The Dastardly Duke (15 page)

As the orchestra struck up the strains of the music, Julian moved toward her with a sinking feeling. He bowed gallantly, however, for it would not do for anyone to think that anything was
amiss
She must succeed. A few more glittering successes like tonight and Charles would have to concede the wager.

‘This is not necessary,” she murmured as he scrawled his name on her dance card.

“On the contrary,” he replied irritably. “It will proclaim you an unequivocal success and inform your admirers they will not offend you by requesting a dance.”

She frowned. “Offend me? I do not understand.”

“Come, Miss Gregory. You must give the gentlemen credit for possessing some sensibility. No one is fool enough to walk up to a young lady who cannot hear and ask whether she might
ta
k
e
a turn with him on the dance floor—unless someone else has already eased the way.”

“I see.” She accepted the hand that he offered. “Then I suppose this is necessary, but I confess it is one thing to dance in the privacy of your music room and quite another to put myself on display for all these people.”

“You are nervous?”

“I am scared out of my wits. I would much rather take the air on the terrace.”

“If that is a request, consider it denied,” he said curtly, pulling her onto the dance floor. “There is no need to poker up,” he added as she stiffened. “I merely seek to protect you from your own ignorance. A dance with a duke, even a rakish one, will elevate your consequence enormously, whereas a quiet turn on the terrace with me is guaranteed to damage that newly respectable reputation of yours. Such are the ironies of our lit
tl
e society.”

She eyed him curiously. “But I though
t
you had reformed. Th
at you were no longer viewed as a...”
Her voice trailed off.

“Reprobate?” he supplied hopefully. “It takes more than a declaration of intent to change a tiger’s stripes, Miss Gregory.” Her attention wavered as she was forced to concentrate on the steps. Under his guidance, she began to relax somewhat. Her expression grew thoughtful.

“I suppose,” she said at last, “that means that you are entirely capable of orchestrating a clever seduction designed to prey on a woman’s compassion under the pretext of demonstrating how your maligned nature has been so woefully misunderstood.”

Julian missed a step. “What?”

“You have not reformed after all, have you?” Her gaze bored into his. “You are a libertine and a liar, and several more despicable things besides.”

At that moment the music swelled to magnificent heights, underscoring her simple condemnation with grandly judgmental eloquence. She could not have known, of course, but it was almost as if she did, for her next words came in the pregnant pause between orchestral movements.

“What are you really, Your Grace?” she asked softly.

Something snapped deep inside him. “A bastard,” he snarled. “You would do well to remember it.”

She studied his features for a moment, as if deciding what to make of his declaration. “If that was meant to frighten me,” she said
c
almly, “it did not.”

“Then you are an idiot,” Julian growled, “for it scares the hell out of me.”

Those unsettling gray eyes merely held his.

Desperately, Julian looked around the room, feeling like a parched man in the desert seeking a life-giving drink. Where in thunderation had Charles got to?

Charles had pulled off a coup. The half hour spent catering to Lady Huffington in that creaky carriage of hers had produced her rather startling permission to take Lucy out on the terrace for a brief stroll during one of the two dances he had claimed with her.

“If you can persuade her to do so,” she had added skeptically, studying him. “Perhaps this is a good time to see what you are made of, my boy.”

Charles did not even pretend to understand what the countess meant by that cryptic remark. He was too stunned to discover that she would allow him a few moments with Lucy alone. A stickler like Lady Huffington must think a baronet unworthy of her niece; indeed, she had never shown him much goodwill in the past. Perhaps the woman had a mercurial disposition. After all, she had initially taken Hannah in dislike and now was virtually assuring that his putative cousin became one of the season’s successes.

That meant he was about to lose his bet. Unless he could get Lucy to view him with other than sisterly regard he was probably doomed to see her married off to some wealthy earl when the season ended.

He ventured a sidelong glance at Lucy. She gave no sign of being in the least moved by a stroll alone with him under the stars.

“It is lovely out here,” he murmured lamely.

“Oh, quite!” Lucy enthused. “I was happy to be spared the necessity of another dance. I declare, my feet have danced quite out of my shoes.”

Charles eyed the stars twinkling in the heavens and thought that he had never seen a lovelier evening. It was a pity that the object of his desire had not spared them so much as a glance. He cleared his throat. “I was gratified that your aunt gave me permission to take you out here. I daresay many chaperons would not grant their charges a romantic a tete-a-tete under the stars.”

Lucy frowned. “Romantic? But it is only you, Charles. Aunt Eleanor knows nothing untoward could happen.”

Then she smiled, and while those delectable lips and sparkling teeth should have lit up his universe, they suddenly seemed remarkably cruel and unfeeling.

“Damn it, Lucy,” he began, “I—”

“Did you see Hannah and Julian dancing?” Lucy inte
r
jected, oblivious to his mood. “They make a lovely couple. I mean for them to wed, you know.”

“
Wed
?”
he echoed, stunned. “That is quite impossible!”

“Do not look so thunderstruck, Charles. They are perfect for each other. Since Hannah is here to find a husband, I can
think
of no better a prospect than a duke who is rich as Croesus and very handsome besides.”

Charles stared at her. “You cannot be serious!”

She patted his cheek reassuringly. “You are worried about Julian’s well-earned reputation as a scapegrace. Still, he is a good man. He will not abuse her. If anyone can be the
making
of my brother, it is your cousin.” Her expression grew somber. “He needs her, Charles. Hannah may very well be Julian’s last chance for happiness.”

“Good God. You
are
serious.” Charles stared into the beautiful features of his beloved with a strong sense of impending disaster. There was no way to dissuade Lucy from trying to many Hannah to
Julian without telling her the truth—that his “cousin” was a prostitute he had found on a wager. The truth would put a decisive end to any hopes he had for winning Lucy. She would not forgive such a despicable scheme and one which—as Julian had so helpfully reminded him—had been
his
idea.

Standing there with Lucy looking innocently up at him, Charles felt like the biggest heel imaginable. He had wagered his future with her and was about to lose it.

On the other hand, he thought philosophically, if a man was about to die, he might as well take advantage of his last earthly moments. The poetry of heroic loss filled his desperate
soul.

“‘We who are about to die salute you,”’ he murmured recklessly as he bent his face to Lucy’s. A startled little gasp filled the rapidly narrowing space between them. It was quickly muffled by a very unbrotherly kiss.

Chapter
Fourteen

“I
claim victory,” Julian drawled with more than a touch of smugness as he propped his feet on an ottoman and eyed Charles over the rim of his glass.

“What? After one ball?” Charles scoffed, flopping onto the sofa in Julian’s study. “I hardly think so.”

Julian frowned. Damned if he would spend another evening like the one he had just endured. “Even Lady Jersey pronounced Hannah an Original. She is made.”

‘“There is many a slip ’twixt cup and lip,’” Charles declared morosely.

“What the devil is the matter with you?” Julian’s eyes narrowed. “More to the point, where were you all evening?”

“Drowning my sorrows,” his
friend
muttered.

“That was obvious enough when the carriages were brought round and you showed up thoroughly foxed. I wonder that Aunt Eleanor saw fit to spare you one of her lectures.”

“I fell asleep in Lady Fairchild’s card room,
”
Charles muttered. “I daresay no one missed me.”

Julian fought the urge to dump the contents of his glass on Charles’s head. “On the contrary,” he snarled. “Hannah could have used your support. Instead, it was left to me to lead her out and take her into supper. Damn it, Charles. I was depending on you.”

“You should never depend on a man in love. He is an exceedingly irrational fellow.”

Julian studied his
friend
, who looked as if the devil himself had paid him a visit this evening. His red-rimmed eyes bore a tormented expression, his clothing was askew, and his hair was a disheveled mop.

“What happened? Lucy refuse you again?”

“Worse than that,” the baronet confided with a bedeviled sigh. “I kissed her.”

Julian arched a brow, amused in spite of himself. “Am I to wish you happy, then? Did my sister fall helplessly into your arms?”

Charles cast him a murderous look. “She giggled.”

Julian tried to frame a diplomatic reply but could not resist the one that came to mind. “Your, er, technique must leave a great deal to be desired.”

“There is nothing wrong with
me”
Charles glared at him. “It is your sister who is wrong in the upper story. She thought I invited her out on the terrace to spare her the necessity of ruining her dancing slippers. She was so startled when I kissed her that she giggled like a ninny.”

“Perhaps she was only nervous,” Julian offered.

Charles shook his head. “A woman who has scores of admirers? Lucy does not have a nervous bone in her body. No, I imagine she thought I was pulling some great joke on her. She simply cannot bring herself to see me as anything other than an amiable companion.”

“I will talk to her,” Julian offered magnanimously.
“
After
you concede the bet.”

“I do not need your help in winning my bride,” Charles growled.

Julian regarded him pityingly. “It is clear that you shall not do so otherwise, dear fellow. Why do you not simply concede and I will smooth the way for you with Lucy? Hannah passed muster tonight with flying colors, so you have no reason to refuse.”

“One ball does not a success make,” Charles said stubbornly. “Our wager was that she must last the season. There are routs and musicales and the opera to be mastered. And, there is always the outside chance that I will somehow win Lucy over and declare victory myself.”

“True love is long-suffering indeed,” Julian murmured.

Charles shot him a glare that consigned him to the devil. “One of these days, you will get your comeuppance,” he muttered. “Did you know, by the bye, that Lucy is determined that you and Hannah shall wed?”

“As you said,” Julian muttered darkly, “my sister is a bit wrong in the upper works.”

But it was nearly dawn before Julian could stop seeing the penetrating gray eyes that had regarded him so intently all evening. He knew she thought he was joking when he called himself a bastard. What would she think if she knew the truth?

“That was splendid, Hannah,” Lucy declared, as Hannah let her hands fall from the keyboard into her lap. “You are more than ready to play at Lady Greeley’s musicale. Who would have guessed that you were such a musician?”

Hannah eyed the square piano uncertainly. “I have never felt comfortable on this instrument. I think I am better suited to the clavichord, or even the harpsichord.”

“Lady Greeley possesses neither,” Lucy said. “All of London has been taken by the pianoforte and will be enchanted to hear you play. How I wish that I had your dexterity, your expressiveness. The piano is made for an artist of your caliber.”

Hannah eyed the instrument dubiously. “I have heard that the strings often snap and are quite unreliable.”

Lucy laughed. ‘To be sure, the piano does not have the benefit of centuries of refinement, but you need not worry. Lady Greeley is sure to have a Broadwood, and they are reputed to be quite excellent.”

Her friend’s assurances gave Hannah little comfort. If something untoward did happen, she would not know until it was too late. In her ignorance, she would continue playing while the piano slipped in and out of tune or otherwise disgraced her. The prospect was unnerving.

“I do not like putting myself forward like this,” Hannah persisted.

Lucy eyed her sympathetically. “It is I who am putting you forward, dear, and I see that I should not have done so. But you are quite the success of the season. Everyone is dying to hear you play. I should be so proud if you would. I will leave you to your practice now.”

Hannah sighed as Lucy left the room. Ever since the night of Lady Fairchild’s ball, she had been deluged with invitations of all sorts. Lady Greeley’s request that she play at her musicale had come quite unexpectedly, and it had been her strong inclination to decline. But Lucy and Lady Huffington had approved the idea, and Hannah felt obliged to please them.

Although she did not doubt Lucy’s sincerity, she suspected that other members of society were not interested purely in her music. For them, tonight’s performance would provide a diverting novelty, the chance to see a deaf girl play. She would be talked about for days.

Hannah sighed. She was the talk of London as it was, according to Lucy. How ironic that she should be hailed as an Original, as if the years in Covent Garden and the Lock Hospital had not existed, as if she truly were a respectable young lady.