best,” conceded Max, not trusting himself to spend any more time alone with Charlie. “Nate informed me earlier that he would leave his carriage here to take you home.”

  Charlie gave a disgruntled snort. “I really must have a talk with my brother,” she muttered before retrieving her discarded shawl. “Men are always complaining about managing females, but I seem to have London’s most managing brother.”

  Max followed her movements, watching as she flipped her hair over one shoulder and wrapped the shawl about herself. “He only wants what’s best for you.”

  She sighed at that. “Yes. You’re right. Well…” She returned to the fireside, and before Max knew what she was about, she slid a hand around his waist, then reached up to kiss his cheek. Her lips brushed so close to his, if he turned his head just a little…

  “Good night, Max,” she murmured, her breath a teasing caress along his jaw. Her fingers lingered at his waist for a moment longer, her gentle touch searing him through the thin silk of his robe. Max forced himself to curl his own hands into fists so he wouldn’t seize her and do what he really wanted to do. What he was beginning to suspect she wanted to do too…

  It was only when the door closed behind her that Max could breathe freely again. He topped up his cognac, tossed it back, then poured another measure.

  Dear God above. What had he got himself into?

  The next few months would be sheer hell. Being so close to Charlie on a regular basis, pretending they were as besotted as a pair of lovebirds, but then not being able to touch her… It made him want to gnash his teeth and howl in frustration. Since he’d assumed his ducal title, being denied something he really wanted was a novel experience for him. And he didn’t like the feeling. Not one little bit. Because it reminded him of times past, when wanting something with a passion was seen as a weakness. When the things he cared about were taken away.

  He poured another cognac to blunt his emotions and dull the pain in his throbbing arm before returning to his favorite chair by the fire.

  The strange thing was, he was certain that sticking to the terms of Charlie’s bargain—avoiding any form of dalliance with other women—wouldn’t be a problem. Because for the first time in his life, ever since that night at the Rouge et Noir Club, he couldn’t seem to think about anyone but Charlie.

  Damn it. Perhaps this inconvenient obsession, this incessant hunger inside him had blazed to life simply because he was being denied forbidden fruit. But if he gave into temptation and seduced Charlie to satisfy his craving, he’d feel so bloody guilty for going against his word, he didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself.

  He might not care deeply about many things, but if he made a promise, he meant to keep it.

  Chapter 9

  Betrothal rings… While not a necessity by any means, who wouldn’t like to be presented with a token of affection to celebrate such a momentous event? A little hint dropped now and again in the vicinity of one’s fiancé certainly couldn’t hurt…

  The Beau Monde Mirror: The Essential Style & Etiquette Guide

  Hastings House, Berkeley Square

  March 30, 1819

  The weather was dismal. Cold and raining, in fact, but Charlie was in good spirits. Well, relatively good spirits, all things considered as she welcomed Sophie into the drawing room to share a spot of tea in the early afternoon.

  “Congratulations on your engagement, darling Charlie,” Sophie cried and gathered her into a warm hug as soon as she entered the room. “Nate shared the good news this morning after Max dropped by on his way here to speak to your father. I’m so, so happy for you. I knew it was meant to be.”

  Yes, she, Lady Charlotte Hastings, was now officially engaged to Maximilian Devereux, the Duke of Exmoor. And Max, true to his word, had visited Hastings House first thing this morning to ask for her father’s blessing and to arrange the marriage contracts. Charlie had only seen her fiancé briefly when her father had summoned her to the library to make sure she did indeed wish to be betrothed to Max.

  When she’d stepped into the room, she’d been assailed by an unexpected bout of breathlessness and uncharacteristic shyness as Max had greeted her with a gentle buss against her temple. Despite the nasty bruise upon his cheek, she’d never seen him looking so handsome, and she wondered if he’d taken extra care with his appearance. His cravat was knotted in such an elaborate design it must have taken his valet an age to tie, and his azure-blue satin waistcoat brought out the color of his eyes to perfection.

  While it was easy to summon a smile for Max, lying to her father, pretending their engagement was genuine and not a “mutually beneficial fixed-term arrangement” was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do in her life. The only way she’d been able to profess that she was as happy as a lark in spring was to remind herself that the subterfuge both she and Max had agreed to perpetuate might help. That it might lessen the damage caused by yesterday’s scandalous Beau Monde Mirror article. Of course, her father’s parliamentary colleagues and their wives would no doubt whisper about the Earl of Westhampton’s thoroughly disreputable, if not entirely dissolute, daughter and her sudden and unlikely elevation. And there would be plenty of speculation about whether the betrothal would last—because how could the Duke of Exmoor truly abide being married to such a wicked, wanton creature? But at least no one would dare to openly sneer or laugh at her father.

  One thing Charlie wouldn’t do, though, was lie to Sophie.

  Once they were settled upon one of the settees by the cheerfully blazing fire with steaming cups of fragrant tea in hand, Charlie gathered her courage. “I have something to confess,” she said carefully. “Something about Max and me.”

  Sophie’s blue eyes shone with excitement. “He made you his own, didn’t he? Last night at Exmoor House? Oh, I’m so thrilled for you, Charlie. I know how long you’ve been dreaming of this—”

  “No, that’s not it,” said Charlie dolefully. “In fact”—she put down her cup and saucer on the low table in front of her—“we didn’t even kiss.”

  “What? Whyever not?” Sophie’s finely drawn black brows dipped into a frown. “Don’t tell me Max wants to do the noble thing and wait until the end of the Season to introduce you to the delights of sexual congress? To be perfectly honest, I’m not even certain why you both want to wait so long to get married. A special license would be easy enough for him to procure.”

  Charlie sighed and fiddled with the gold fringing on the end of her paisley shawl. “There is a reason,” she said. Drawing a steadying breath, she continued, “As much as I hate to admit such a thing, I can’t pretend everything is all moonlight and roses. Max and I have agreed to enter into a faux engagement.”

  Sophie’s mouth dropped open. “What?” Her cup clattered against its saucer as she too put down her tea. “Surely you jest.”

  Charlie had to blink away a sudden rush of tears. “Oh, my dear friend. With all my heart, I wish I was.” She confessed all to Sophie in a great breathless, watery outpouring of what had transpired the night before and all the details of her and Max’s arrangement. That Nate knew about the transactional nature of it, but their father didn’t. And that at the end of the Season, it was up to her to decide if she was ready to settle for a marriage of convenience or wanted to end things. If it was the latter, she intended to scarper off to the Continent with Aunt Tabitha in the hope that her broken heart would mend faster with a complete change of scenery.

  At the end, Sophie’s eyes were darting blue fire. “I’m speechless, Charlie. I can’t believe that your brother…that my husband…” She closed her eyes and started again, “That Nate would deign to meddle in your affairs. Ugh.” She leapt to her feet and began pacing back and forth across the hearthrug, her skirts flaring and swirling about her ankles in agitated fury. “And Max. Chivalry is all well and good, but surely he knows how you feel ab
out him. It’s cruel of him to dangle the thing you want so badly right in front of you but never let you have it.” She stopped and folded her arms over her chest. “I’m cross with him too. Why are men such idiotic asses at times?”

  “Max doesn’t know how I feel,” said Charlie. “Last night I lied to him. I told him he wasn’t the duke of my dreams. That when I wrote that list, I was simply musing about some imaginary nobleman like all young women do. Because I really couldn’t bear it if Max knew the truth. He might care about me a little—well, enough to care about defending my honor—but he doesn’t love me.”

  Sophie pinned her with a narrow look. “Balderdash. I think he must care about you quite a lot, Charlie. He didn’t have to help you when you were trying to retrieve your notebook. He didn’t have to call Rochfort out. Fighting a duel is not a trifling matter. And when I return home, I intend to tell Nate that he must mind his own business and stop warning Max off.”

  Charlie sighed. “The problem is, I’m beginning to think Nate has a point. Perhaps he has good reason to be concerned that Max and I don’t suit. Yes, all things considered, I think it’s best to be circumspect. I’ve been smitten with Max since I was sixteen years old, and for years I’ve held onto the hope that one day he would confess that he loves me too. That he’s simply been waiting for the right time to tell me. But six years have passed, and if he wasn’t able to declare his feelings for me last night and offer a genuine marriage proposal, will he ever be ready to do so? I’m afraid it’s time for me to face the cold hard truth, Sophie. I want a love match. A Grand Passion. But my love for Max is unrequited. And I fear it always will be so.”

  “Oh, my dear friend. Please don’t despair.” Sophie returned to Charlie’s side upon the settee. “You’ve given me, Arabella, and Olivia such sage advice in the past. You know as well as I that falling in love can be a frightening prospect for a rakehell. Perhaps Max just needs a little more time. If he stops seeing you as Nate’s little sister, someone he can’t have, who knows what might happen?” She clasped Charlie’s hands in hers and squeezed them. “Promise me that you will not give up,” she said fiercely. “You have three whole months to nudge Max in the right direction and help him realize he’s being an absolute dunderhead. And if he doesn’t…”

  Charlie summoned a smile. “If he doesn’t, I have a Grand Tour to look forward to and new horizons to explore.”

  “Exactly,” said Sophie.

  A tray of afternoon tea things arrived; Charlie had again succumbed to the temptation of ordering a box of tiny cakes and pastries from Gunter’s. One of the footmen also bore a gilt-edged missive.

  Curiosity nipped at Charlie as she picked up the thick cream sheet of parchment from the silver salver. The blood-red wax seal bore the Dowager Duchess of Exmoor’s coat of arms. She worried at her lower lip.

  “Is everything all right? Who is it from?” asked Sophie anxiously.

  “It’s from Max’s mother,” said Charlie. She didn’t know whether to open the letter or cast it into the fire. “She hates me, you know.”

  “Hates you?” Sophie frowned. “I could understand that she might be a bit standoffish, considering all the gossip she’s no doubt heard. But surely she doesn’t really hate you.”

  “Well, I’m certain she does. For one thing, I’m not perfect like Lady Penelope Purcell.” Charlie explained that according to Max, Lady Penelope had been at the top of his mother’s list of this Season’s most eligible debutantes. And how she’d called Charlie an impudent hussy when she’d dropped by Exmoor House to see how Max was faring after the duel.

  “Max made her apologize, but as you might expect, I’m a little nervous about opening anything written by her. Who knows, maybe she’s used poisoned ink to pen her poisonous words.”

  Sophie laughed. “I can fetch some kid gloves if you like.”

  “No, it’s all right.” Charlie sighed. “I’m just prevaricating because I’m nervous.” She cracked the seal and unfolded the parchment. “It’s…an invitation. She’d like me to join her and her daughter-in-law, Diana, for afternoon tea at Devereux House next week.” She looked up at Sophie. “Do you really think she’s offering me an olive branch?”

  “One would hope so,” said Sophie. “She is a duchess, and as your future mother-in-law, it’s the right thing for her to do. And you’ll never know unless you attend.”

  “Very true,” agreed Charlie. “And I would like to meet Diana. It’s sad indeed that she lost her husband at such a young age. I believe she and Max’s older brother, Anthony, were only married for two years before he passed away.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Sophie. “At the risk of being insensitive, do you know what happened?”

  “Only the scantest details. According to Nate, it was a riding accident. Anthony received a nasty blow to the head when he fell from his horse.”

  “How utterly tragic,” murmured Sophie.

  “Yes.” Charlie twisted her teacup back and forth on its saucer. “You and I both know how much the loss of our older brother, Thomas, affected Nate. The circumstances are different, of course, but I do wonder how grief might have changed Max. He always conveys such a cool, unruffled air and is a master of using charm and humor to deflect how he really feels. Even though I’ve known him for years, in many ways, I don’t really know him at all.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “He’s quite adept at keeping me at arm’s length, and he seems determined to keep on doing so.”

  Sophie’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she picked up her tea. “Come now, Charlie. One thing you’ve never lacked is spirit. Or guile. I’m sure you can change his mind. As I suggested earlier, you’ll just have to help him see you in a different light.”

  When Max arrived back at Hastings House midafternoon, he discovered he was uncharacteristically tense; his stomach was in knots, and his pulse was elevated. It was a most disconcerting sensation. If he discounted his entire childhood or how he’d felt before entering the fray of battle, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d experienced such a bout of nerves. But here he was, lingering in the vestibule of Hastings House, procrastinating because—he eyed himself sternly in a gilt-edged mirror by the drawing room door—because he didn’t trust himself to do the right thing when he was alone with Charlie, despite his promise to her brother. All day he’d been thinking about her and all the things they could do if this were a real engagement…

  But it wasn’t real. He wasn’t a besotted fiancé. He was… He passed a hand through his rain-damp hair, adjusted the folds of his cravat, and scowled. He was confused, and he didn’t like the feeling. At all.

  Telling himself he was wasting time and that he simply needed to wrest back the reins and take control—he was a twenty-eight-year-old duke, for God’s sake, not a lust-ridden adolescent—he drew a deep breath and indicated to the footman waiting nearby that he could knock on the drawing room door.

  A young maid opened it almost immediately. “Edwards…” she said, addressing the young footman. “Oh, I mean, Your Grace.” She blushed and bobbed a curtsy.

  “Who is it, Molly?” called Charlie. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  “I hope you don’t mind receiving an impromptu morning call from your fiancé,” replied Max as he entered the room. Charlie was sitting by the fire with her sister-in-law. “My dear Sophie.” He tilted into a gentlemanly bow before adding, “I apologize for the intrusion, dear ladies. I can return to speak with you later, Charlie, if you would prefer.”

  “Oh.” Charlie put down her teacup with a clatter and rose to her feet. “Oh, Max, what a lovely surprise. And no, you don’t need to leave. Please come and join us for tea.”

  “Actually…” Sophie stood too. “I should be on my way. I can’t bear to leave Thomas for too long. He’s been a little fractious of late.” She reached for Charlie’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Remember what we talked about,” she said in a low voice. Turning to Max, she smiled. “And before I depart, may I offer you my heartfelt congratulations on your engagement
, Max? Nate shared the wonderful news with me this morning. And I, for one, happen to think you two are perfectly matched.” She winked at Charlie. “I will speak with you soon.”

  Charlie elegantly subsided onto the settee and patted the vacant space next to her. “Come and sit, Max, and I shall pour you some tea. Or would you prefer coffee?”

  “Ah, tea is perfectly fine.”

  “Are you certain? It’s no trouble at all. Molly…” Charlie addressed the maid who was waiting by the door. “Please go to the kitchen and ask Cook to send up a pot of coffee for His Grace, just in case he changes his mind. Then I’d like you to return to my rooms and finish mending the flounce on the leaf-green sprigged muslin. I’d like to wear it this evening. I’ll ring if I need you.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The maid curtsied, then promptly quit the room.

  Charlie began to prepare his tea just the way he liked it. “Why are you hovering over there, Max?” She looked up and gave him a mischievous grin. “I won’t bite, you know.”

  He laughed at that. Crossing the room, he claimed the opposite settee; he’d have selected the nearby wingchair, but Charlie’s impudent cat, Peridot, was curled up on the seat. “My reluctance to sit by you has less to do with my fear of being bitten and more to do with the fact it’s been raining all day and I’m concerned my muddy boots might stain the hem of your lovely gown.” And indeed it was lovely; the light apricot silk was the perfect foil for her creamy skin and chestnut hair.

  “All right, your compliment makes up for the snub,” she replied and dropped a lump of sugar into his tea before stirring it. “How is your arm?”