The Duchess Diaries: The Bridal Pleasures Series (3 page)

“Exactly,” Devon said, as if Gideon had just grasped the alchemical formula of the philosopher’s stone. “Most of the other male guests are outstanding examples of gentlemanly conduct.”

“But I’m—”

“—not. You are, however, a person who draws attention. Give in, Gideon. Chat with her until the eligible start to notice. I’ll cheer you from the corner.”

“Is this a sporting event?”

“In our world every time a man and woman meet it is liable to turn into a contest.”

The party’s hostess, Jane, the Marchioness of Sedgecroft, admired the assembly from the gallery above the ballroom. Beside her, an ominous feeling overshadowing her usual bright spirits, stood Harriet, the Duchess of Glenmorgan, a former student and once a schoolmistress at the academy. Harriet had been the first charity case to be admitted into and to graduate from the elite school. During the course of her education, which quite frankly couldn’t hold a candle to what she’d learned on the streets, Harriet and Charlotte had unexpectedly formed a bond of friendship.

Charlotte had been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. She had never been caught uttering a profanity. Until the academy had rescued Harriet from the gutter, she had stolen silver for a living. The curses
that she spewed when provoked would make a Billingsgate fishwife faint. Charlotte had taught Harriet the virtue of submitting to her betters. Harriet had taught Charlotte the value of shocking them senseless.

Harriet knew most of Charlotte’s secrets. Harriet hadn’t told Charlotte half of hers.

“Why is she always left standing alone at every ball?” Jane lamented as she studied Charlotte in chagrin. “Could her gown be less flattering? Was it her grandmother’s bedsheet?”

“It reminds me of the sail on Grayson’s yacht.”

“Well, the girls
are
about to launch.…” Jane sighed. “I wish I could find a way to coax her out of her shell. Or at least to discourage her from scraping her beautiful hair into that knot and putting all her efforts into marrying off her students and not herself. And, my stars…” Jane shuddered. “Those sandals.”

“She couldn’t find her evening slippers at the last moment and had to make do with those,” Harriet said defensively. “She has big feet, you know. No one else’s shoes would fit.”

“That is no excuse for unappealing footwear. I’ve offered my Italian shoemaker to her innumerable times. How does she expect to attract a suitor looking like a…a—”

“—a goddess,” Harriet said with a loyal smile. “She’s tall and strong limbed, and there aren’t many gentlemen who have the confidence to approach someone like her.”

Jane smiled and put her hand over Harriet’s. “What a supporter she has in you. There must be one man who is perfect. Her brothers have threatened to bring her old beau to London if she isn’t engaged before the end of the season. No one wants to watch her slip into a lonely life.”

“Charlotte won’t marry her old beau.”

Jane stared at Harriet’s profile. “How do you know?”

Harriet shrugged a white shoulder. “Just a guess.”

“Has she ever mentioned anyone else?” Jane asked thoughtfully.

“To me?”

“No, Harriet, to Napoleon Bonaparte. Do not pretend coyness.”

Harriet shrugged. “Fine.”

“Then—”

“If she has mentioned anyone, I don’t remember who it was.”

“Ah.” Jane’s lips curved with satisfaction. “You can trust me, Harriet. However, I do not wish you to betray a secret.”

Harriet leaned over the wrought-iron railing. “Who’s that handsome fellow talking to Devon down by the hall to the conservatory?”

Jane raised her brow. “Should I care?”

“You might. Or might not.”

Jane peered through the glittering brightness of the chandeliers to the two darkly clad men engrossed in conversation. “I think— Oh,
dear
. That’s the Duke of Wynfield. He and Devon are Kit’s fencing students. Do you suppose…”

Harriet pressed her lips together. It was a good thing she hadn’t taken another glass of champagne. She was dying to tell Jane about Charlotte’s secret attraction to the duke. But she’d promised that she wouldn’t, which was a shame. Jane was a powerful ally, and she would do anything for family.

“He’s a widow,” Jane mused, caressing the diamond pendant at her throat. “His wife died of cancer a year or
so after she had a child. At least, I believe that’s what happened.”

Harriet’s brow creased in thought. “His father died two years ago. The duke apparently went into a moral decline after he inherited.”

Jane sighed. “I suppose that is how some men grieve.”

“It’s also how some men celebrate,” Harriet said. “He doesn’t look especially mournful tonight, does he?”

“No.” Jane straightened her shoulders as if to shake off the mantle of sadness that had enshrouded them. “Still, we cannot see into his heart. No one in London has ever seen his child, either. However if he has a daughter who’s been introduced at court, I haven’t read about her in the papers. How long ago did his wife die?”

“Perhaps four or five years. But that’s only a guess.”

“His daughter would be too young for social introductions. I can only hope that— Well, it isn’t my place to wonder. The duke was young to have married and lost his wife.”

“Is he the rake that everyone thinks he is?”

Jane narrowed her eyes in contemplation. “I rely on Weed for all my fashion news and gossip. And he said—” Jane broke off, leaving Harriet in suspense. Weed was the senior footman in the house and the most beloved if formidable servant in the family. “I think he told me that the duke was about to enter negotiations for a mistress from Mrs. Watson’s. I don’t think this is mere speculation.”

“I hoped it was only a rumor,” Harriet said. “Who invited him?”

“Grayson, of course,” Jane replied.

“Charlotte would be appalled if she knew.”

Harriet felt Jane staring at her. “Yes. I’m sure she would.”

“It’s amazing to me, Harriet, to look at you and remember what a colorful life you lived.”

“But nothing that compares to yours,” Harriet said glibly.

“I’m not sure about that,” Jane said. “I have always stayed inside aristocratic circles. No, that isn’t true. I strayed a few times into the half-world on my husband’s account. But you have moved through every segment of society.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

Harriet glanced down at the throng of guests. She had already said far more than she meant to, and Jane was anything but dense. In fact, Jane’s mind tended to devious schemes, the most wicked of which had ended with her marrying the marquess. If Harriet wasn’t careful, Jane would soon charm her into confessing that Charlotte had been admiring the duke for a year now.

“I suppose as long as the duke behaves himself at the party,” Jane said, “there is nothing to fear. Charlotte won’t let him near the girls, and after your husband’s niece was abducted last year, Grayson has retained Sir Daniel’s services to patrol our residences during times when a malefactor might hope to take advan—”

Jane stopped, taking a long breath. Harriet knew from experience that she could have gone on for minutes at such an energetic pace, but not when her audience wasn’t listening to a thing she’d said. Indeed, Harriet found it impossible to stop staring at Charlotte and the duke. Then at the duke and Charlotte. Devon seemed to be forgotten in the middle.

Jane turned to her unexpectedly. “I think the duke should be watched, if not investigated.”

“But you just said that you felt sorry for him.”

“Yes, Harriet, but what you
didn’t
say told me that I
ought to feel more concerned about Charlotte than sorry for the duke. Her virtue is still a valuable commodity. A graduate accepting a marriage proposal tonight is one thing. A good thing. A baby born in nine months due to an indiscretion in an alcove is another. I won’t have it. This duke must be watched. And so must Charlotte. She is so intent on guarding her girls that she seems to have forgotten that she is vulnerable herself.”

“I doubt she is in any danger of being seduced while we stand here watching her every move,” Harriet said. “And I don’t think that as a result of carrying on a conversation with the duke that she will have his child by the end of the year.”

Jane started to respond but paused as a tall, liveried manservant arrived from the other side of the balcony. “Weed! You must have read my mind. I was just remembering our conversation the other day about Wynfield.”

Weed bowed, darting a wry glance toward Harriet. He would never let her forget that he’d once caught her robbing Jane’s room, a crime that had ultimately led to Harriet’s salvation. She had been transformed from a young monster into a civilized noblewoman.

Weed, however, remained the pompous frog that he had always been. He was not only a footman, but also Jane’s confidant, fashion adviser, and partner in her matchmaking ventures.

“How can I be of service, madam?” he asked in the pinched voice that made it sound as if he were talking through his nostrils.

“I am going downstairs to mingle. Kindly remind Mrs. O’Brien to keep a closer eye on Rowan tonight. My son has still not outgrown his habit of waylaying our guests with his sword.”

“Yes, madam.”

“Oh, and, Weed, there is one more thing concerning our earlier conversation. Have you heard any other rumors about Wynfield?”

“He has an appointment later tonight on Bruton Street with the courtesan he appears to have chosen as his next mistress. Her name is Gabrielle Something-or-Other, and she is known to be beautiful and completely immoral. She has ruined several marriages without the least remorse.”

“Thank you, Weed.” She turned to Harriet as he left. “Confirmed—he is a duke. He is widowed and wealthy.”

“He’s a wicked devil,” Harriet interjected.

Jane’s green eyes glinted. “And he seems devoted to leading the sinful and shallow life of an utter scoundrel.”

“And?”

“We will have to keep him in our sights. Agreed?”

“Yes, but if you let Charlotte know anything about this discussion, I will deny everything.”

D
evon walked Gideon around the ballroom, inundating him with so many last-minute instructions that he wasn’t surprised Charlotte lacked admirers. Who would be brave enough to break the Boscastle guard to approach her? Who could remember the endless rules?

“One more word,” he muttered. “One more warning, and I am going to do you a violent injury.”

“You are trustworthy, Wynfield, aren’t you?”

“I’m a man.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I am human. I have failings like any other man. If you’re afraid that I will do or say anything to dishonor your cousin, then come out and say it. Or do not introduce us.”

“The thought never entered my mind,” Devon said, then hesitated. “Did it enter yours?”

Gideon laughed.

Devon scrutinized him in silence. “On second thought,
maybe this isn’t one of my brighter ideas. I’ll find someone harmless instead. There might be an earl hiding in here somewhere who isn’t a walking scandal.”

“Look—”

Devon held up a hand. “It’s all right. I understand. You don’t want to do me the only favor I have ever asked of you in all the years of our friendship.”

Gideon glanced at Charlotte’s willowy figure. From where he stood she looked as if she were captured in the candlelight prisms. “Oh, hell, fine. I suppose it won’t kill me. But if this is one of your pranks, I promise you, I will pay you back in spades.”

“Me, a model of dignity and reform? Would I play a trick on a duke who has studied under a sword master such as Fenton?”

“What do you expect me to say to her?”

“Haven’t you paid court to enough women to write a book on the subject?”

“Only when I was hoping for something in return.”

Devon’s eyes darkened. “Can I give you one suggestion?”

“Damn you.”

“Try not to use language like that in front of the young ladies or you’re liable to be slapped witless by a dozen or so fans.”

Charlotte’s throat constricted. She couldn’t swallow as she observed the swath the duke cut through the ballroom. She glanced about, seeking a reasonable means of escape, a group of guests to hide her, any excuse not to face the man whom her cousin had clearly sent to bedevil her.

And yet she waited. She hoped. What would she do for the chance to know him as she had imagined in her diary? What if when he reached her he announced in a masterful voice, “This ball is a waste of our time. You belong with me. Alone. In my arms. I am taking you again, and this time I will not let you elude me.”

She shivered with forbidden, foolish anticipation. How wicked she could be in her thoughts. Then, suddenly, the duke stood before her. She lifted her gaze. Wickedness looked her right in the face. She forced herself to look back.

Thought ceased to matter. Reason abandoned her.

Her mind went into anarchy.

Sensation reigned, wild and undisciplined.

She’d caught only a few glimpses of him about town. His profile in a passing carriage. A stolen look at his broad-shouldered figure at an exhibition. It wouldn’t have been appropriate to stare down the duke in the emporium. Heaven forbid that one of his strumpets had made a snide remark that the younger girls of the academy had overheard.

Or that Charlotte herself had broken her perfect record of propriety and given the tart a piece of her mind. One glance at him that day had been sufficient to confirm her prior beliefs. He was an insufferably attractive man who radiated the charm of an authentic rogue.

And she was only asking for trouble by allowing her infatuation to grow.

Perhaps this meeting would dampen her interest in him once and for all. Perhaps he would reveal how crude and conceited he was at heart. She would be content to prove to herself that he was handsome on the outside and hollow within.

“May I introduce myself?” he asked.

She nodded her head in the affirmative.

He said something. She had no idea what it was. He might have been speaking Portuguese.

For the life of her she could not force her mind to function.