A Duke but No Gentleman (6 page)

“Who is he? A fortune hunter? A murderer?” Imogene demanded.

Her mother expelled an exaggerated sigh before she suddenly halted and turned to address her. “I have no patience for your ill-conceived attempts at humor, my girl. Lord and Lady Kingaby have more sense than to invite a murderer to their house. I wish I could say the same for you.”

The insult stung. “For the last time, I did not—”

“I believe you,” the duchess said, effectively dousing Imogene's growing outrage. “The gentleman you encountered is Tristan Bailey Rooke, the Duke of Blackbern.”

Imogene blinked in surprise. She assumed her mother would have been overjoyed that her daughter had caught the interest of a young and handsome duke.

Undoubtedly, there was something wrong with the gentleman. Perhaps even a hidden flaw in his character that could not be ignored by her mother.

“Oh, he is married,” she realized, feeling a cooling wind of disappointment. “Does he have a string of mistresses? Is that why you were so upset?”

“He is a bachelor,” her mother said, annoyed with her daughter's questions. “However, I insist that you stay away from this particular gentleman. I am uncertain what has brought the duke to the Kingabys' ball, but I can assure you that he is not here to find a bride.”

Imogene automatically sought him out, but there were too many guests blocking her view. “How can you be so confident in your opinion?”

“The duke and his circle of friends have garnered a reputation for their decadence.” Her mother's face softened, and she stroked her daughter's cheek with affection. “Imogene, your father and I have high hopes for your marriage prospects this season, but direct your gaze elsewhere. The Duke of Blackbern is headstrong and too young at five-and-twenty to be considering marriage. Like many of his peers, he drinks and gambles beyond what can be viewed as respectable, and he keeps company with courtesans. While his bloodlines may be impeccable, there is little I can recommend when it comes to character. I beg you not to encourage any flirtation.”

Any residual anger toward her mother faded away. “Mama, if this gentleman is as notorious as you describe, I doubt he would be intrigued with me. I am nothing unusual, and my interests are rather mundane, do you not agree?”

“Not in the slightest. Your modesty will serve you well in catching a husband, but your beauty will draw all men to you, even the immoral scoundrels who think only of their pleasures. Your father and I will do my best to guide you, but you must heed our advice.”

“Of course, Mama,” she said, not understanding the pang of sadness in her chest. She had not spent enough time in the Duke of Blackbern's presence to feel regret. “You and Papa only seek the best for me. You do not have to worry about me.”

“Yes I do,” the duchess said, laughing. “You and mischief have walked hand in hand for most of your life. I do not expect miracles from you, daughter. Now, come, I have a few people I would like to introduce to you.”

*   *   *

From his position, it appeared the older woman had forgiven her daughter for being found in a compromising embrace. Arm in arm, the two women purposefully approached a small group of guests and were joyously welcomed. Was this Imogene's first season in London? Her enthusiasm and shy glances indicated that her family had sheltered her on one of her father's country estates. Small wonder her mother had had an apoplectic fit when she discovered her innocent daughter in his arms.

“How did your meeting go?” Norgrave asked, circling around to the other side of the column.

Tristan's gaze was fixed on Imogene's elegant profile. An absent smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Quite satisfying. Have you beggared everyone with a hefty purse in my absence?”

“I did my best.” Realizing he did not have his friend's complete attention, the marquess peered in the same direction as Tristan. “Who has caught your eye this evening?”

“No one,” he said, redirecting his gaze away from Imogene. He knew Norgrave better than anyone, and a young innocent lady from the country was easy prey for his friend.

“Nonsense. One of these silk canaries has plucked your heartstrings.” When Tristan snorted at the outrageous suggestion, his companion hastily amended, “Well, perhaps my aim was too high. Knowing you, Blackbern, any stirring likely originated in your breeches.”

Tristan and Norgrave laughed.

Too competitive to be dissuaded from the subject Tristan was content to drop, his friend scrutinized the guests around them. “Come now … point the lady out. Who is worthy of your notice this season?” the marquess coaxed.

“I hate to disappoint you, but the fresh faces this year are rather disappointing,” he lied.

“Truly? How very cynical of you, Blackbern. There are usually one or two ladies who are passable in looks.” Norgrave sounded unconvinced as he scrutinized the females in the ballroom. “Ah, there … what of that fine creature?”

Tristan yawned. “Which one? The redhead?”

The marquess tilted his head in contemplation. “She is quite fetching in an unconventional way, but I was speaking of the blonde.”

Naturally, Norgrave had honed in on Imogene even though there were at least fifty women in the ballroom. Tristan swallowed his annoyance. “The blonde in the green dress?”

“You never mentioned having problems with your eyesight,” his friend said, frowning. “The lady in the green dress bests both of us in age. I am referring to the lady in blue. Do you see her?”

He saw her. Clearly, he and Norgrave were not the only ones who were captivated by Imogene's beauty. Two more gentlemen were hastening to join her growing collection of admirers.

“Oh, the lady in blue.” Tristan pursed his lips as he stared thoughtfully in her direction. “I will admit she is pretty.”

The marquess's eyebrows lifted in incredulity. “Pretty? Such faint praise for a lady many would view as a goddess.”

“You only consider them goddesses until they fall at your feet,” he said, knowing his friend relished the chase. Once a lady surrendered, Norgrave quickly lost interest in his conquests.

“I prefer to have them on their backs,” his friend countered. “Or on all fours. As for the petite blonde, I long to try her out in all my favorite positions.”

Tristan shrugged. “If you say so.”

Norgrave's eyes narrowed with suspicion, and it was then that he realized he had overplayed his indifference toward the lady.

“When did you meet her?”

His mild annoyance was not feigned. “I didn't—”

“You lie quite well, Blackbern, and are capable of fooling most people, but not me. I have known you since we were boys. We have no secrets between us. So tell me, how the devil did you gain an introduction?”

Feeling cornered, Tristan combed his dark hair with his fingers in agitation. “We were not properly introduced.”

“Did her dragon of a mother snub you?” Norgrave's eyes brightened with glee. “How dreadfully humiliating for you, Blackbern!”

“Enough.”

His friend was taking perverse pleasure in what he perceived as Tristan's failure to impress a young lady and her mother. “Ho! How the mighty have fallen if your handsome visage and title could not sway the ladies.”

“I fear my reputation casts a long shadow,” Tristan admitted, not particularly distressed by the notion. He had always managed to work around such hindrances in the past.

Norgrave clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder in sympathy. “Well, no one can say that the stories about you and me are untrue.”

“Less entertaining as well.”

“There is that.” The marquess leaned against the column, and stared at Imogene and her mother as if they were a puzzle he desired to solve. “Not to boast—”

Tristan laughed. “When have you ever restrained yourself?”

“Never,” he replied without hesitation. “I should warn you in advance—I saw her first. Not only that, I know the lady's name,” was Norgrave's smug reply.

Imogene Constance
. It was on the tip of his tongue to admit that he knew her name, however, there was a chance his friend was exaggerating. “You were in the card room. I doubt you had time to be introduced to the young lady.”

Because Imogene was too busy pressing her body against mine.

“Arse. There are other ways to glean information,” his friend said, enjoying their verbal jousting. “We are not the only gentlemen who have noticed Lady Imogene Sunter. Several gentlemen at the table were speculating on her dowry, now that her family is taking great pains to introduce her to all of the prominent families while they are in London.”

“Sunter. So she is—” he said, his brows lifting as he realized that her lineage was almost as impressive as his own.

“The Duke of Trevett's elder daughter.”

“Her father is well liked by the King,” Tristan murmured, astounded that the Duchess of Trevett had not demanded his head on a platter when she had caught them, limbs entangled, on the sofa. If they had lingered undisturbed a few minutes longer, he would have kissed her.

Lady Imogene is the beloved daughter of a duke who has the King's ear.

He cursed under his breath. Unless he desired to be leg-shackled, the lady was most definitely off-limits.

“Shouldn't she be in a nursery or a nunnery?” Tristan muttered, his mood darkening at his friend's latest revelation.

Norgrave stared at the lady in question. He did not bother concealing his admiration. “She is old enough to marry. According to the gossips, her father had high hopes to match his little purebred mare with a princely stallion. His ambitions almost came to fruition, but I do not know which party cried off.”

Although she had the bearing of a princess, Tristan could not imagine Imogene being happy to be presented as a brood mare for an ugly foreign prince or an infirm, elderly king just to gain a title. The very notion seemed a defilement of her beauty.

“Her father and mother indulge her,” Tristan said, recalling how swiftly she was forgiven by the duchess.

“I plan on spoiling her as well.”

His gaze abruptly shifted to Norgrave who appeared to be quite earnest. “I think the word you are seeking is
despoiling,
you heartless reprobate. The Duke of Trevett will geld you slowly if you so much as speak to the lady.”

If the duke were to learn that he had already touched Imogene, the man would probably slice off Tristan's cock, too.

Norgrave dismissed his friend's concerns with a wave of his hand. “I'll admit that Lady Imogene presents some intriguing obstacles. I have every confidence that both of us could navigate them when the reward is worthwhile.”

Tristan froze. He immediately understood the direction of his friend's thoughts. “No.”

“Oh, why the devil not?” Norgrave said peevishly. “It has been ages since we've been provided with a worthy prize for one of our special wagers.”

He and Norgrave had been born with competitive natures. Even when they were boys they had always sought to best one another, whether it was a footrace or who could swim across the pond first. They had taken turns as victors, but as they grew older, their wagers became more sophisticated and Norgrave's thirst for victory often took both of them down dark, ruthless paths. By the time they had reached Imogene's age, women they both had coveted had become fair game. For years, they had charmed, courted, and bedded countless females for the sake of victory.

“Why bother?” Tristan said, though the thought of seducing Lady Imogene was a temptation he was reluctant to dismiss lightly. “The game has grown stale, Norgrave. Not to mention quite boring since I tend to win these wagers.”

“You do
not
!”

“It is hardly my fault that women prefer my handsome face over yours,” he teased, deliberately baiting his companion.

Norgrave was not amused. “Those silly females may have swooned over the dimples in your cheeks and your soulful glances as you spun flattering lies, but when I have them under me, it is my cock that has them sighing and begging for more.”

The thought of Imogene lying underneath the marquess chilled Tristan's blood. His friend had a reputation for not being a tender lover. It was the reason why his friend preferred to bed courtesans who understood the rules and were generously rewarded for their services. No, Imogene was too innocent, and bruises on her pale skin would be an abomination. If she was to take a lover, by God, it would be him.

“What are you proposing?”

Norgrave was one inch taller than Tristan, and he took advantage of it as he took a menacing step closer. “A wager.”

Tristan longed to decline the outrageous proposition. He had outgrown such wagers, but he was willing to indulge his friend if the distraction would keep the marquess away from Lady Imogene. “Are we playing by our old rules or are you making up some new ones?”

Confident that he would get his way, Norgrave said, “Let's keep matters simple and limit our restrictions. This way you won't be able to claim our game has gone stale.”

“Come now, there must be a few rules,” Tristan protested. “Otherwise, I'll just bed the closest lady and declare myself the winner.”

“Fine. If you insist.” The marquess paused as he considered a few rules that might satisfy his friend. “Once the game commences, we grant each other equal time with the lady in question.”

“What if the lady finds you repulsive?”

Norgrave grinned, displaying his perfectly aligned teeth. “They never do. However, I insist that we play fair with each other. For example, telling our quarry that I have the misfortune of suffering from the French pox will be viewed as unsporting and a violation of our limited rules.”

It wasn't something he was proud of, but the tactic had proven highly effective. “To be honest, I only told one lady that you had the pox. Then there was that pretty brunette with the crooked teeth. I recall telling her that you accidentally shot your cock off while cleaning your dueling pistol.”