How to Catch a Devilish Duke: The Disreputable Debutantes

by Bennett, Amy Rose

  “Sore, but no worse than yesterday, so I’m beginning to think there might be some merit to Lady Langdale’s unconventional treatment. Thank you.” Max reached out to accept his cup of tea from Charlie, but he nearly dropped it when his gaze accidentally fell on her spectacular bust. As she leaned across the table, the scooped neckline of her gown gaped lower, revealing a great deal more than he’d expected.

  Good Lord. Max hastily looked away and focused his attention on taking a sip of tea. Had Charlie decided to play the part of minx today? When he dared to look up, she was smiling at him innocently enough, although her fingers were toying with a heart-shaped gold locket that sat just below her collarbones. Hmm, she wasn’t as naive as most tonnish misses, so perhaps she was deliberately drawing attention to her décolletage again just to tease him. She’d never done so before, but then he recalled the provoking kiss that she’d brushed against the corner of his mouth last night. The way her small hand had lingered upon his waist…

  He took another, larger sip of tea.

  “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” asked Charlie as she reached for a plate of tiny cakes and leaned even farther across the table to offer him one. Her gown’s neckline sagged even wider, and Max nearly choked.

  Now, that couldn’t have been an accident. Max swallowed hard and cleared his throat before selecting a tiny iced cake with a glacé cherry on top. “I wanted to let you know that our engagement will be announced in tomorrow’s papers across Town, so everyone will know it’s official.”

  “Oh…” She cast her gaze downward, then sipped her own tea. “I’m glad. I imagine there will be quite a to-do at first, and many will look askance at me, wondering why on earth the Duke of Exmoor proposed to the disreputable Lady C.”

  “No doubt there will be whispers,” said Max, placing the untouched cake on a nearby china plate. “But everyone also adores a love story and a happy ending. It’s my hope that the gossips will soon be twittering away about how romantic it all is. That the disreputable Lady C. did indeed catch her duke. And to that end”—Max reached into the inner breast pocket of his tailcoat and withdrew a small box covered in dark red velvet—“I hope you will accept this small token of my esteem and affection. And when you wear it, no one will be able to dispute the fact that you are the Duke of Exmoor’s fiancée.”

  Charlie placed her cup on its saucer very carefully. Her eyes glowed like sunlit honey as she took the box from him. “My goodness, Max. I certainly didn’t expect anything like this. You’ve already done so much for me. More than enough.”

  “Open it,” he said with a grin. “Tell me what you think.”

  Charlie removed the lid, then gasped with delight. “Oh, Max. It’s divine.” With trembling fingers, she removed the enormous rose-cut diamond ring from its bed of white satin and slipped it onto her ring finger. It was a perfect fit. “You really shouldn’t have,” she murmured, her gaze connecting with his across the table. “But thank you.”

  Max shifted restlessly in his seat. He’d never given such an extravagant and meaningful gift to anyone before, and it was a novel sensation. His chest seemed to be flooded with a strange warmth. “I know betrothal rings aren’t all that common, but as I said, I think it’s important that everyone knows you’re mine.”

  Except she isn’t really. This isn’t a real engagement, he reminded himself.

  Although the way Charlie was smiling, a petal-pink blush blooming across her cheeks, it almost felt real. But not quite. Because if this was a genuine betrothal, he would have slipped the ring onto Charlie’s finger, and, muddy boots or not, he would be beside her right at this moment, capturing her face in his hands and kissing her generous mouth until they were both breathless. And then he would gently push aside the curls grazing her neck and taste the warm silken flesh where her pulse fluttered. He’d slide her gown off her shoulder, and after he’d whispered in her ear exactly what he’d like to do to her next, he’d push her down upon the cushions and make slow, sweet love—

  Jesus Christ. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? Max leaned back in his chair and flexed his suddenly twitchy fingers on his thighs. Fantasies were all well and good, but he wasn’t that man. Could never be that man, a man who “made love”.

  He might be unfailingly loyal to his friends—on occasion he might even seek to right the wrongs that threatened them if it was within his power to do so—but in all other matters, he was a calculating, cold-hearted realist. Unsentimental. Unromantic. He couldn’t afford to be anything else.

  He wouldn’t allow it.

  A footman arrived with a silver coffeepot, and Max breathed a sigh of relief when the man didn’t immediately leave the room. Good. He had time to regroup. Shore up his defenses. Marshal his runaway thoughts into some semblance of order.

  Charlie dispensed a steaming cup of black coffee, and this time he leaned across the table to take it before she could do so.

  “Your mother has invited me to take tea with her and your sister-in-law at Devereux House,” she remarked as she helped herself to a pastry.

  “I’m pleased to see she’s attempting to make amends,” managed Max, suddenly transfixed by the sight of Charlie popping the bite-sized cake into her mouth and chewing it with obvious relish. He sighed inwardly. So much for his resolve to remain unaffected. “She also sent me a note this morning mentioning that she would like to hold a house party at Heathcote Hall to celebrate our engagement. After Easter, when my Parliamentary schedule allows for it.”

  Charlie licked a tiny crumb off her lower lip, and Max almost groaned aloud. “Heathcote Hall?” she said. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

  “It’s a property I own at Hampstead Heath. Although my mother has laid claim to it in recent years. She says it affords her a little escape to the country without having to travel all the way to Exmoor Castle in Devonshire.”

  “It sounds wonderful. Heathcote Hall and the house party.” Charlie’s expression changed, her mouth curving with a knowing temptress’s smile. “You haven’t tried your cake yet. They’re from Gunter’s. I know it’s Lent and I should be good, but sometimes I cannot help being a little wicked.”

  Good God, the minx must be teasing him and with malice aforethought. He didn’t want to think about Charlie being wicked in any way, shape, or form. To satisfy her and distract himself from thinking about his own unsatisfied carnal appetite, he slid the cake into his mouth, and then he did indeed groan aloud. Devil take him, it was good. Damn good. Sinfully good. Rich and bursting with the flavor of almonds, liqueur, and cherries.

  “Would you like another?” she asked, proffering the plate again. “It’s impossible to have just one. These little round ones with the gold leaf on top have a walnut and chocolate-flavored filling inside. They’re pure decadence.”

  Max couldn’t resist and had to agree Charlie was right. “Which one is your favorite?” he asked when he’d finished chewing.

  “Oh, I love them all.”

  “But if you had to choose? Which one would it be?”

  “Hmm.” Charlie idly played with the gold locket again. “That’s a hard question. Gunter’s sometimes makes a lemon and blackberry cake that reminds me of the end of summer. But aside from that, I do adore the almond and cherry ones.”

  A cake that reminded Charlie of the end of summer. Max reached for his coffee cup. He’d never thought about food in such a way before. He enjoyed a good meal, of course, but Charlie seemed to have a keener sense of taste than he did. He was suddenly a little envious of her ability to live in the moment and fully relish the flavor of whatever she ate.

  But that was something he’d always admired about Charlie. Her zest, her passion, her impulsive and mischievous nature. In many ways she was completely opposite to the type of woman he imagined that he would marry one day. Someone like Lady Penelope, his mother’s choice.

  At least his no-strings-attached arrangement with Charlie would save him from that fate.

  “Well”—Max glanc
ed at the Boulle clock upon the mantel—“as much as I would like to tarry away the afternoon with you, I’m afraid I have another appointment.” He wanted his man of affairs to appoint an inquiry agent to begin investigations into the Beau Monde Mirror and to keep an eye on Rochfort. Lord Westhampton had mentioned he’d contemplated suing the paper for libel but had discarded the idea when Charlie had entreated him not to add fuel to scandal’s fire. But that didn’t mean Max couldn’t find out more about the company—its owners and who drove its dubious practices. And he wanted to know more about Lord Rochfort’s finances, of course. It still bothered him that the baron had been extorting property and other assets from his victims for no apparent reason.

  “Oh, no. That’s such a shame,” said Charlie. “But I understand how busy you must be. My father’s hardly ever about for the same reason…” She straightened her shoulders. “Not that I’m complaining. Far from it. When your schedule permits, you must come for dinner. I’ll invite Nate and Sophie too.”

  “Of course.” Max stood. “I would love to.”

  Charlie followed him to the drawing room door. “Thank you again for the betrothal ring.” Her voice was soft as she placed her hand on his arm. “I love it.”

  Before Max could stop himself, he caught her bare fingers and raised them to his lips. Feathered a kiss across her knuckles. Her eyes widened and her lips parted.

  “Max,” she breathed, “I know we agreed that this engagement should be in name only, but—”

  Max squeezed her fingers gently, then released them. “Charlotte, even though I’m not the sort of man who feels tender emotion, I do care enough not to ruin you. It would be wrong to act on my desire if I’m not capable of giving you what you truly want. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. And no doubt your brother would want to castrate me if I did. So, all things considered, I do think it’s best if we keep to the terms of our arrangement.”

  Her gaze hardened then. “And I would counter that what Nate doesn’t know can’t hurt him. I’m a grown woman and quite capable of deciding what risks I’m willing to take. Perhaps you need to think about that, Maximilian Devereux.”

  The door slammed behind him, and Max huffed out a sigh. Damn it. Just as he’d suspected last night, the next few months were going to be harder than he’d originally thought.

  His mouth quirked with a wry smile as he started toward the stairs that would take him to the family’s private suites. A lot harder, judging by the discomfort in his trousers.

  It didn’t take Max long to locate Charlie’s sitting room. He’d been a guest at Hastings House on many occasions in the past, and he knew her rooms weren’t far from Nate’s old bedchamber. Charlie’s maid looked up in surprise when he poked his head around the door.

  “I have just one quick question for you, Molly,” he said. “But you must promise to keep it a secret.”

  Chapter 10

  Spring is in the air!

  Read all about the latest fashions so you can make a splash this Season.

  The Beau Monde Mirror: The Essential Style & Etiquette Guide

  Devereux House, Curzon Street, Mayfair

  April 5, 1819

  The Dowager Duchess of Exmoor’s drawing room was very much like the woman herself, decided Charlie as she made herself sit ramrod straight upon a pinstriped shepherdess chair. The gilt-edged furniture and enormous sash windows were adorned with rich fabrics in shades of wintry blue and ivory, and upon the white marble mantel sat a pair of dazzling crystal vases filled with slender-stemmed hothouse lilies. Even the two footmen stationed by the drawing room doors were attired in blue and ivory livery with gold frogging and gilt buttons.

  Everything was elegant and pleasing to the eye, yet the atmosphere was decidedly chilly.

  “And how do you take your tea, Lady Charlotte? With lemon or without?” asked Cressida Devereux. Her light blue gaze drifted over Charlie before returning to the tea things—a silver urn, an ornate tea caddy, and a fine bone-china teapot precisely arranged before her on the elegant satinwood table.

  With milk and two lumps of sugar, but I can see that’s not on the cards, thought Charlie. It seemed the dowager duchess liked to take Lent very seriously. “With lemon, thank you, Your Grace.”

  “And would you like a Prince of Wales biscuit?” asked Diana Devereux. A maid waiting nearby extended a Spode china plate toward Charlie. “Cressida has these ordered in from Fortnum and Mason.”

  “No, thank you,” replied Charlie politely. The biscuits might be sporting a stamp of the Prince of Wales’s feathered heraldic badge, but they looked plain and dry and hard enough to crack her teeth.

  “They’re very good,” remarked Cressida. “But rest assured, I’m not offended. I understand you might be watching what you eat at the moment.”

  What? Charlie’s mouth almost dropped open. How…how dare Max’s mother suggest she might need to lose weight? And here she was thinking she looked quite fetching in her new day gown of white muslin trimmed with daffodil-hued satin ribbon.

  Lifting her chin, she countered, “More often than not, I find that I need to watch what I say.” And then she inwardly winced.

  Oh, dear. Trading barbs with Cressida was not going to end well. She really should have bitten her tongue.

  Cressida’s mouth curved into a superior smile as she handed Charlie her cup of tea. “Yes, well, that’s hardly surprising. But in all seriousness, I do believe it’s quite sensible that Maximilian has decided you won’t wed until Season’s end. Considering most of the ton already has a…shall we say, certain opinion of you, rushing down the aisle will only reinforce that.” She paused to stir her own cup of tea, quite unnecessarily considering she hadn’t even added lemon to it. “And then, of course, you’ll have several months to lose a few more pounds.” Her gaze flicked over Charlie before she picked up her cup. “I’m sure you’ll want a new wardrobe once you’ve trimmed down a little.”

  This time, Charlie’s mouth did drop open. Heat burned her whole face. My God. Max was wrong, so wrong about his mother.

  She was a spiteful witch. A cow. A…sharp-tongued virago. A bat, and another word that began with “B” and rhymed with her first thought.

  Diana cleared her throat. “Lady Charlotte, I’ve been meaning to ask, who is your modiste? I do love the Mameluke sleeves on your gown. Or are they Marie or Juliette sleeves?” She gave a little laugh. “I can never quite work out the difference. In any case, the style suits you well. And the colors remind me of spring.”

  Charlie swallowed to loosen her tight throat. “Thank you,” she murmured, surprised but grateful indeed that Diana had not only complimented her but had deftly nudged the discussion in a different direction. “And to answer your first question, my modiste is Madame Boucher. Her boutique is in Conduit Street. My aunt, Lady Chelmsford, uses her too.”

  Cressida adjusted the folds of the linen napkin that lay upon her lap. “I have not seen your aunt lately, Lady Charlotte. I trust she is well…?”

  “Exceedingly,” replied Charlie. “Although she’s currently in Bath. Her friend, Lady Kilbride, has been under the weather lately, so she’s following her physician’s recommendation to take the waters there for a few months.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Cressida’s gaze sharpened a little. “I have a memory—and perhaps you can correct me if I’m wrong—but isn’t your aunt a member of that odd little society with rooms somewhere on Park Lane?”

  Odd little society? The nerve of the woman. “I gather you mean the Mayfair Bluestocking Society,” Charlie said. “I’m a member, and most recently my dear friends, the Marchioness of Sleat, Viscountess Malverne, and the Countess of Langdale have become members too.” There, take that.

  “Lady Langdale…” Cressida pursed her lips. “Wasn’t there some dreadful to-do involving her last year? A kidnapping around Seven Dials? I recall reading something in the papers…”

  The dowager duchess was clearly fishing for gossip about Arabella and her new husband
, Gabriel, but Charlie would not divulge a single detail. “Perhaps the article was in relation to her charity work at the Seven Dials Dispensary,” remarked Charlie, hoping to steer the conversation toward a more neutral topic. “Lady Langdale is quite progressive in her thinking. In fact, she’s been working with the Mayfair Bluestocking Society to raise funds for additional dispensaries for the poor here in London. And parish schools for girls. And most recently, she opened a brand-new orphanage in Edinburgh. Aside from supporting philanthropic endeavors, I’m proud to say the society does much to promote the advancement of women. A most worthy cause as well.”

  Cressida made a scoffing noise. “Don’t tell me you’re all proponents of that utterly dreadful woman, Mary Wollstonecraft? The views she espoused in A Vindication of the Rights of Woman are beyond the pale.”

  “Well, I would be lying if I said that we haven’t discussed Mary Wollstonecraft’s views on occasion,” said Charlie. “And with much spirit. I, for one, do believe that all women should receive a sound education. And that we are not intellectually inferior to the male of the species. The Mayfair Bluestocking Society has certainly given its very own members the opportunity to participate in pursuits that are often deemed the sole province of men. Why, I’ve learned to fence and drive a curricle. And on one occasion, when we had an excursion to Putney Heath, we had a pistol-shooting lesson, and I discovered I’m actually quite a good sh—”

  Charlie broke off. Blast and damn and blazing hell. Judging by the pernicious twinkle in Cressida’s eyes, she’d certainly said far too much this time, despite her earlier resolve not to. So much for her pronouncement that she watched what she said.

  Diana sat forward, her soft gray eyes aglow. “That sounds like such fun, Lady Charlotte. I’ve tried my hand at archery in the past, and I consider myself quite a good shot too. If I were a little more daring, I might consider joining the Royal British Bowmen Society.” Turning to her mother-in-law, she added, “Perhaps we can add archery to the list of activities our guests might enjoy during the house party at Heathcote Hall. Of course, if you agree, Lady Charlotte. It is very much your party, after all. Yours and Max’s. I, for one, cannot wait.”