When Seducing A Duke (24 page)

Chapter 20

S
urely nothing awful could happen at a tea party?

This was Rose’s hope as she took a seat beside Eve in Lady Rothchild’s parlor. She sipped at a cup of tea and nibbled on the various and delicious refreshments offered by her best friend’s mother.

They discussed books and charities, music and theater. Conversation was kept very polite and bland given the youth of some of the ladies in attendance. In fact, it was downright boring, but Rose happened to like boring.

At least no one was looking at her as though she’d sprouted horns. No one had whispered when she walked in. That was definitely a good thing. Perhaps Eve was right and the whole scandal of her marriage was already blowing over, making way for some other juicy tidbit.

She ran her palm over the blue velvet of the sofa where she sat. This was where she and Eve often gathered over the course of their friendship to discuss their dreams and hopes for the future. Rose could remember sitting in that very spot as she informed Eve that she wanted to marry the Duke of Ryeton. Eve had thought her mad, of course, but supported her regardless. And Eve had wanted to marry a spy—a rakish one at that. Of course, he would give up his rakish ways for her. Rose had deemed it a perfectly sound plan, and they laughed.

How odd that Rose had achieved her goal. True, it might not have happened the way she dreamed, but it had happened regardless. And though the gossip distressed her, she wouldn’t give Grey up. Was it really so amazing that he’d married her? Surely not.

As for Eve, she was going to marry a politician. A man who might someday be prime minister of their great country. Perhaps in his youth Bramford Gregory had engaged in intrigue and rakish endeavors, but he had kept them well hidden, except for being seen at Saint’s Row with an unknown woman. His future wife would probably never know if he’d given up his vices or not. Poor Eve. She hoped her friend would find happiness.

Eve turned to her. “Excuse me for one moment, Rose. Mama has asked me to check on the scones.”

Rose nodded. “Of course.”

No sooner had her friend departed than an elegant blonde woman approached. Rose knew who she was though they’d never been introduced. “May I sit with you?”

The woman had a beautiful, almost icy look to her, with sharp cheekbones and a top lip wider than her bottom. Very striking, but there was something in her blue eyes that made Rose like her. She had the look of someone who didn’t suffer fools.

“Of course.”

The woman offered her hand before sitting. “I’m Lady Madeline Monteforte.”

Rose could see how Archer would be attracted to this woman, most men would be. She could also see that he would have a difficult time catching her. This woman had the look of someone who hid any vulnerable aspect of herself away where no one would ever find it, and that included her heart.

That realization that Archer would have to rely on more than charm made her smile. “It is lovely to meet you. I am Rose Danvers Kane, Duchess of Ryeton.”

Madeline smiled at her, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yes, I know. Your husband is brother to Lord Archer Kane, is he not?”

Ah-ha. “Yes, he is. Do you know my brother-in-law?”

The lady’s cheeks didn’t so much as pinken, but her eyes took on a brightness that made Rose bite the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling. Yes, she was a cool one. “I do. I wonder if I might be so bold as to inquire into his character?”

Rose raised both brows. “I should think he is exactly as he has presented himself to you, Lady Monteforte.”

Now the woman flushed slightly. “Forgive me. I mean no offense to your relation, but you see, I believe Lord Kane might have developed an interest in my daughter, and I want her to be happy in her choice of husband.”

An interest in her daughter? She couldn’t be that blind, could she? Or had Archer somehow managed to make a royal mess of things? “I assure you, that Archer Kane is one of the best men I know.” And that was the truth.

Madeline smiled. “Thank you. You have no idea how much that lightens my heart to hear you say that.”

Did it? So why did Rose get the feeling the lady was disappointed? Had she been hoping to hear that Archer was something else? The kind of man unsuitable for a young woman, perhaps? The kind of man better suited for a mature woman who knew exactly what she wanted?

Oh, wait till she told Grey!

She missed him. Of course he couldn’t be there with her at a lady’s party, but even if it wasn’t just for ladies, he wouldn’t have come. This was the way it was going to be for them. If she wanted to attend an event she would have to go alone.

She was going to have a lot of lonely evenings in her future.

“Perhaps you and your daughter would come to call at Ryeton House someday, Lady Monteforte? I would so enjoy the chance to get to know you better.” And to have Archer come to visit.

“That would be lovely.” She seemed to mean it. Either this woman cared little about scandal or she had yet to hear it. She would have to be very open-minded to consider allowing her daughter to marry into the Kane family. “Thank you for the invitation. And now I see Lady Eve has returned. I will give her back her seat. Good day, Duchess.”

Eve stopped to speak to another lady, and Rose, noticing the platter of cucumber sandwiches on the buffet, rose to her feet to get herself a plate. As she made selections from the various platters, she came up behind a trio of women who did not seem to notice her.

“The duchess is either incredibly brave or incredibly naïve,” one said to her companions. “To constantly put herself in the company of her husband’s former lovers.”

Rose froze. She should walk away right then, but she couldn’t. Her feet seemed rooted to the spot.

“Never mind that. How on earth did
she
manage to do what countless others could not? She’s no comparison for Lady Devane’s elegance or Merriam Bellforte’s beauty.”

“Perhaps she isn’t as innocent as we’ve all been made to believe.”

The third woman snorted. She looked bitter and mean. “Ryeton needs an heir. Since he’s a social pariah, his choices of a bride are limited. No doubt he chose his bride based on convenience and desperation.”

“She does owe him a great debt.”

The bitter one spoke again. “Don’t make her out to be a martyr. It’s not that difficult to spread one’s legs when there’s a title and a fortune involved. Ryeton’s prowess is legendary. I doubt she suffered.”

The three of them giggled. And then one of them looked up and met Rose’s gaze. At least the woman had the grace to look horrified.

Her stomach churning, Rose turned away. She forgot about her plate and the cucumber sandwiches and stiffly made her way back to Eve. She had to leave.

Of course, she was intercepted by two younger women who stepped directly in front of her. It would have been rude to brush past them, and Rose tried never to be rude.

“Pardon me, Your Grace. May we ask you a question?”

No!
Couldn’t they see that she was about to die of mortification? “Of course.”

One of the girls was Jacqueline Whitting, Lady Monteforte’s daughter. “We’ve heard that your husband, the duke wears a mask,” she said. “Is that true?”

Was she about to become the butt of a cruel joke? Because it was one thing to have to take a higher path when a full-grown woman made remarks, but she had absolutely no intention of letting some little chit insult her. “It is.”

The other girl—Priscilla something—practically swooned. “How romantic! Just like the hero in
La Mascarade de la Peau!
”

“The Masquerade of the Skin?” Where had she heard that title before? Her eyes widened and the girl blushed scarlet.
Voluptuous.

Rose leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially in the younger woman’s ear. “Indeed.”

The two exchanged excited and embarrassed glances, giggling the whole time. No, Archer would never be interested in this girl, if for no other reason than she was a girl. Despite her choice of reading material, Jacqueline was an innocent, and Archer had no patience for that. But whoever did end up winning Lady Jacqueline’s hand was in for a few surprises.

And that was as far as Rose wanted to think upon it.

When Rose left them, she felt strong enough to continue at the party. She wasn’t going to let those women know they’d driven her away. And when the one who had seen her caught her eye and smiled ruefully, Rose managed a tight smile in return. Being contrite didn’t change what had been said.

“…And then Lord Benning forbade me from ever going back there!” Lady Benning announced to the shocked group hanging on her every word. Rose resumed her place beside Eve. She looked at her friend, hoping to glean some idea of what she had missed.

“I cannot believe that.” It was one of the women who had talked about her earlier. This one didn’t look the least bit contrite. In fact, she looked indignant, as though Rose was the one who had done wrong by overhearing her mean remarks. “What about you, Your Grace? Does your husband dictate where you can and cannot go?”

The woman looked as though she expected to be proven right.

“My husband would never do that.” Rose informed her coolly. “Although there will always be
unsavory
characters at any social gathering, my husband trusts me to decide the ones I wish to attend.”

The woman flushed, and Rose felt a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing that her barb had struck a nerve. “If that’s true, he must have changed immensely since the days when we were acquainted.”

Ahh.
Now the claws came out. No wonder the woman had made such vile aspirations earlier. She was jealous.

“He has.” Rose held the other woman’s gaze, not caring a whit for how she said the word “acquainted.” This woman had slept with her husband, and oddly enough she wasn’t the least bit jealous. She did, however, feel sorry for the woman because Grey
had
been a different man back then. “My husband is very attentive and courteous to my wishes. I couldn’t be more
satisfied
with my situation.” Oh God, had she actually said that? The innuendo practically stood up on its own and waved to everyone in the room.

What was it about Grey—no, about this woman—that made her feel as though she had to defend her marriage, and brag about her sex life? It was just so petty.

“You were once a
friend
of the duke’s, were you not, Lady Devane?” The woman—whose name Rose could not remember—slanted a devious glance in the blonde woman’s direction.

Everyone looked at Lady Devane, because everyone knew the rumors and everyone wanted to see not only Rose’s reaction, but Lady Devane’s as well. Vultures.

Eve pressed her knee against Rose’s, giving her some well-needed support.

“I was, Lady Gosling,” Lady Devane replied smoothly. “But that was a long time ago, back when he was a man who never thought to marry.” She smiled at Rose. “And then he met the one woman who could tempt him. I believe you must be an extraordinary woman, Your Grace.”

Rose could have kissed her, for in that one moment, the woman who could have easily become her enemy proved herself a friend. And not only a friend, but she let every woman in that room know what she thought of their vicious tongues.

“Thank you, Lady Devane.” Rose flashed a genuine smile. “But I feel that I am the fortunate one.”

Lady Gosling—what a ridiculous title!—said nothing. Tight-lipped, she turned away and went off in search of other prey.

Yes, Rose thought, as Eve discreetly squeezed her hand and whispered, “Old hag,” she was fortunate. But Grey was obviously the smarter of the two of them, because he had enough sense to stay the hell at home.

Dawn had yet to raise her sleepy face when Grey woke. Outside it was dark, the street lights the only illumination in the gloomy, rainy early hours.

Beside him, Rose slept deeply and peacefully, face adorably smooshed as she burrowed into her pillow. But unlike other mornings, he wasn’t content to lie abed and stare at his wife.

His wife who had been spending more and more time at home as of late. While he’d love to think that it was devotion to him that kept her from parties and balls, he knew it was something more. Rose loved parties, loved dressing up and going out. She craved social interaction, and the loss of such activities was beginning to show.

His happy girl no longer seemed happy. No longer seemed to be the young woman whom he thought could make anything she wanted a reality simply by force of will.

And it was all his fault.

She didn’t talk to him about it. In fact, he was pretty much convinced she bold-faced lied whenever he asked. And that could mean only one thing—that he was the reason she no longer showed her face in society. Other than visiting with Eve Elliott, and the odd caller she received here at the house, she saw no one.

And last night, he could have sworn he’d seen resentment in her eyes when he asked if she had plans for the evening, as he asked almost every evening. He was only curious. For a while, she would tell him about the parties she attended, and he enjoyed hearing about them. Now that there weren’t any parties, there were no stories, and he missed them.

He slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb her, and hurriedly pulled on a shirt, trousers, and stockings. He grabbed his boots from beside the door, his mask from the dresser, and crept from the room like a thief or a guilty lover.

Perhaps he was a little of both. Somehow he had managed to steal Rose’s joy for life, and he felt terrible about it. But he had no idea how to give it back.

That guilt—that restless unease—was what kept him from sleeping and weighed on his conscience. It was what drove him downstairs at this ungodly hour, into his mask, and out the back.

The air was thick with mist, dampening his hair and clothes with the lightest touch as he strode purposefully toward the stables. His heart huffed against his ribs, half terrified, half excited about what he was about to do.

The stables were deserted of course. The grooms wouldn’t be up for at least another hour, and that was all right. The fewer servants around to witness his behavior the better—it would keep chaos and gossip to a minimum.

He saddled his horse—a great sable gelding he called Marlowe—and swung himself onto the animal’s strong back. Gathering the reins, he set his heels to the horse’s sides and let his eager mount carry him out into the dark.

It was obvious Marlowe was thrilled to be out. He was sadly underused while in London as Grey rarely rode him. A blatant abuse that Grey was about to rectify—at least for today.

A discreet cantor took him down the street to Hyde Park corner. Once safely inside the park, where there was little risk of encountering traffic or the odd pedestrian staggering home in the waning hours, Grey allowed Marlowe his stride. Hatless, and in his shirtsleeves, he bent over his mount’s back and reveled in the feeling of the wind and rain in his hair. Against his skin.

He was free. And he didn’t care that anyone might see him. Grey’s heart soared. Sweet Christ, but this felt good.

He rode until the sun began its slow ascension, and then steered a sated Marlowe toward the gate. He passed a gentleman on the way out. He didn’t recognize the man, but it was apparent the man knew him. Grey held his breath for a split second—wondering if he had cuckolded this man, and if he might try to confront him. An irrational thought, but it was there all the same. He didn’t mind confrontation, the skirmish with Martingale at Saint’s Row proved that. What he wanted to avoid was the possible scandal. Rose didn’t need more of his mess to contend with.

The man merely tipped his hat to him. Grey nodded in response, and then the stranger was gone.

Well, he allowed, as the tightness in his chest relaxed somewhat, obviously not everyone in London thought him the spawn of Satan.

He arrived home, shirt clinging to him, hair stuck to his head, just as the grooms were going about their morning work. To say that they were surprised to see him was an understatement.

Grey grinned at them. “Good morning, gentlemen.” He left Marlowe in one young lad’s capable hands and jogged back to the house, hungry for breakfast and eager to see his wife.

She was still asleep when he bounded into the bedroom, but the noise of his arrival woke her.

Stretching, she sat up against the pillows and regarded him with bleary eyes. “Where have you been?”

“I went for a ride,” he told her with that idiotic grin that refused to leave his face.

She squinted, rubbed her eyes. “You went for a ride?”

“Yes.” Somehow, though he hadn’t envisioned her response, he’d thought it might be more enthusiastic.

Instead she frowned. “In your shirtsleeves in the rain, with no hat, no cravat where anyone might have seen you, and yet you won’t attend a party in full evening dress with me?”

Grey blinked. “I thought you’d be happy.” Hell, he was happy. Or rather, he had been. He’d felt so light and joyous. Now, he felt as though he had done something wrong.

“Happy?” She choked on the word, pulling herself upright. She looked so young and so angry sitting there with her hair tumbling in a loose mess around her shoulders, the sheets pulled up to her chest. “Since my arrival in London I’ve had people stare at me, whisper about me—and you. I’ve heard women discuss your body in manners that hint at obvious personal knowledge. I’ve weathered innuendo, pity, and cruel jokes while you hid away in this house. And now you expect me to be happy that you have given the gossips more fodder to use against me? Now everyone will be talking of the wild Duke of Ryeton who rides around Hyde Park half naked. Of course, Grey. I’m happy. Good for you.”

He’d never seen her like this. Never known such venom existed inside her. And yet, he couldn’t quite fault her for it. That understanding, however, didn’t stop his emotional reaction. “You knew what I was when you agreed to marry me. I’ve never tried to hide my past from you.”

“No, but you never shared the full extent of it, have you?” She came up on her knees, looking so deliciously rumpled in her thin nightgown with her hair hanging wildly around her shoulders. “Is there a woman in all of England over the age of five-and-twenty that you haven’t fucked and who doesn’t despise you for it?”

“My, my. What an enlightening vocabulary you’ve developed, Your Grace. Your father would be so proud of how easily vulgarities slip from your lips.” The moment the words left his lips, he wished he could take them back.

Rose blanched. “Don’t you dare bring my father into this. He told me to stay away from you.”

“A warning you willfully ignored, because
you
wanted to ‘fuck’ me, to use your own word. Don’t blame me for that, Rose. You came looking for me. I would have continued on doing my best to avoid you.”

“If you think so lowly of me, why did you ask me to marry you?”

“I don’t think lowly of you.” How could she possibly think that? “I simply want you to realize your own culpability in our marriage. Although, I would like to think there’s more between us than fucking.” It was the kind of word once you used it, it was so easy to use again and again.

She sank onto the bed. “I don’t know what we have. I thought…but now I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know you.”

Grey’s fist went to his chest, to where his heart lay broken. “Perhaps that’s because you’ve changed me. Two weeks ago I never would have ventured out into Hyde Park, whether there was chance of being seen or not. But this morning I went, Rose. I was seen and I didn’t care. And I think that must be because of you.”

Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed. She was scowling, practically twitching with anger. He only understood part of it, but he knew that she blamed him for her own discontent. She blamed him for everything at that moment, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

“And I should praise you for that? Perhaps pat myself on the back? My God, Grey! The man who saw you no doubt recognized you and thinks you were there to meet someone. Or that you were just coming home from being out all night. The next time I go to a party—alone—I’ll have to face that speculation. All my insisting that you are not a lothario will be reduced to naught. And as usual, you won’t be with me to help me weather it. I’ll be left to defend your honor and my own, so you’ll have to excuse me if your jaunt this morning, and my apparent responsibility for it, doesn’t fill my heart with joy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go sleep in my own bed. I’m tired.”

Grey watched her go feeling somewhat shocked and mystified. He also felt stupid and angry and sad.

He sat down on the bed and rubbed his face with both hands. He’d known he was going to be a disappointment to Rose. He’d known that she would come to resent and despise him, just like every woman he’d ever touched.

He just hadn’t thought it would happen so soon.