A Duke of Her Own (12 page)

“Are you certain that’s it?” Louisa called back.

“Quite.” Why was it when she was near, he was
continually distracted? “Let’s begin again, shall we, calling that last volley a practice?”

She looked at him warily before moving back to serve. He either needed to pour his efforts into winning or settle for defeat—whichever would bring the game to a hasty end so he could turn his attention to Jenny.

She was the one who should be intriguing him—not the damned chaperone!

He had the most sensual mouth. Full lips, questing tongue. And when he released one of his deep-throated groans, Jenny quite simply wanted to gobble him up.

His hands remained respectful, cradling her waist, inching up her ribs, stopping just below her breasts. But his mouth, his mouth was decidedly wicked, trailing along her throat, his teeth nipping at her buttons until he skillfully loosened one, then two, then three, giving his tongue the freedom to taste hidden flesh.

She’d despaired of ever having a moment alone with him.

“We should get back,” she muttered, but her words lacked conviction.

“A moment more.”

“You say that every time.”

“Would you rather I willingly give you up?”

“A time will come when you’ll have to. My mother is insisting that I marry a duke.”

He tensed, stilled. She felt his fingers digging into her ribs.

“You’re hurting me.”

Immediately he loosened his hold and pressed his forehead to hers. “You take delight in tormenting me, in offering me glimpses of what I cannot keep.”

She cradled his handsome face. “I torment us both.”

Before he could respond, she slipped free of him and darted around the corner, quickly buttoning her bodice. She knew she was playing a dangerous game. If they were ever caught…it would be the ruin of them both.

A
week later, with the chandeliers glittering above him and the ballroom filled to overflowing, Hawk stood beside Falconridge, their backs pressed to the wall, watching, waiting, and in Hawk’s case, temper simmering.

He did not like the way the man held her as they danced—as though they shared secrets, secrets to which he was not privy. Intimate secrets, as though the man had held her bare ankle in his hand, run his palm along her calf, pressed his mouth behind her knee.

“Who the devil is Louisa dancing with?” he ground out.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Falconridge jerk his head around. He could feel the intensity of his friend’s gaze, but he couldn’t see it
because he was unable to tear his attention away from the merry couple on the dance floor. Louisa wore a different gown from the one she’d worn to the opera or the one she’d worn to the first ball. Trust a woman to have a few coins and start expanding her wardrobe. Although he might find fault with the frivolous purchase, he could find no fault with the lavender gown. She looked positively ravishing.

“The gentleman would be Jeremy Rose,” Falconridge said.

“The heir to the Rose fortune,” Hawk said speculatively. Perhaps Louisa was much more cunning than he realized. Ensconce herself in the Rose household, use her coins to make herself appear exquisite, snare the heir who would no doubt inherit millions.

“One of the heirs,” Falconridge said. “The Americans don’t hold to our tradition of primogeniture. From what I understand, the Rose fortune will be divided equally into thirds.”

“The daughters may inherit the money, but not the businesses.”

Falconridge shrugged. “I don’t know the particulars of how the estate will be settled, and I daresay we’re a bit premature in our speculation. James Rose seems in fine health. Have you settled on a sister?”

“Jenny has reserved the next dance for me. I noticed Kate is not here this evening. I saw you spending some time with her during the afternoon party.”

“Indeed. A most unfortunate encounter. Even if she were here this evening, she is the last one I would want to marry. She speaks of nothing except love. She wants poetry, flowers, and chocolates. She requires much too much work and effort.”

“You believe you will find an heiress who doesn’t require excessive attention?”

“I have devised a plan that I believe will result in my marrying an heiress without much effort on my part.”

“Care to share this amazing plan of yours?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, my plan is to woo Jenny for a bit more, then go to her father and ask for her hand.”

“Then why the interest in the man with whom Lady Louisa is dancing?”

“Merely keeping a watch over Ravensley’s sister since he isn’t in attendance this evening.”

“Where is he, by the by?”

“No doubt licking his wounds again. Apparently Mrs. Rose is not impressed with his title.”

“Yes, I’ve heard. She is insisting that Jenny marry a duke, but I believe a clever man could convince her otherwise.”

“And you believe you’re a clever man?”

“I’m not going to give up as easily as Ravensley.”

“You’re interested in Jenny?”

“I’m interested in any woman who can fill my coffers.”

Hawk wondered if Falconridge was a serious
threat to his plan to acquire Jenny. The music drifted into silence. Hawk shoved himself away from the wall. “It is time for me to pour on the charm,” he said lightly.

A strategist did not let the enemy know he had uncovered his weakness. Damnation, now he was thinking of his friends as enemies.

“The beauty of my plan is that no charm is needed,” Falconridge said.

Hawk turned. “Then why are you here?”

“Merely to observe and take pleasure in the fact that I will soon be beyond all this.”

“And does your plan include moving Jenny beyond all this?”

“I cannot say for certain, but it is possible.”

“You are becoming a very irritating friend.”

“I have become a desperate one.”

Hawk shook his head. “I wish you luck with your endeavor, whatever it is.”

Falconridge’s mouth turned up only slightly, his eyes seemed to dim, not to match the merriment of the ball. “Won’t need luck.”

Whatever his plan was, Hawk truly hoped it turned out well for him, although he also hoped that it wouldn’t place his quest of Jenny in jeopardy. Why was Falconridge always so tight-lipped? Perhaps because he didn’t want to hear Hawk voice his suspicions of the success of any plan that required little effort.

He thought of Louisa, who had stopped waiting for a gentleman to call and give her the life she deserved and instead had taken matters into her
own hands. She had coins to spend, a smile that was more dazzling than the crystal chandeliers in the room, a laugh that wafted over to him, and the attention of a man reputed to be worth millions. She had set a fine example, an example Hawk intended to follow.

He wanted to catch her eye, to receive some sort of acknowledgment of his approach, but she was busy talking with the younger Mr. Rose and a young woman whom Hawk did not recognize, introducing them perhaps. All three laughed as though they hadn’t a care in the world. Envy did not suit Hawk, but he certainly felt it sitting upon his shoulder.

“Looking for me, Your Grace?”

He snapped his head around at Jenny’s words, hoped the heat of embarrassment that suddenly warmed his face wasn’t visible. “Indeed, I have been looking forward to our dance.”

He offered his arm and forced all his attention on the woman who placed her hand on it. “Your brother seems to be enjoying himself,” he heard himself say before he could prevent the words from tumbling out.

“Indeed. I think he’s trying to get Lady Louisa into a bit of trouble. He taught her to play chess last night, and she soundly beat him. He said he’s never known a woman who is as much a strategist as she is.”

“He enjoys her company then,” he murmured, as they reached the dance area, and he took her into his arms.

“Oh, they get along famously well.”

“How does your mother feel about their…friendship?”

“I don’t think she’s too keen on it, but Jeremy is her only son and can do no wrong in her eyes, so I suspect she will hold her tongue.”

“I have been given the impression that your mother is very particular about whom her children marry.”

She laughed gaily. “She has her opinion, and we have ours.”

“And who will have the final say?” he asked.

“When it comes to my marriage, I will.”

“And if I were to speak with your father—”

“Are you proposing?”

Was he? Good God. An unexpected shiver of dread coursed through him. “I’m merely attempting to assess my chances of success.”

“My father will not force me to marry anyone I don’t wish to marry. I believe that I have mentioned that passion is my criterion. I’m very fond of you, Your Grace, but as of yet, I have been unable to experience your passionate nature. I must also confess, I’m in no hurry to wed or even to be spoken for. I intend to spend this Season sampling the selections. Perhaps next Season I’ll make my decision.”

“Sampling the selections?”

She smiled. “Oh, yes. My chaperone is so very attentive that I must proceed cautiously and slowly so as not to arouse suspicions.” She winked at him. “Perhaps you could arrange another outing
to the opera. Remember, Your Grace, it is passion I seek above all else, and I will not be content with less.”

“I would like to escort Miss Jenny Rose to the opera again,” Hawkhurst said. “But she insisted I must verify her schedule with you.”

Louisa fought not to be disappointed that Hawkhurst was continuing his pursuit of Jenny or that the young lady was encouraging it. She was finding it increasingly difficult not to be aware of every nuance associated with him when he was near. She looked at her dance card, where she had been making notes. The duke was rudely looking over her shoulder.

“Thursday, she has a dinner engagement with Lord Bertram.”

“Mmm,” he rumbled near her ear, and she heard the censure in his muttering.

With impatience, she glanced back at him. “And what, pray tell, is wrong with Lord Bertram?”

He glanced around, before leaning nearer, bringing his unsettling scent of musk and maleness that much closer to her. “Boils upon the buttocks,” he whispered.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “If that were the case, the man would be unable to sit, and I have seen him sit on numerous occasions.”

“He has them frequently lanced.”

She couldn’t help herself. She grimaced as an image filled her mind…“I don’t believe you.”

“Ask him.”

As if she would ask a man about the very personal nature of his buttocks.

“Who else seeks her favor?” he asked.

“That is none of your concern.”

He narrowed his dark eyes. “Do I see the Marquess of Umberton on your list?”

She sighed. “And I suppose you find fault with him.”

“He is known to drink heavily before noon.”

“Ha! You forget how well I know you, Your Grace. The same could be said of you.”

He gave her a devilish grin. “I cease at dawn.” He held up a finger. “And I do not resume until twilight.”

“And you find that admirable.”

“I find it more admirable than a man who is constantly at the bottle. I also believe I spotted Lord Ketchum’s name on your list.”

“I know he does not drink.”

“Webbed feet.”

She stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

He held his hand up, his fingers spread wide, and drew imaginary lines connecting them. “He joined me at the seaside once. We went swimming. He’s a remarkable swimmer. Has webs between his toes. Like a duck.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I thought so as well, but there you are. Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humor? Who else?”

She dropped her hand to her side. “None of your affair.”

“It does not seem right that a lady as lovely as you should be using her dance card to keep records of another lady’s social engagements.”

She didn’t think her snort was too unladylike. “I’m not here to dance.”

“Yet you were dancing.”

Was that a frisson of anger she heard opening in his voice?

“I do not see that my actions are your concern,” she said.

She watched his jaw clench. He was angry. Why? Why would he care?

He cleared his throat. “Dance with me then.”

“Mrs. Rose would be none too pleased if she caught wind that I’d danced with you again.”

“You are the daughter of an earl. Who gives a damn whether or not she is pleased?”

She spun around and faced him. “You are as irritating as my brother. You don’t understand the importance of my position.”

Heat flared in his eyes, his nostrils flared. “Do not for one moment mistake me for your brother.”

She furrowed her brow. “He is your friend.”

He shook his head as though straining to rein in his temper. His behavior was most odd. She did wish her experience with men was such that she could decipher subtle nuances in behavior.

“Take a walk about the garden with me,” he said.

“I must see after Jenny.”

“She has another dance after this one and one after that. I daresay her dance card is filled and
then some. Please, Louisa. Step outside with me.”

Louisa. Not Lady Louisa, as though there was an intimacy shared between them.

“On one condition. That I may ask a question of you, and you will honor me with the truth.”

His gaze grew intense. “Ask.”

“Does Lord Bertram truly have boils?”

He straightened, pressed his lips together, and shook his head. “No.”

“And Lord—”

“You said
a
question. I have fulfilled my obligation, and now you must carry through with yours.”

“You are attempting to discredit other lords so that your own shortcomings might be overlooked,” she stated, hating that she’d allowed him to manipulate her, that she’d actually believed his lies.

He extended his arm. “I believe we could both use some fresh air, and as you are a
chaperone
—as you repeatedly remind me—and not a debutante, no one should think anything of our leaving together.”

“It would, however, be best if we weren’t touching, if we weren’t giving any sort of indication of intimacy.”

“Very well. If you will lead the way.”

She thought she might be leading the way straight into hell. Still, she made her way to the glass-paned doors that had been left open to provide some additional air in the room. Dancing tended to make one extremely warm, as did having a gentleman so near. She was grateful to see
that they weren’t the only ones walking along the lighted garden path, and she couldn’t help but wonder if a time would come when chaperones would be a thing of the past. Already, her role was not so much guardian as advisor.

“It’s a lovely evening,” she said quietly. Anything to break the silence that seemed to have come upon them as soon as they’d stepped outside.

“Do you not miss it?” he asked.

She glanced over at him. “Miss what?”

“The attention.”

She laughed lightly. “I was never one to receive much attention. No dowry, you know.”

“Yes, that does make it difficult for a lady.”

“It makes it impossible.”

“Your brother believes that, if he were to marry well, he could see you nicely situated in marriage.”

“Ah, but now I have experienced independence, and I’m not entirely certain that I want to return to the way things were. Why do you know that this afternoon I actually went shopping again without an escort? At my leisure. I was amazed. It was quite…liberating.”

“And dangerous,” he fairly growled.

“I was perfectly safe. There were constables about.”

“A woman needs protection.”

“Protection, a chaperone, a dowry, a husband…I cannot say that any of those things is precisely what a woman
needs
.”

“And what do you perceive as a woman needing?”

“I daresay, I think the Rose sisters have the right of it: passion and love. Unlike them, though, I do not think the order is important as long as a woman acquires both.”