A Duke but No Gentleman (7 page)

His friend glanced at his shoes as if he was fighting to control his anger or laughter. When he met Tristan's eyes, his light blue eyes were clear and direct. “I have always wondered what you had told her. To this day, I sometimes catch that stupid wench staring at the front of my breeches with a puzzled expression.” He shook his head in amazement at Tristan's audacity. “Your cleverness will not help you win this wager. If you tell our lady lies to discourage her from seeking out my company, the competition ends and I will be declared the winner.”

“Fair enough. What are the stakes? Money? Property? My new stallion that you covet?”

“I was aiming for something more original. After all, we do not want you to grow bored. How about something so rare and precious to the owner that it can only be claimed once in a lifetime.” Sensing he had captured Tristan's curiosity, he paused to heighten the anticipation. “The lady's maidenhead.”

“The owner of the maidenhead might consider the price too high for a gentlemen's wager,” Tristan said lightly, though his stomach was heavy with dread.

The ladies they had pursued and fought over had never been innocents. Some had been married and others widowed. There had been celebrated courtesans, actresses, and singers. All of them had been women who had surrendered their virtue years ago. Granted, these liaisons never lasted, but no one was truly hurt.

“The lady in question does not need to know about the wager. Her family is intent on placing her on the marriage market. No one will question our deliberate courtship.”

Norgrave was a depraved bastard. “We are speaking of Lady Imogene Sunter, I presume,” Tristan said bluntly.

“A most exquisite challenge, do you not agree?”

“Surely you jest. Do you recall the part of our conversation when I mentioned that her father is likely to castrate the fellow who lays a hand on her?”

“The danger adds spice to the chase.”

Tristan hesitated. He despised the part of himself that was grudgingly intrigued by the challenge his friend presented. The wager gave him permission to seek out the lady and pursue her, because his attraction to Lady Imogene was far from honorable. Perhaps Norgrave sensed this depravity he tried to keep hidden, and was dangling the lady's virtue as a delectable temptation that he did not want to refuse.

Still, he resisted. “No, it isn't fair. Choose another lady. Another stake.”

Norgrave grasped him by the chin. Instinctively, Tristan struggled to break free of his grip because he disliked being directed by anyone, especially his friend. However, it was not a battle worth winning and soon he found his gaze settling back on Lady Imogene.

“Look at the gentlemen hovering around her like drones around their queen,” the marquess whispered in Tristan's ear. “Do you think any of them would not sample her charms if given the opportunity?”

He recognized many of the gentlemen vying for the lady's attention. The urge to stride across the ballroom and stake his own claim startled him. He blamed the man standing beside him. All of Norgrave's talk of wagers and seduction was awakening Tristan's protective instincts toward someone who was more vulnerable than she could possibly fathom. “With the intention of marriage, not ruination. You go too far, even for you.”

The marquess parted his hands in a gesture of capitulation. “Very well. Then I shall declare myself victor of this wager.”

Tristan's hands curled into fists. Their friendship was too competitive for him to yield without a fight. Through clenched teeth, he muttered, “If you must, to appease your pride.”

“Scruples make you grumpy, my friend. However, you are correct. What is a triumph without the spoils? It all seems so hollow.” Norgrave stepped in front of Tristan, blocking his view of Lady Imogene. “I have a brilliant idea. What if I honor the spirit of the wager before I declare my victory?”

“What are you planning to do?”

“Without your interference, it should be appallingly simple to seduce Lady Imogene. She will surrender her innocence, thus fulfilling the conditions of our nonexistent wager. Do not fret. When I coax her into my bed, she will be begging for my touch.”

“The devil you say.” Tristan's jaw hardened with mute fury. Whether he accepted the wager or refused, Lady Imogene would lose her maidenhead. Norgrave, the manipulative bastard, had backed him into a corner. He had a choice—stand aside and watch his friend seduce Lady Imogene or fight for the right to claim her for himself.

I had seduction in my thoughts long before Norgrave tossed his wager like a goddamn gauntlet at my feet. Why not take her?

It was a weak excuse for committing debauchery, and he silently cursed his friend for goading him into agreeing to his wild scheme. “I have reconsidered. I will accept your bloody wager, and I shall be the victor in your sordid little game.”

Instead of being angry, the marquess appeared oddly satisfied with Tristan's declaration. He took a step backward as if he sensed his friend was resisting the urge to punch him. “You can try. However, Lady Imogene has her part to play. I am curious to see which one of us she will eventually choose as her lover.”

 

Chapter Five

“I was told you attended Lord and Lady Kingaby's ball last evening,” Lady Charlotte Winter said, after their hostess, Lady Yaxley, had introduced Imogene to the nineteen-year-old young lady since they were close in age.

She glanced over at her mother who was chatting with an older woman who was unfamiliar to her. As if sensing her scrutiny, the duchess halted her conversation and gave Imogene and her companion a brief appraising look before she returned to her conversation.

Her mother had told her that the connections she made in town were likely to follow her for the rest of her life. There were days when the weight of being born the daughter of a duke and duchess was a burden.

“Yes, I was there with my parents.” She nodded, pleased that she had something to contribute to the conversation, though, so far, Lady Charlotte appeared to be capable of handling both sides.

The young lady loved to talk.

“I attended with my parents, as well,” the blonde said, her hazel eyes warming to her subject. “Did I mention that Lady Kingaby is a very close friend of my mother's?”

“No, I was unaware,” Imogene murmured. As she listened to her new friend explain her family's connection to Lady Yaxley, she discreetly studied the other attendees.

They varied in age from the ten-year-olds who were helping themselves to the tarts and biscuits that were artfully displayed on one of the long tables to the elderly woman her mother had engaged in conversation. There were other young ladies her age and gentlemen who appeared in their prime. If variety heralded the success of a literary saloon, then Lady Yaxley's gatherings were destined to be popular this season.

“I have never attended a literary gathering. Were we supposed to bring our favorite book?” Imogene asked, praying she did not sound too provincial. “Mama did not fully explain what I should expect, and no one seems particularly interested in books.”

Lady Charlotte giggled, though there was kindness in her hazel gaze. “These types of gatherings are common throughout the year, and depending on the guests, can be rather boring. Lady Yaxley can be relied on to invite all the right people.” She leaned forward and whispered, “When I say the
right
people, I speak of ensuring there is a proper balance of males and females. Not too young and not too old.”

“For what purpose?” Imogene asked, mystified. “Are you talking about people or books?”

“People, you silly goose!” Lady Charlotte stood several inches taller than Imogene. At a passing glance, they might have been mistaken for cousins. “More to the point, the proper gentlemen. Lady Yaxley's literary saloon is a good place to inspect some of London's most eligible bachelors. An afternoon stroll in the countess's gardens gives us the opportunity to admire each gentleman's attributes. You would not believe the flaws that can be overlooked in candlelight.”

Imogene pursed her lips as she contemplated her companion's words. “A brilliant notion. I had not considered—” Her thoughts abruptly shifted to the duke she had clumsily tackled. His body had been lean muscle and bone and his eyes had enthralled her. In candlelight, she had thought him quite beautiful … an Adonis, she thought, the god of beauty and desire. “So I should not trust my eyes if I meet a handsome gentleman in a ballroom?”

Enjoying that she could impart her knowledge to a friend, Lady Charlotte impulsively hooked her arm around Imogene's and they strolled the perimeter of the drawing room. “Not in the least. There are some bachelors residing in town who are divinely handsome. If you have doubts, I would recommend a stroll through a garden or a drive in a park.”

Since everyone at Lady Yaxley's seemed content to visit, explore her house and gardens, or nibble on her tempting refreshments, Imogene was pleased she had encountered Lady Charlotte. If she was expected to pick a respectable husband, she needed all of the sound advice she could collect.

“Tell me more,” she entreated.

*   *   *

“Since this was your brilliant notion of how to waste an afternoon, tell me again why we are attending this gathering,” Tristan grumbled. It was the third time he had complained in five minutes, and knew he was drifting steadily toward being the type of person he detested—a fellow who whined.

“It is a literary saloon, Blackbern, not an execution,” Lord Norgrave replied, seemingly in a fine mood considering their less than stimulating surroundings. “Intellectual, like-minded individuals who discuss and debate their favorite books. I have been told it is quite invigorating.”

Tristan glowered at the solemn affair. “Did you imbibe several bottles of wine with your meal? The only invigorating debate going on in this drawing room is whether or not to try a millefruit biscuit or the rather bland cake that brown-haired fellow to our right is crumbling into a pile of sweet rubbish on his plate.” He leaned in closer, ignoring the fact that his friend was fighting not to laugh. “And have you noticed that not a single person is actually carrying a book? For a literary gathering, one might expect to encounter at least one tome, do you not agree?”

“Oh, Blackbern, thus far, your observations have provided the most entertainment at an otherwise dull affair. However, my friend, our mutual pursuits have led us down somewhat unusual paths and sacrifices must be made.”

Tristan scowled. “What the devil are you talking about?”

Norgrave's tolerant expression as he searched the drawing room blanked as a sudden stillness overtook him. Something or someone had caught his attention. “Ah, the true reason why we are here, since it is pointless to attempt to broaden your literary tastes.”

“Leave my literary tastes alone. They do not need to be improved upon, thank you very much. I like books as well as anyone else. While I may have little interest in pontificating on the symbolism of Chaucer, it does not mean I—” He realized Norgrave was not listening. “You were about to tell me the reason why I am not outdoors, enjoying this good weather.”

“Lady Imogene,” his friend said succinctly, causing a subtle tension to steal into Tristan's limbs. “The difference between you and me is that I am focused when presented with a particular task. It gives me the advantage, and while I do regret ruining your afternoon, I feel compelled to tell you that this will be your downfall. I will win our wager.”

Tristan's gaze moved from female guest to female guest until he found the lady he was seeking. Of course, she was wearing white this afternoon, unknowingly looking like the virginal sacrifice that Norgrave had set her up to be. She was in a deep conversation with a pretty blonde. The other woman was monopolizing the conversation. Lady Imogene nodded, and her attention shifted to the window. One could see a glimpse of the sun-drenched gardens. The lady stifled a yawn with her gloved hand.

Tristan was not the only person present who found their afternoon amusement less than stimulating. He grinned when she yawned again.

“Who is the lady with her?” he asked, not particularly caring if his friend knew her name.

It was Imogene who intrigued him.

“Lady Charlotte Winter, I believe,” Norgrave said, priding himself on knowing the names of every eligible lady within the radius of London. “You have been introduced to her twice.”

Tristan did not bother to respond to the dry comment from his companion. He recognized the lady's name, and had spoken to her sire on several occasions, but the conversations had involved politics and trade. The daughter had not been mentioned.

“I had forgotten her name.”

“Lady Charlotte is an amiable creature. Fair in face, but no great beauty. Knowledgeable, and her father's connections could be a useful asset to an ambitious gentleman.” Norgrave's eyes narrowed as he coldly dissected the lady's positive and negative qualities. “Virtuous and eager to please, which are beneficial if one hopes to take a wife, though she has an annoying habit of talking too much.”

“I assume you have experienced this personally?” Tristan asked, amused by the annoyance in his friend's voice.

“Yes, unfortunately.” The marquess frowned. “Like most females, Lady Charlotte is quite smitten with me.”

Tristan shook his head at the man's arrogance. “You think all females are in love with you.”

“It is because all of them are,” he said in a suspiciously bland tone. “Where are you going?”

He paused and glanced at Norgrave. “To reacquaint myself with Lady Imogene.”

“You never precisely explained the circumstances which brought you and the lady together,” Norgrave said, joining his friend as they headed in the lady's direction. “It is unlike you to keep an amusing tale to yourself.”