A Duke but No Gentleman (10 page)

Faint praise indeed from a lady who, in her time, had captured the Duke of Trevett's eye and eventually won his heart.

To celebrate Imogene's rise within the
beau monde
, more dresses, bonnets, fans, shoes, and stockings were ordered. A dancing master was employed to refine her dance steps and arms so she moved as if she was one of the nine muses: Terpsichore, the goddess of dance who had stepped down from Mount Olympus with a laurel crown adorning her head and a lyre cradled in her arms.

This evening's amusements would begin at the King's Theater. Imogene and her mother were sharing the theater box with her friend Cassia and her mother, Lady Golding. They were attending the first performance of the opera
Dido, Queen of Carthage.
The music had been composed by a Mr. Storace and the lead character would be played by Madame Mara. Even if not a single gentleman visited their private box, Imogene was too excited to let it ruin her evening.

Cassia inclined her head. “Imogene, is that not Lord Asher?”

To her left, she noticed the gentleman who was partially responsible for her colliding into the Duke of Blackbern. The gentleman raised his hand in greeting. She acknowledged him with a soft smile.

“It is.”

“Oh look, he is leaving his box. I wonder which box he is planning to visit?” Cassia teased.

Lady Golding touched her daughter lightly on the arm with her shut fan. “Even if you know the answer, you and Imogene will display your surprise at his appearance. It is to your advantage not to seem too eager, ladies.”

She turned her attention back to the duchess when Cassia and Imogene nodded.

“I pray Lord Asher will keep his heel off my hem,” Imogene whispered to her friend. “If I go over the balcony, I will do more than tear the hem.”

They giggled, earning a silent warning from the duchess.

Imogene sighed. In London there were so many rules to follow.

*   *   *

Tristan would have preferred to pass the evening at one of his clubs, but his concerns over Norgrave's next move with Lady Imogene left him edgy and in pursuit of his unpredictable friend. A brief stop at the marquess's residence and a chat with the butler revealed that the man had planned to enjoy the theater this evening. Norgrave rarely secured his own private theater box for such occasions because he preferred to circulate from box to box. In the past, Tristan often joined him on these outings, but the wager had turned them into friendly rivals.

The first private box he visited was Jewel Tierney's, since she and Norgrave still managed to have an amiable arrangement even though she was no longer his mistress. The dark-haired courtesan was seated with four female companions. He immediately recognized Eunice, but he was not acquainted with the others. Any man who hoped to have a private introduction to one of Jewel's prot
é
g
é
es would not approach the box until he was invited.

“Good evening, Jewel,” Tristan said, inclining his head. “Ladies. My apologies for intruding, but I am looking for Norgrave. Have you seen him?”

“Your Grace,” Jewel said, extending her hand to establish that they were old friends. She had deliberately used his title to alert her companions that they had captured the attention of a gentleman who was worthy of their interest. “This is a delightful surprise. I have not seen you in months. You have neglected your good friends.”

Eunice was shyly glancing down at her shoes as if she was a young innocent who was too overcome with excitement to gaze into the eyes of a potential suitor. She played the role quite well. Tristan might have been fooled if the young courtesan had not proven she was quite skilled with her mouth.

“Alas, I have had little time for amusements,” he said apologetically, his voice laced with feigned regret. There were other gentlemen who would claim these women for the evening, and he had no intention of ruining their prospects by rudely dismissing them.

Jewel frowned as she studied his face. “You work too hard, Blackbern. Perhaps you would like to sit with us. The five of us could undoubtedly help you forget your burdens.”

Tristan laughed. “Of that, I have no doubt,” he said, recalling past evenings that he had enjoyed with Jewel and her friends. The woman knew how to cloud a man's head with lust and leave him pleasantly exhausted. “Unfortunately, I must regretfully decline since I must find Norgrave.”

Jewel arched her right brow. “What if I could direct you to Norgrave? Once your business with him has concluded, you and the marquess would be most welcome in my private box.”

Her catlike grin let him know that the courtesan was not referring to the theater.

“You are very generous, Jewel.” If he gave her any encouragement, he could spend a very invigorating evening in her bed. “Once I find our friend, I will mention your invitation.”

She pouted at his polite rejection. Jewel had made several attempts to coax him back into her bed, but he had lost interest years ago when they had parted ways. “Very well. If you direct your gaze up one tier and to the right, you will see him.”

Tristan nodded, his gaze already searching the dimly lit theater boxes.

However, it wasn't Norgrave who caught and held his gaze, it was Lady Imogene. Delight washed through him like a tropical breeze. It cooled when he recognized one of the women as the Duchess of Trevett. He was unfamiliar with the other ladies seated on either side of her.

The ladies were not alone.

Four male admirers had charmed their way into the private box. Although they were being respectful and engaging of the women, Tristan suspected that all of them were there for Imogene. He recognized them, but it was one gentleman in particular that had him gnashing his teeth.

Norgrave.

That lying bastard!

What was the point of setting ground rules if the man intended to ignore them?

“Is something amiss, Your Grace?” Jewel asked, using her gilt scissors-glasses to peer at the private theater box that he was glowering at. “Who is the owner of the box?”

Jewel only concerned herself with the gentlemen of the
beau monde
.

Unaware if Norgrave had confided in the courtesan about the wager, Tristan preferred to avoid mentioning Lady Imogene's name. “The Duchess of Trevett is likely the owner,” he said carefully, watching for any signs of recognition.

He saw none.

“It appears our Norgrave aspires higher than his rank,” Jewel said, unconcerned how it might influence her relationship with the marquess.

“He always has,” Tristan replied, his gaze lingering on Norgrave. “I will give him your regards, Jewel.” He inclined his head, ignoring the look of disappointment that flashed in Eunice's eyes. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”

Tristan left the courtesans' box, and was not surprised that several gentlemen were waiting just beyond the closed curtains for admittance. His first inclination was to head directly to the duchess's private theater box and separate Lady Imogene from the marquess. Norgrave was not to be trusted. It was a flaw he was intimately acquainted with, but the stakes seemed significantly higher.

He had no intention of letting his friend win this wager.

Indignation carried him halfway to the private theater box before logic overruled his anger. His steps slowed. He did not have to ruin Norgrave's plans. The dragon—uh, Her Grace—would ensure no harm would come to her daughter. The duchess was too shrewd to be swayed by Norgrave's considerable charm. Imogene was safe from his friend's machinations for the moment.

The marquess had done him a favor. If he could break the rules, so would Tristan.

He smiled in anticipation.

*   *   *

The realization that her life was about to change began at breakfast when their butler, Sandwick, brought in a bouquet of roses from Lord Asher. Thirty minutes later, a bouquet of chrysanthemums from Mr. Scropes arrived, followed by a basket of fruit from Lord Coddington, and a single rose from Lord Barrentine.

“You carried yourself well last evening, daughter,” the duchess had told her as she read the notes sent with each token of affection. “Your father will be pleased when he learns that Lord Coddington has formally declared his interest in you.”

The earl was a distant cousin of the King, and his father was a friend of her mother's family. Imogene had known the gentleman since she was a child, but he had always treated her as if she was an irritating younger sister. Until the basket arrived, she had assumed his brief visit to their private theater box had been based on nothing more than friendship.

Leaving her mother and sister to their morning repast, Imogene left the breakfast room so she could ponder these new developments in private. Sandwick managed to catch her before she reached the stairs.

“Another bouquet has arrived for you, my lady.”

Imogene was about to instruct the butler to give her mother the bouquet, when curiosity got the better of her. There had been one other gentleman who had lingered in their private box.

The Marquess of Norgrave.

He had flirted with all of the ladies, but she caught him staring at her numerous times. Had he also sent her flowers?

“Is there a note or card, Sandwick?” She glanced at the bouquet. Her admirer must have emptied one of the flower carts in Covent Garden. The butler's arms were filled with gladiolus, rhododendrons, bleeding hearts, roses, freesia, and geraniums. “Never mind, you have enough to manage. I will get the card.”

A slow smile spread across her face as she glanced at the calling card. The bouquet was not from Lord Norgrave as she had assumed. It was from the Duke of Blackbern. He had scribbled something on the back of the card.

Have you taken a drive through Hyde Park?
I will come for you at one o'clock.

—B

“Presumptuous,” she muttered to herself, though she had half expected to see him at Lord Norgrave's side.

“Is something wrong, my lady?” the butler inquired.

“No … it is nothing,” Imogene assured the servant. “It appears I have an engagement this afternoon.”

*   *   *

“Have I mentioned how much I appreciate a lady who is prompt?” Blackbern said three hours later as they entered the park.

“During our brief acquaintance, I do not believe the subject has come up,” Imogene said, still dwelling on the duke's reaction when she descended the staircase. She was wearing her new carriage dress and bonnet, and the masculine focus in his eyes had warmed her blood and sent her heart racing.

“I tend to get distracted when a lady is wiggling on top of me,” he said dryly. The corners of his mouth curled as she huffed and sputtered over his outrageous remark. “Nevertheless, I would have eventually gotten to the finer points.”

“I wish you would stop referring to our accident as something wanton,” Imogene said. This time the warmth creeping up her neck was embarrassment. “You make it sound as if I deliberately ambushed you.”

“It was a memorable encounter,” he said, the source of her discomfort sounding too pleased with himself. “I have never had a lady throw herself at me in such a manner.”

“Good grief,” she exclaimed. “What will it take to make you stop mentioning it? My mother—”

“A kiss.”

Imogene gaped at him. She could not have heard him correctly. “Your Grace—” she began.

“You asked my price,” Blackbern reminded her as he signaled the horses to halt. Still grasping the reins, he met her stunned gaze. “I must admit that I enjoy teasing you, but if you wish me to stop, you must silence me with a kiss.”

“No.”

“A simple kiss. What is the harm, Lady Imogene?” he asked, sounding as if he demanded kisses from every female who crossed his path.

The notion of kissing the duke made her tremble. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. She thought of his full, firm lips pressing against her mouth. Unconsciously, she licked her lips to moisten them. His eyelids narrowed as he watched her and waited for her to decide.

The choice was hers.

“I do not know. We should not,” she said, trying to think of a good reason why she should not kiss him.

“You know you want to … and we should,” he said, his eyes silently daring her to take the risk. “Just lean forward and kiss me. It is not overly complicated.”

Imogene was torn. She knew she should tell him to go to the devil for tormenting her with his childish dare. However, the woman in her wanted to know how his lips felt against hers.

“Your word.”

He grinned at her. “I promise it will not hurt.”

Before she could choose the coward's path, she leaned forward and kissed him. Hastily, she withdrew.

“I am not your cousin or father, Lady Imogene,” he teased. “You can do better.”

Imogene sighed. Naturally, he would not make this easy for her. She leaned forward again, her gaze resting on his mouth. He had a beautiful mouth. She closed her eyes and lightly brushed her lips against his.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Soft featherlike kisses. On the fourth pass, she lingered a few seconds as if to test them both. When his lips parted, she pulled away.

“Are you satisfied, Your Grace?”

Blackbern shut his eyes as if he was struggling to find the right words. When he opened his eyes again, what she glimpsed had her stomach fluttering.

“You are full of surprises, Lady Imogene,” he murmured as he shook his head. “Your kiss has granted you a reprieve.” He gave her a long side-glance. “For a few days.”

Imogene stifled a groan as he urged the horses forward. She should have expected the duke's reprieve would only be temporary.

 

Chapter Eight

Almost five days had passed before she encountered the Duke of Blackbern and Lord Norgrave again. She might have believed the gentlemen had lost interest in her as her father had predicted. There had even been moments when she was so distracted by her growing circle of admirers that she forgot to search the other theater boxes or the ballrooms for them.