The Dastardly Duke (12 page)

Julian savored the heat of the brandy as it trickled down his throat. After enduring Lucy’s erratic playing, Charles’s hostility, and the vision of Miss Gregory floating around in his friend’s arms, there was a great deal to be said for fine brandy, a warm fire, and the peaceful solitude of his study. T
uning
back in his chair, he stretched out his feet, enjoying a rare moment of quiet satisfaction.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace.” To his dismay, Miss Gregory stood at the threshold of his sanctuary.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“I wish to know why you are making things so difficult for Sir Charles.”

Julian blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“You are discouraging his suit.”

Julian could not suppress a bark of laughter. “I see that Charles has been playing you for sympathy.”

“He said you had a wager.” Her solemn gray eyes regarded him intently.

Julian stilled. With her rebellious temperament, it would be disastrous if she learned the terms of their bet. “What do you know of it?” he asked carefully.

“Only that his future with Lucy is somehow on hold until the wager is fulfilled.”

Julian rose and poured himself another brandy. As an afterthought, he filled a second glass. When he offered it to her, she seemed surprised and took a tentative, almost suspicious sip.

“Charles is not one to allow someone else to make his decisions for him, ’ he said coolly. “Perhaps you do not know your ‘cousin’ as well as you think.”

She frowned. “But he did nothing tonight when you insinuated yourself as Lucy’s page-tu
rn
er. You took advantage of his gentlemanly nature. That was not well done.”

“You need not lecture, Miss Gregory. There was nothing sinister about my actions tonight, I assure you.”

Her brow furrowed in thought. She took another sip of brandy. “Do you not know that he is in love with her?”

Tedious emotion.” He yawned. “A veritable nuisance. Have some more brandy, Miss Gregory.”

Her eyes grew wide as he added more of the soothing liquid to her glass. In the glow of the candles, she looked quite lovely, which surprised him. He realized that Lucy, curse her meddling ways, had done something to her hair.

Gone were the usual hideous hair coverings. Two combs caught her hair loosely off her face. The dancing had loosened them, allowing honey-colored tresses to spill over her shoulders like a silk curtain.

Julian shook his head to clear his mind of the sudden image of that hair gracing bare shoulders. Then he realized that she had spoken. “What did you say?”

“Why did you not allow Charles to sit with Lucy? You could have taught me those dances yourself.”

“As I recall, the last time we danced together had rather unforeseen results.”

Her cheeks blushed scarlet. To cover her confusion, she took a large gulp of brandy. As the full force of the liquid seared her throat, she gasped and began to cough.

Instantly, Julian took her glass. He patted her firmly on the back until her coughing passed. The contact was vaguely unsettling. He frowned and took his hand away.

“You need not look so stem,” she managed, still sputtering. “I am not trying to insinuate myself into your affections.”

“Nor could you, madam,” he retorted. “You are but a woman I have purchased for a time, nothing more.”

His shins felt something sharp and uncomfortable. He looked down and realized that she had just kicked him with the tip of her satin-covered slippers. Amazed, he stared at her.

“You have purchased my
services
—limited ones at that,” she corrected, fury turning the gray of her eyes into shards of ice. “You own nothing of
me.
Your Grace. Nor should I ever allow a rake like yourself to possess my person or—heaven forbid—my heart.”

Rubbing his leg, Julian scowled, stung more by her scathing denunciation than her ineffectual blow.

“For your information, Miss Gregory, I am considered something of a
reformed
rake,” he said, neglecting to add that no one—least of all himself—had taken his reformation seriously. “I have become so worthy, in fact, as to have my sister consider me an eligible
parti
for one of her friends.” He did not mention that it was she whom Lucy had so ridiculously selected.

All the fire seemed to leave her. She eyed him uncertainly, no longer the spitfire who had kicked him without a moment’s hesitation. “I suppose that is gratifying,” she ventured in a strangely subdued tone.

“Gratifying?” His mouth twisted wryly. “Oh, yes, indeed. You cannot imagine how gratifying it is to have Lucy decide that I am in need of a wife—”

“When you do not intend to marry?”

His gaze darkened. “I had forgotten that I told you that.”

“One remembers when a man declares that he does not intend to wed,” she said quietly. “But perhaps you will change your mind.”

“No.”

“You must want children,” she persisted. “Or need them to secure the line.”

“I do not care to secure
the
line.” It might not even be his to secure. He eyed her coldly. “When Lucy has children, I will settle as much of my estate on them as possible.” And if his solicitors could break the entail, Lucy would receive almost everything. At least
she
would not suffer for his father’s crimes.

Miss Gregory blinked. “That is quite generous. I suppose that means Lucy may wed where she chooses.”

“As long as her husband is a decent, honorable man, I will not oppose the match.”

‘Then why are you standing in Charles’s way?” she asked, mystified.

“Back to that, are we?” Julian drained the last of his brandy. He was weary of this war of wills. Not for the first time, he wished he could take back that moment in Reverend McGougal’s office when he had decided that she would be a diverting specimen to mold.

Suddenly, he realized the only molding he wanted to do at the moment involved her body and his in the kind of intimate congress that left no room for argument.

And why not? Any woman who had the temerity to declare herself utterly impervious to him deserved to be tested.

Lucy had said Miss Gregory did not see him as a potential lover, but what did she know about such things? A woman who had allowed herself to be kissed the way she had in his hunting box most certainly desired him. A black, dangerous mood swept through him.

He had had enough of her dissembling.

His dream had shown him the way. She would learn that he was not to be dismissed, that he would not tolerate her airs, that he would have her on whatever terms he chose. A clever prostitute was no
ma
tch for a man who could fool the world into believing him a duke.

With every thought in his head racing toward one end, Julian calmly refilled her glass and held it out to her. When she hesitated, he gently wrapped her hand around the glass, allowing his own fingers to linger tantalizingly on hers. It was a technique that had never failed him, and it did not now.

Dutifully she took the glass and took a hasty sip to cover her awkwardness. Julian waited, allowing her discomfiture to fill the space between them and
the
brandy to do its work.

“Perhaps I have been inconsiderate,” he said smoothly, wrinkling his brow in apparent concern. “What do you suggest I do about poor Charles?”

Quickly, he moved to the plump leather sofa near the fire and perched stiffly on the edge—as if distracted by troubling thoughts. “It is not easy for a man to admit that he may be wrong,” he added, remembering to catch her gaze so that she would have no trouble reading his lips. “Perhaps ... I hesitate to ask it, but perhaps you
might...” He
looked away and stared into the fire.

It worked. To his delight, she drew closer. He pretended not to notice. Hesitantly she bent down, touching his arm. “What, Your Grace? What is it?” Her gaze was filled with concern.

Suppressing a smile of satisfaction, Julian turned to her. “If we might simply talk for a while?” Women loved to talk, he knew, and the temptation to hear a tormented rake unburden himself was simply too much to most of them.

“Oh.” She eyed the mantel clock. “Well, of course ... if you do not think it is too late.”

Julian’s calculating gaze shot to the clock as well. “Miss Gregory,” he assured her gravely, “it is never too late.”

Chapter
Eleven

S
he really ought to leave. But the duke’s unexpected and compelling vulnerability turned her wavering will to mush. Moreover, the opportunity to further press the case for Lucy and Charles must not be lost. Gingerly, Hannah perched on the sofa next to him and took another bracing sip of brandy.

“No, I do not suppose it is too late,” she replied, wondering why her spine suddenly tingled with a warning of danger when the duke was regarding her with such a benign, remorseful expression that anyone could tell he was as harmless as a lamb.

“Thank you,” he said simply, before turning to study the fire.

Hannah could not imagine the tormented thoughts that made him clench his hands in anguish and stare sightlessly into the flickering flames. Guilt filled her. She had said some truly horrid things to him, assuming him to be an utter reprobate. Now she saw that she had failed to try to understand what was at the root of his cynicism.

His lips moved, but Hannah could not catch the words as he buried his head in his hands.

“Please, Your Grace,” she said, gently touching his arm, “you must look at me.”

Instantly his dark, soulful gaze impaled her. The sorrowful yearning there nearly took her breath away.

“If I have been inconsiderate of Charles and Lucy, it is because ... because I myself have never believed in love,” he said slowly. “There has never been a woman who has fully understood me.”

Hannah lowered her gaze. “I suppose it is difficult for one person to fully understand another.”

His finely tapered fingertips touched her chin, tilting it up so that she met his liquid gaze. “You see, I have always been a solitary sort,” he said, his expression solemn. “My mother died when I was six, and I was raised by a childless aunt in a remote castle on the Dorset coast.”

“Oh, my,” Hannah murmured, her heart instantly going out to the lonely boy he must have been.

“I did not lay eyes on my father until I was fifteen.” For a moment he appeared lost in thought. “He was a cold, embittered man. At the age of seventeen I attended him at his deathbed. His last words cursed me to the heavens.”

“How awful,” she murmured, filled with compassion. She had been lonely most of her life as well, but at least she had had loving parents. No wonder the duke had grown surly and scornful. No one had shown him sufficient affection on which to model his own life.

“I am terribly sorry,” she said, instinctively reaching for his hand.

Absently he rubbed it between his own, generating a penetrating warmth that suddenly put her in mind of those nettlesome butterflies in her stomach. The duke did not seem to realize what he was doing. His eyes bore a far-off look before they once more focused on hers.

“I do not want your pity, Miss Gregory. Perhaps you can simply help me understand about Charles and Lucy. Though I possess more wealth than most men, I am woefully impoverished on the subject you have raised. What would you have me do about them?”

“Well,” she began hesitantly, “I am mindful of the task you have set for me, that is, to keep Lucy out of trouble. But I do think that we must arrange for her to spend more time with Charles so that she can come to see him in a different way.”

“What way is that?” he asked, his fingers moving in gentle circles over her palm.

Hannah took another sip of brandy. “As ... as more than a friend. I believe she regards him like a brother rather than as a potential—” She broke off, suddenly quite tongue-tied.

“Lover?” the duke offered helpfully.

Hannah nodded, hurriedly taking another gulp of the amber liquid, which was beginning to taste quite nice. It certainly did the most amazing things for one’s courage. “I believe the only way to change the course of their relationship is to throw them together.”

“Charles is frequently here. They are together quite often as it is.” Idly his fingers moved to the very sensitive part of her inner wrist. Hannah swallowed hard.

“But not alone,” she pointed out. “Not as we are now, quite private and unchaperoned.”

The duke arched a brow. “Are you suggesting that I place my sister in a position where she could be compromised?”

“Oh, no,” Hannah assured him. “No more than I am in danger at this moment. I merely suggest that Charles be given the chance to show Lucy that she can form a grand passion for him.”

“Grand passion?” The duke’s fingers meandered up to the soft skin at the inside of her elbow.

“Lucy wishes to be swept away,” she explained, finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate.