When Seducing A Duke (12 page)

Chapter 10

G
rey dreamed about that night—the one that turned his life upside down and took him from being a man with a reputation for ruining others, to a man well ruined himself.

The dream was mostly memory, with his mind filling in blanks as it saw fit. He and Charles Danvers out at one of their clubs. Danvers feeling guilty for letting his financial situation get as bad as it had. Grey had felt certain his friend could turn things around with a few good investments.

Outside the club, both of them foxed, they’d staggered to their carriages. Grey remembered singing drunkenly to himself, but couldn’t remember the exact tune. He never made it to his carriage. He was jumped by four, no five men who beat him to the ground. He fought back, but not good enough. He was too slow and there were too many of them.

On his back on the street. Cobblestones bit into his shoulders, cracked the back of his head as he struck them. Huge weight on his chest—a man. How many times did he hit him? Six.

Then, through blurred eyes he saw the blade glinting in the lamplight. He heard the man say something about ruining his “pretty face.” The others held him as he began to struggle. And then he felt the jagged blade tear into his face. He yelled in rage and pain.

And then Danvers was there, wailing on them with his walking stick, shouting for the constable—anyone to help.

Grey’s own coachman had come running. It had happened so fast no one had realized that he was the man being attacked until it was too late.

The dream followed what he remembered next, bits of the coach ride to Danvers’s home. Rose, pressing cloths to his face. The surgeon stitching—then he passed out. But Rose had stayed with him. He knew this. She was there when he woke up. She had held his hand when the doctor tried to repair the damage.

He could see her so clearly, hovering over him like an angel, caring for and protecting him. She was so good at it—a surprise, given that she was a spoiled young woman. He tried to smile at her, but his face hurt. She touched his cheek, reached for something to the side.

Grey looked down and saw the knife in her hand. It was the same one they’d used to carve his face. His blood stained the blade. Terror cut through him as he met her gaze and saw the hatred there.

“You have no honor,” she told him, her voice low and husky, like it was during their nights at Saint’s Row. “You have no heart.”

Grey couldn’t move. He could only lay there and watch as she brought the blade not to his face, but to his chest, just above his heart. She smiled then, cold and deadly, not at all like his Rose.

And then she sliced him open.

He woke up with a cry that tore his throat raw as it caught there.

The sheets were twisted around his legs, pooled around his hips as he sat in the center of his bed gasping for breath, willing his heart to slow the hell down. He was still sitting there when the door to his room opened and the terror from his dream ran in clad in nothing but a nightgown, wrapper, and moonlight.

He’d seen her in far less, but he didn’t think she ever looked so appealing as she did with her glorious sable hair trailing over her shoulders, her eyes wide with worry.

Worry for him.

“My God, Grey!” She fell onto the bed beside him, sitting so that she faced him. So that her hands could clasp one of his. “What the devil is the matter?”

“A dream,” he replied roughly. “Nothing more.”

“A dream?” Incredulity colored her tone. “It sounded as though someone was tearing the heart from your very chest.”

He frowned. She’d heard? But it hadn’t seemed that he’d cried out so loudly. Perhaps if her room was next to his she would have heard him, but she was on the other side of the house, where it was proper. Where he could think about her, but not touch her, not easily.

“Just a dream,” he insisted. He listened for the sound of approaching servants but heard nothing. “How did you hear me?”

Rose shook her head, sending waves of hair rippling. “I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep so I went down to the library for a book. When I came up the stairs I heard you.”

And came running.

Grey tried to ignore the pinch in his chest. He looked at both her hands and then the door to his room. “Where’s your book?”

She looked at him like she didn’t understand the question. Then, understanding dawned. “In the hall,” she replied. “I dropped it when I heard you shout.”

“Scared I was suffering too much, or not enough?” he asked with a twist of his lips. He couldn’t shake the image of her coming at him with that knife. The hatred in her gaze.

Rose released his hand and straightened her spine, putting a few more inches between them. It didn’t matter how much physical distance she insisted upon, it would never stretch as wide as the emotional void that kept pushing them apart.

“I would never wish any pain upon you.” Her tone was a stiff as her shoulders. “It’s cruel of you to suggest otherwise.”

“I know.” But he didn’t apologize. He couldn’t. Let her think him cruel and unfeeling. It was the only thing keeping him from hauling her into his arms and burying his face in the peace of her hair.

He might have known she wouldn’t be so easily chased away. No, she was going to sit there and make him face the hurt in her eyes—the hurt she tried so hard not to show.

“What was the dream about?”

He shouldn’t tell her. A kind man wouldn’t tell her. “I dreamed you had a knife and were about to carve me up like a rare beef steak.”

Her sinful mouth opened, jaw dropping. She stared at him in horror. “Oh my God.”

“Quite,” was all he could think to say in response. He shouldn’t have told her. There hadn’t been any satisfaction in it.

And then the woman did the damnedest thing. She leaned forward and took his face—his ruined face—in her soft, slender hands, holding him so he had no choice but to meet her earnest gaze. “I would never hurt you, Grey. You don’t have to fear me.”

It took a second for her words to sink in, so lost was he in the sweet, melting chocolate of her eyes. “Fear you?” He reached up and grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands away from him. “Jesus woman, I’m not afraid of you!”

She sat there, wrists in his grasp, not bothering to pull free. She obviously didn’t fear him. “What else could such a dream mean?”

Of all arrogant, idiotic…“Perhaps that I don’t trust you?” he ground out.

The little witch—and surely she had to be a witch to have him as under her spell as he was—smiled kindly. “That’s a lie, and we both know it.”

She drove him insane. In fact, that was probably her plan. Drive him so stark raving mad that he didn’t know up from down, arsehole from a hole in the ground. He had to get her out of his house—fast. “Woman, you try my patience.”

Her smile never wavered, but she pulled free of his grasp. “Now that I believe. Never fear, Grey, you try mine as well. Now lay down.”

His brow ached under the pressure of the scowl upon it. “What?”

Warm fingers pressed against the bare wall of his chest, sending a shock of awareness rippling through him. “I said lay down. I’m going to sit with you until you fall asleep.”

“Like hell you are. Who the fuck do you think you are, my mother?”

She had to be red-faced now. Not from embarrassment, but from the shock of his language. But instead of maidenly indignation, he got a palm slapped hard against his breast. It stung.

“You stupid, rude man!” Both hands were on him now. “I’m only trying to be your friend. Now lay the hell down!”

The sound that rolled out of his throat was something between a growl and a chuckle. He’d made her mad enough to swear. Good, they were even. But when he grabbed her hands to push her away, his body did something else. He hauled her against him, and then rolled so that she was pinned between him and the bed, nothing but a few layers of insignificant cotton between them.

She actually protested, squirming against him like an outraged virgin. Her anger ignited his, and holding her arms above her head, he lowered himself so that his lips covered hers.

Grey kissed her without tenderness or finesse. He didn’t even try to be gentle as he ground his mouth against Rose’s. Her sweet, full lips parted, allowing his tongue to slip inside, and as he tried to devour her, she offered her own hunger up in response.

She tasted like peaches, although he had no idea why. Sweet, juicy peaches. He drank her in, abraded the tender flesh of her jaw with the harsh stubble of his own. She didn’t seem to mind. She had stopped struggling, the movements of her body now a languid dance against his. His cock was hard, demanding to be allowed inside the hot, luscious body he’d only craved more since he’d first explored it.

She was like no woman he’d ever known. She inspired compassion and fury at the same time, made him want to hold her tenderly even when he thought he might strangle her. How the hell did she do that?

Why didn’t she fight him instead of pressing against him, whetting his appetite for her even more with the ripe sweetness of her body?

And damn it all to hell, how could a kiss make him want to toss aside the promise he’d made to her father and compromise what honor he had left? Because of this kiss, he was in danger of doing just that—and in danger of making love to Rose with her mother under the same roof. If he did that then he’d know he truly had no honor left.

If that wasn’t a proverbial bucket of cold water, he didn’t know what was.

Grey released Rose’s arms and rolled off her. The sheets were still tangled around his hips, but now they stood up like a tent above his groin—damning evidence of his rock-solid cockstand.

“Get out,” he rasped, throwing his arm over his eyes so he didn’t have to face her. If he looked at her and saw hurt in her eyes, he’d never let her go. “Please.”

The bed shifted slightly, sheets rustling. Her hand brushed his shin as Rose climbed off the bed. She didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound save for the pat of her bare feet against the floor as she practically ran to the door.

Only when the latch clicked shut behind her did Grey lift his arm and open his eyes. He was indeed alone. Good.

Tomorrow, he would find a way to discuss possible husbands for her with Archer, ascertain if his brother knew any men who might actually be good enough for her.

Then, because he knew it was the only way he stood a chance of getting any more sleep that night, and because his body demanded release, he slid his hand beneath the blankets and ruthlessly brought himself to orgasm.

And of course he thought of Rose the entire time. He thought of her after as well. In fact, she was the last thing he thought of before sleep finally claimed him once more.

This time he didn’t dream.

Rose didn’t try to avoid Grey for the next two days, it simply worked out that way.

Perhaps he avoided her and the chore of having to make ridiculous small talk in front of others while both of them remembered what had happened in his bedroom that night.

Regardless, it didn’t matter if either of them tried to keep from seeing the other, that was what happened. The Season was in full swing now and Rose’s social engagements were such that she was barely home for any longer than the time it took to change clothes.

This gave her almost no time to think about bringing Grey back into society, and even if she had the time to consider it, she had no idea how to go about making such a miracle a reality.

If it wasn’t Kellan or Eve or Archer keeping her out and about, it was someone else. The invitations started pouring in on Monday, and hadn’t stopped. She didn’t fool herself into thinking it was her charming personality that had people vying for her condescension. No, it was Grey responsible for it. It would only be a matter of time before someone asked about him. They wouldn’t be able to help themselves. They certainly had no trouble talking about him, even she had heard some of the whispers. Nothing too dire, but enough to wonder why these people had nothing better to talk about than a man who hadn’t been out in society for years.

But she didn’t worry about such pettiness this evening. Tonight, she had something far more pressing on her mind.

It was Thursday, and she was going to Saint’s Row. Only tonight, instead of carrying a mask in her bag as she snuck off to meet Grey, she was attending a public function with her mother, Eve, and Lady Rothchild. A fundraiser for orphans, there would be all kinds of entertainment—just not the kind she’d originally intended to enjoy within the walls of the elite club.

Still, that didn’t stop her from having Heather lace her into a pretty blue satin corset with tiny lavender rosettes on it, over top of which she donned a gown of teal silk with a square neck line and small sleeves that set wide on her shoulders. The bodice was snug, lifting her breasts but not making a shocking display of them, and the bustle lifted a cascade of ruffles that tumbled to the floor to train ever so slightly behind her. Accents of chocolate-colored bows and matching trim around the neck gave the dress warmth and kept the style from being too plain for evening wear. In her ears she wore simple topaz drops that her father had given her for Christmas the year before he died. It was difficult to believe that it would be three years this fall.

Three years since she’d looked into his warm brown eyes and felt the strength of his arms around her.

Tears prickled her eyes, and she wiped them away with the backs of her fingers. She was not going to think of her father with sadness.

But she couldn’t help the guilt that crept down her spine. All her father had ever asked of her was that she stay away from Grey. He knew Grey was not the kind of man he wanted his daughter to be with. But would he feel the same way seeing the kind of man Grey had become? He wasn’t the same skirt chaser he used to be.

But,
she could hear her father’s voice in her head,
was that because he’d changed, or simply because he no longer gave himself the opportunity?

Rose wanted to believe it was the former, but she couldn’t escape the realization that if she managed to make Grey confront his feelings for her—if she managed to win him—that she might end up hurt.

And why did she want him so badly? Because she couldn’t have him? Or because he’d saved her life, as Archer put it? There had to be more to it. She couldn’t be so shallow or so naïve. Surely the warm gestures, the consideration he gave both she and her mother, said something about his true self. There had to be more to her attraction than the way he looked at her, and what kind of man she thought he should be.

Because, if he was the man she wanted him to be, he would be here with her right now, instead of at home doing whatever it was he did at night when she was gone.

“Rose, it is your turn to have your fortune told.” Eve was all enthusiasm as she took her by the arm and led her toward a colorful tent set up to one side of the grand ballroom. Swaths of bright fabric hung in exotic drapes and there was a curtain of beads in front of the entrance. There was a line outside, each lady holding a ticket that signified the order in which they would be seen.

Her mother was one of the ladies in the line, as was Lady Rothchild. “Do go, Rose. Perhaps she will tell you something wonderful!”

Forcing a smile, Rose let her friend lead her toward the tent.

“Ah, having your fortunes told, mam’selles?”

Rose turned her head to find a very beautiful and very cool-looking woman standing behind them. From the luster of her fair skin and her vivid hair, she could only assume that this was Vienne La Rieux, the owner of this club.

A woman who could take a business and make it so profitable—traffic in what had always been a male domain—had to be respected.

“Yes, Madame La Rieux,” she replied. “Have you had yours told?”

“Ah,
oui.
Madame Moon informed me that I would soon meet a man who would turn my world upside down.” She laughed, rich and throaty, as though she doubted that would ever happen.

“Perhaps she will see the same in yours,” Eve suggested to Rose.

Madame La Rieux’s eyes sparkled as they lingered a little too knowingly. “Or perhaps Lady Rose has already met him.” Then she curtsied and left them to talk to the ladies in line.

Eve turned wide eyes to Rose. “She recognized you?” Her voice was a faint whisper.

Rose shook her head. “I don’t see how. I think maybe she is just very astute.” She took another step toward the tent. “What did this Madame Moon tell you?”

Her friend frowned slightly. “It was so strange. She said there was a man here tonight who was everything I could ever want, and that if I did not find him, my life would be empty and…tragic.”

“Good lord.” Rose dug in her heels. “I’m not going near this woman. It’s all about men.”

“We’re women,” Eve needlessly reminded her, giving her a shove toward the tent entrance. “Of course it’s all about men. Now get in th…oh my.”

Rose turned her head. Her friend was staring at someone on the other side of the room—a man. A handsome, lean, dangerous-looking man with the grace of a cat. A very predatory cat, and he was staring at Eve as though she was the sweetest, plumpest mouse he’d ever seen.

Perhaps there was more to this Madame Moon than she first suspected. One look at Eve’s face and she could tell her friend was just as taken by this man as he by her. “Go,” Rose whispered. And then loudly she said, “Eve, is not that Amanda Ross by the punch bowl? She said she had a recipe for a new face cream. Go get it from her, will you?”

Eve shot her a startled glance, because they both knew Amanda Ross was standing not two feet away from Vienne La Rieux, who was conversing with Mr. Dangerous. But as startled as her friend might have been by the encouragement, she also realized that both of their chaperones were in line to have their fortunes told and that she might never have an opportunity like this again.

“Of course,” she replied loudly as well. “I will be right back.”

And off she went. Alone, and the target of exasperated looks by the ladies waiting their turns, Rose ducked into the tent to face her future.

The interior of the tent was even more exotic than the outside. Rich reds, oranges, and violets greeted the eye as sumptuous velvet cushions, table linens, and the clothing worn by the mysterious Madame Moon.

“Good evening,” the woman at the table said as she rose to her feet. “I am Sadie Moon. Welcome.”

Rose had to struggle to keep her mouth from falling open. Sadie Moon was a tall woman—as tall as most men. She had a true hourglass figure with a tiny waist and flared hips. Her skin was like buffed ivory. Her thick dark hair was pinned up on top of her head, to allow a thick cloud of it to frame her face from beneath a huge, feathered violet hat. Her gown was a simple, unadorned design, but the same violet as her hat with a cherry underskirt.

She was like some strangely exotic bird, peering at her with all-too-knowing large eyes of blue, gold, and green. Fairy eyes. Rose didn’t believe in fairies, but at that moment she could easily believe that Sadie Moon was not of this world.

“Lady Rose Danvers,” she said dumbly, extending her hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

The fortune teller smiled. “Likewise.” She gestured to the table. “Would you sit?”

Rose did as she bid, seating herself on the edge of the chair nearest the door. “I have heard wonderful things about your talent, Mrs. Moon.”

The slender woman seemed to pause at the mention of her name. Or was it Rose’s use of “Mrs.” that stopped her? “Thank you, Lady Rose. I shall endeavor to live up to my reputation.” She took the seat across the table. “Would you prefer cards, runes, or leaves?”

Rose smiled. “No crystal ball?”

Mrs. Moon’s lips twitched. “It’s broken.”

She was an easy woman to like despite her strange appearance, or perhaps because of it. “I’ve never had my fortune told before, so what would you suggest?”

Odd, engaging eyes assessed her carefully, lingering on her face. “You are bold, impetuous, and willful.” She made them sound like compliments rather than faults. “You have not the patience for cards or runes, which are open to much more interpretation. I would say leaves.” With that she took a delicate china pot with a chip in the lid from the shelf behind her. She gently rotated the pot, no doubt to stir the leaves inside and then poured the fragrant mixture into a matching cup, its gold trim faded from being washed often.

“It smells delightful,” Rose commented on a sigh. “What kind of tea is it?”

The fortune teller smiled. “My own special blend. Cream and sugar?”

After the tea was fixed, Mrs. Moon instructed Rose to drink it while thinking of a question or problem—even a wish. She was to drink it as far down as she could, even though it was very likely that she would get leaves in her mouth.

Once she had finished drinking, Rose turned the cup upside down on the saucer as she was instructed and turned it three times counter clockwise with her left hand. Then she pushed the cup and saucer across the table where it was picked up by Mrs. Moon, whose face was obstructed by the amazingly wide brim of her hat as she peered inside the delicate china.

“See the dregs on your saucer?” She pointed a long finger at the little wet puddles and piles of discarded tea leaves. “These represent the things you leave behind, the negative.”

It just looked like tea to Rose.

“Tragedy. Grief. The wounds sting, but you are healing.”

Rose couldn’t speak. She could only stare.

Sadie Moon’s hands were bare, she finally realized as she watched the woman pick up her cup and stare inside. The skin there wasn’t as delicate as that on her face, the backs of her hands marred by tiny scars as though she’d been cut or burned occasionally over the course of her life. She hadn’t started out as a lady, hadn’t been born to the middle or upper classes, yet she spoke as though she had. She carried herself as though she had.

“I see a man.”

Rose bit back a sigh. Of course she did. She seemed to see a man in every cup. And here she’d actually hoped that Sadie Moon might be as unusually talented as her appearance suggested.

“He hides himself. A mask. He keeps to the shadows.”

Rose’s heart rolled over her chest. “What else?”

“You want him,” Sadie said, turning the cup in her palms. “You do not understand what you feel for him, or why he pushes you away.”

“No.” Rose was breathless. “I don’t.”

Those fay eyes locked with hers. “Because he loves you enough to give you up. He is all about duty and honor, but he is ruled by fear.”

She was on the very edge of her seat now. “Yes. He’s afraid of coming out of the shadows.”

Sadie shook her head, the feathers on her hat bobbing. “That’s only part of it. He’s afraid for you.”

“For me?” Rose’s teeth clicked together. “Why?”

The fortune teller shrugged. “For that answer, you will have to go to him. You have many men in your cup, Lady Rose.”

Disappointed, Rose sagged a little. “For all the good it does me.”

A bright grin flashed beneath that amazing hat. “The man who wants you but will not take you. Another who would take everything you offer and give what he can of himself—but it will not be enough. Another who wants nothing from you at all.”

Grey. Kellan? And probably Archer.

“And your father.” Sadie looked up, her gaze full of sympathy. “I am sorry for your loss. It’s been…three years?”

“You could have read about him in the gossip rags,” Rose replied uncharitably. Mrs. Moon had struck a nerve, seen too much of what she thought was hidden inside.

“I am used to being distrusted and thought a charlatan, my lady.” There was an edge to the fortune teller’s voice as well. No matter how used to it she was, it was obviously still a sore point. “Would the gossip rags know about the roses you have placed on his grave every week?”

How could she possibly know that? “You are frightening,” Rose whispered, and she meant it.