When Seducing A Duke (28 page)

He was lonely.

The house without Rose in it seemed empty and cavernous, a pretty prison in which he was both prisoner and jailor.

It was still early in the evening, but he had no doubt that at that very moment Rose was dancing and laughing gaily at some witty remark her partner made expressly for her pleasure. Perhaps the man had his hand a little too low on Rose’s back, held her a little too close. People would whisper, wondering how long it would take the dashing rogue to seduce Ruined Ryeton’s neglected bride.

Just as they used to whisper when he set his sights on such a vulnerable woman.

His fists clenched as he stared out the window of his study, gaze focused on the stars that managed to twinkle through the clouds. He’d kill any man who dared impugn Rose’s reputation.

Does that include you?
A voice in his head whispered. He could have ignored it if a part of his mind hadn’t paused for consideration. Of course his absence from these events harmed Rose. People would talk, it was their nature. What did they say about her? Did they pity her? Take wagers on how long it would take her to become a jade? Someone’s mistress?

Before his marriage, his actions didn’t reflect upon anyone but himself, but now there was Rose to consider. Rose, who had lost so much already, who had known the harsh breath of scandal more than she ever should. This was the girl who had taken such sweet care of him when he hadn’t deserved it. Who had nursed him without complaint though he’d been an arse and worse to her at times. She never asked him for anything in the long years he’d known her.

Except that he attend one stupid ball with her.

She never asked for his heart though she freely offered hers. Love had always been a weakness in his eyes, but Rose made it a strength. A gift. Now that he thought upon it, Rose had loved him for years. No one would give as much of herself to someone she didn’t care about—and she had given him so very much.

And how did he repay her? By allowing her to face the gossips alone, weather the ridicule and speculation. He offered her up as prey to men whose scruples were so low they were practically nonexistent. Men like the one he used to be. Years ago, if he’d stumbled upon a lady as socially vulnerable as Rose he would have stalked her and run her to ground as quickly as possible.

What the hell kind of husband was he? Was his pride—his petulant need to make some kind of foolish social statement—worth so much that he would throw the only person outside of his family who had ever truly loved him to the wolves? The
ton
didn’t care if he ever attended a party or the theater. His absence didn’t hurt anyone but himself—and now Rose.

It was laughable—in fact a harsh bark of laughter escaped his lips as he turned away from the window and raked a hand through his already mussed hair. He had promised her father he’d protect her. He had promised to stay away from her as well. If the latter could not be kept, then the former should.

But it wasn’t just honor that ignited his blood, made the first sensations of life flow through his veins once more. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. He didn’t want to be without Rose. His place was with her, and hers with him. She was right, he was a coward. He’d been a terrible person and he’d suffered the consequences, but he hadn’t been the only one to suffer. Maggie—Lady Devane also suffered, but instead of withdrawing from society, she made it look her in the eye. It wasn’t about society facing him, it was about
him
facing society.

A better man would face up to all he had done and the people he had done it to. A better man would take his rightful place and accept every uncomfortable moment of it. If he truly was a changed man, as Rose believed him to be—as he
wanted
to be—then now was the time to do something about it, because hiding his face only made him more of the scum he always was.

Anticipation and irritation warred for dominance within him as Grey strode from the room, his boot heels hitting the floor with sharp thumps. As he climbed the stairs to his room, faces flashed through his mind—his mother, Archer, Trystan, Bronte, and Rose. These were the people he held most dear, the people who meant so much more to him than the people he’d hurt in the past, and yet they were the ones he injured now. How could he have been so blind? So stupid? No wonder Bronte didn’t want him to give her away. She probably assumed he wouldn’t want to anyway, that he wouldn’t dare come out of his isolation for her. And no doubt he was a huge embarrassment to her, a young girl living under the shadow of her scandalous and reclusive older brother.

He reckoned Lady Devane held a similar opinion of her brother, Michael, but she’d protected him regardless.

Grey came to a sudden halt on the stairs, almost tripping as his feet froze. Was that what Bronte thought she was doing? By rejecting him, she was protecting him—giving him the perfect excuse to stay hidden away? As soon as he entertained the notion, he knew it to be true.

“Foolish little girl,” he murmured. His heart didn’t know whether to rejoice with understanding or weep with it. So many lives affected by his wounded pride and lack of common sense. The only life not affected was his own, because he’d stopped living long ago. Christ, he didn’t know if he’d ever truly lived. Certainly he had gone through the motions.

That morning in Hyde Park had felt like living. Making love to Rose was life itself. She’d brought him back from the dead with her touch—her insistence that he was more than he ever thought he could be.

He didn’t deserve her love or her high opinion, but he would rather die on this very staircase than lose it. In fact, he would do whatever necessary to keep it.

It would mean swallowing his pride—a task that left a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. It would mean facing his past and trying to make amends for all of the awful things he’d done. Some of those things could never be repaired. There would be people who despised him forever, and he didn’t anticipate that any of his so-called friends would come to his aid, having abandoned him years ago.

But he had Rose, and God willing, she’d stand with him.

He hesitated at the top of the stairs, gripping the banister as a sudden, awful thought occurred to him. What if he did what she wanted and he lost her regardless? She told him she couldn’t—wouldn’t—wait forever for him, but what if society shunned him, and her by association? Rose was such a social creature, she’d wither without the glitter and gaiety.

Mouth set grimly, Grey made his way down the corridor to the bedroom he shared with Rose.

He knew what he had to do.

So this was why Grey liked masks, Rose thought as she drifted through the crowded ballroom at Saint’s Row. Few people even spared a glance at her let alone acknowledged her. It was wonderful. Of course, Grey’s disguise only worked when he was in a room with other masked people.

Would anyone there recognize him if he walked through the door? Or perhaps if he drifted out of the shadows and asked her to dance? Perhaps, or perhaps not. They would never know because there wasn’t even the remotest chance of Grey showing his face—partially hidden or not—there tonight at all.

Lady Devane had reacted deeply to the donation Grey sent. She’d looked at the amount and gasped before pressing her fingers to her mouth. “Why would he be so generous?” Her voice was ragged and faint.

Rose pressed her hand with her own. “I think it is meant to be a peace offering. A gesture of goodwill.”

Judging from the expression on the blonde woman’s face, it was more like absolution. “I will be certain to include His Grace in my thank-you notes.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate that.” Rose didn’t add that Grey rarely received mail of his own that wasn’t business or family related. No one ever tried to visit him either. He truly was all alone.

It was his own fault, she tried to remind herself as pity stirred within her breast. Surely there was someone here who would think of him kindly—as a friend?

As she glanced around, Rose couldn’t help but wonder how many of these women had shared Grey’s bed. She didn’t want to know, truly. None of that mattered, and yet she couldn’t help the thoughts swirling uninvited through her head. Maybe it was just as well that he avoided society.

“Your Grace?”

She turned at the familiar voice, thankful for the diversion. “Mr. Maxwell.”

His face was partially obscured by a soft black mask with a lion’s face painted on it, but Rose would know Kellan anywhere, especially when he spoke. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

She smiled coolly. She hadn’t forgotten the things he’d said at their last meeting, though they seemed so unimportant now. “My thoughts will wait. It is good to see you.”

He stepped closer—not so much that it was improper, but enough to give them a little privacy of conversation. “I want to apologize to you for the things I said when we last met. It was very rude and boorish of me.”

“But your intentions were good, so I find it impossible to despise you for it.” She offered her hand, proving that she was sincere. “Let us be friends and not speak of it again.”

“You’re very good,” he commented, wrapping his gloved fingers around hers.

“No, Mr. Maxwell, I am not. But I need all the friends I can get.” Her tone wasn’t as light as she would have liked, and the quip came out decidedly sharp.

“You will always have a friend in me,” he assured her. “And in Lady Devane as well, I believe. She sang your praises very highly earlier.”

“It’s the money,” Rose replied quickly. “It’s obviously impaired her judgment.”

Laughing, Kellan set a bright and sparkling dark gaze upon her. “I do not believe the lady ever allows her judgment to be impaired. She would not stand for it.”

That was interesting. There was a taste of annoyance in Kellan’s tone, mixed with a healthy dose of curiosity and respect. Could it be that her former suitor had a personal interest in Grey’s former lover?

It was enough to make her head spin. “You are quite right,” she agreed. “Lady Devane is nothing if not formidable. I find myself quite in awe of her. I wish I had half her courage.”

“You have enough.” It was clear that he respected her for it, just as it was clear that as much as he thought her brave for being there that night, he thought Grey all the more cowardly for not being there with her. And yet, since he hadn’t said anything to that effect, Rose could not argue.

“Have you ever thought about going into politics, Mr. Maxwell?” she asked archly as she snapped open her fan. She cooled herself in a manner that had no secret meaning that she knew of. Whoever invented the “language” of the fan should have been slapped. What if a lady simply wanted to cool herself and not send a message? “I fancy you’d be quite good at it.”

Kellan only smiled, taking no offense. Obviously he was too pleased with himself to regret the remark.

Torn between ire and amusement, Rose turned her head as she waved the fan in front of her face. It was so warm in the ballroom with all these bodies milling about that she was damp around the hairline. That would not do, as ladies were never supposed to be seen perspiring. A foolish notion, indeed as no one had the power to control the temperature of one’s body, but who was she to dictate etiquette?

A gasp caught her attention, followed by a rush of whispers that filled the sudden silence that fell over the room. People stopped talking to turn and stare. People stopped dancing. Even the orchestra stopped playing.

Curious, Rose turned to see what everyone was staring at with such blatant shock.

Oh, dear God. Her eyes had to be deceiving her! But no, she knew who it was she saw standing just inside the ballroom doors, looking as though he owned the place, meeting every gaze with calm, ducal arrogance.

It was Grey.

And everyone else knew it was him as well, because unlike every other person in that ballroom, the Duke of Ryeton did not wear a mask.

Chapter 24

H
undreds of eyes watched him like vultures circling a wounded dog, but they didn’t matter. Only one pair of eyes mattered to Grey at that moment.

It only made sense that he should be the only one in the room not wearing a mask. He had hidden himself for so long, that it felt somehow cleansing to put himself on such blatant display. He deserved this blatant attention. And on some level, he needed it.

Head high, he walked through the ballroom, the crowd parting for him. They didn’t draw back so much that he couldn’t hear their whispers.

“The nerve!”

“Did you see the scar?”

“Always did know how to make an entrance.”

“He’s so handsome!”

Grey stopped listening. It didn’t matter what they said. All that mattered was finding Rose, and somehow he knew that she would be waiting at the end, letting him make this walk alone as he needed to do.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” came a familiar feminine voice. “How delightful to have you in attendance this evening.”

Grey’s gaze jerked to the woman at his right. Her face was mostly covered with a peacock feather mask, but he thought he recognized her jaw and the color of her hair. It was the stunned silence that fell over the crowd of onlookers that identified her for certain. She curtsied to him as though he was royalty. Amazing what a title could do even for the once lowest of men.

“Lady Devane,” he replied with a bow. She was a brave woman indeed—and a good one. Not only did she welcome him to her ball, but she gave him opportunity to cut her if he wished, finally putting the blame of his attack on her shoulders. “Thank you for receiving me.”

She rose with a smile and turned to address the gaping crowd. “His Grace, the Duke of Ryeton, has made the largest single donation this evening. Because of his generosity the children will have a new school next year.” When she clapped her hands, others joined in as well.

And then the world stopped and there was nothing but Rose as she slipped from the crowd to stand before him. Grey forgot about Lady Devane. He forgot about everyone but her.

She wore a mask, but even if he hadn’t recognized the hair and the dress he would have known it was her. He knew her scent, the shape of her mouth. He recognized her by the way his heart rejoiced at her nearness.

She stared at him, her mask doing nothing to conceal her wonder. “Why are you here?”

Grey smiled down at her. Did she notice that he’d pinned the rosette from the gown she’d worn their first night together to his lapel? “Because I hold you above my horse, my fortune, and my pride.”

Her brow puckered. “I beg your pardon?”

“Those were the traits you said you required in a husband, were they not?”

Her face relaxed, and he thought he saw a glimmer of understanding in her dark eyes. “Yes. I believe they were. You came here just to tell me that?”

He laughed. Her face was so bright below the edge of her mask, her eyes damp and warm. It broke his heart—and buoyed it as well—to know he was responsible for all of that. “No. I came here to dance with my wife. And to do this.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her in front of the entire ballroom. He didn’t care about the gasps or that everyone could see. He didn’t care what they said or whether or not his behavior was proper.

He was a duke, damn it. A scandalous one at that.

When he lifted his head, Rose’s eyes fluttered open. Her breath came in short, gentle heaves. “I’m very glad you decided that could not wait until I got home.”

Grey offered his arm. “Shall we?”

“There’s no music.” But she took his arm anyway.

The orchestra had stopped playing shortly after he walked in. Grey turned his gaze in their direction, nodded at the leader and once again the room was filled with music.

“Well, damn my eyes, some things never change. You’re just as arrogant as always!”

A dark haired, blue-eyed man stood before him, tall and rangy and grinning broadly from ear to ear. It took a second—longer than it should have—for Grey to place him. “Aiden?”

His cousin took his hand and clapped him soundly on the arm. “It’s good to see you, Grey. Damn good.” Then to Rose, “Please excuse my crude language, Your Grace. I’m just happy to see your husband.”

And Grey was happy to see him, he realized. Perhaps his friends hadn’t deserted him after all.

Damn if it didn’t bring a lump to this throat.

“No apologies are necessary,” Rose informed him brightly. “I’m always happy to meet family. Perhaps you might join us some night for dinner at Ryeton House?”

Aiden smiled at her. “I would be honored, thank you. I’ll let the two of you get on with your dance. I’ll talk to you later, Grey.”

Grey watched his cousin walk away before continuing with Rose out onto the dance floor, where other couples now twirled and pranced. He couldn’t find the words to express himself so he remained silent, but Rose seemed to understand and squeezed his arm to her side.

It had been a long time since Grey danced, but the steps came back to him readily enough. They joined the set with other couples and no one cut him or treated him like a leper. If anything, he was treated with polite—and sometimes exuberant—curiosity. Others who had known him better once upon a time watched with trepidation, as though they thought he might spout horns at any moment.

Regardless, no one was openly rude to his face—or to Rose’s, and that was what mattered.

He ran into Westhaver Blackbourne as well, who was also happy to see him. “I thought we’d lost you,” he said candidly as Rose conversed with her friend Eve. “When you had the servants tell Aiden and me to go away, I thought I should never see you again.”

Grey frowned. “I don’t remember telling the servants to say that, but I was so out of my wits on laudanum I probably said all manner of things I didn’t mean. My apologies, old man.”

His old friend shrugged. “None of it matters anymore. It’s easy to see what brought you back to the land of the living.” He nodded at Rose. “She’s a beautiful woman.”

“She is,” Grey agreed without hesitation. “Inside and out.”

West flashed a roguish grin. “They all are, my friend. It just takes the right one to make us realize that.”

Grey would argue that not all women were beautiful inside or out, but thought better of it. West always did have a way of twisting words until you believed he knew exactly what he was talking about.

When his friend took his leave—after extorting a promise that Grey would join him at his club someday—Grey turned to Rose. He didn’t think he’d be at the club anytime in the immediate future, but he would go. One more small step into life again.

Lady Eve excused herself and Rose took both of Grey’s hands in her own. “Let’s go home,” she said.

He arched his brows. “Already? I thought you would want to stay for a while.”

Dark eyes flashed. “No, I want to take you home where women can’t stare at you like hyenas after a baby chick.”

He laughed—loudly, which caught a fair bit of attention. “Surely I’m more threatening than a chick?”

She smiled, ruining her petulant expression. “A puppy perhaps.”

Grey stepped closer so that their torsos touched. It was totally improper behavior, but the gossips already had so much to talk about, one more thing would hardly matter. “Is that all you want to take me home for? To protect me?”

Her gaze turned coy. “I received the newest edition of
Voluptuous
today. I thought I might read to you.”

Was it just him or had the temperature in the room suddenly climbed ten degrees. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed her by the hand and started weaving their way toward the door. People stopped him to say hello, and he was forced to speak to them rather than be as rude as he wanted. A good fifteen minutes passed before he and Rose finally made it to the entrance of the ballroom, only to have Vienne La Rieux descend upon them.

“Monsieur et Madame le Duc!”
she cried, clasping her hands together in front of her breast—abundantly displayed above a peacock-colored gown that must have cost a small fortune. “Finally, you leave my club together,
non?”

Grey winked at her. “At last, madam. But we may want a room again someday.”

The French woman grinned, delighting in Rose’s obvious embarrassment.
“Mais oui!
An anniversary present, Your Grace. On the house.”

He thanked her and bade her farewell.

“She knew?” Rose’s tone was incredulous as they made their way closer to the exit. “How could she know?”

Grey shrugged. “The woman seems to know deuced near everything that happens here.” They were almost to the foyer.

And then Archer showed up, with his mother and Bronte in tow.

“Oh, ho!” his brother cried, clasping him close in a fierce embrace. “Did you think you’d escape without saying hello?” Then, for Grey’s ears alone, “I’m so frigging proud of you I could just piss.”

“Please don’t.” Grey gently pushed him away, meeting the other man’s bright gaze with a lump in his throat. “But thank you.”

His mother hugged him as well, so overcome that she began to weep. Grey didn’t know what to do with her, but Archer gave her a handkerchief and Rose discreetly took her aside so she could compose herself.

That left Grey with Bronte, who looked as though she was on the verge of tears as well, her blue eyes watery behind her mask.

“You,” he said firmly. “Let you and I get one thing straight right now. I don’t care if you’ve already asked Archer. I don’t care what your groom’s family wants, or who you think you’re trying to protect. I will give you away, or there will be no wedding. Is that understood?”

The cupid’s bow of his sister’s mouth trembled and for a moment he thought he had been wrong about her and now she hated him, but then she threw herself into his arms, laughing.

“I love you,” she whispered against his ear before kissing his cheek.

She was gone before Grey could even hug her back, which was probably just as well given the burning in his eyes.

“We’ll be all over the scandal rags tomorrow,” Archer crowed with a bit too much enthusiasm.

“No doubt,” Grey agreed. “I’m afraid I have provided enough entertainment for one evening. Dinner tomorrow?”

His family accepted the invitation with quiet aplomb and a great deal of unspoken pride, but it was obvious all the same. Then they left him and Rose to finally make their escape. He had just gotten situated in the carriage and told the driver to go on when she plopped herself down in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Why did you come here tonight?” she asked. “Other than the fact that you’ve finally come to your senses and realize you love me.”

Chuckling, Grey reached up and untied the ribbons that held her mask. The pretty silk fell away to reveal the beautiful face beneath. “I missed you,” he replied honestly. “And you were right—about everything. I’m tired of drifting through life. I want to live again—with you.”

A lone tear trickled down her cheek. “I think that might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He grinned. “I have more.”

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “I’m tired of talking.” She kissed him, teasing his lips with the ripe curves of hers, sliding her tongue inside to rub against his in a sensual rhythm that had him fisting his hands in her skirts.

By the time they reached Mayfair, Grey’s hair was mussed, Rose’s skirts crushed, and he was harder than an oratory competition for mutes.

“I can’t believe you came,” she told him as they entered the house, arms wrapped around each other. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I wouldn’t have done it without you.”

She shook her head. “You did it for yourself not for me.”

Perhaps that was true, and perhaps it wasn’t. He had no interest in discussing it tonight. “It’s just the beginning,” he promised. “I’m going to go wherever you want to go from now on. Within reason.”

She laughed. “Of course. We can’t have you attending a musicale just to please me, can we?” She gazed up at him. “You know, I think I’m going to want to spend plenty of evenings at home as well. That time I spent out of society had some very soothing moments.”

“Of course,” he agreed, thinking about all the things they could do to one another at home. Alone. “There has to be moderation.”

Upstairs in their bedroom, he undressed her, unbuttoning each tiny button one by one until she sighed in exasperation. “In a hurry?” he teased.

His wife got her revenge, when clad only in her chemise and stockings, she turned those nimble fingers of hers to his cravat, working the knot so slowly he thought he might go mad. She worsened the torment by slowly rubbing her hips against his thigh. His cock was so rigid he could hang clothes on it, and the need to bury himself inside her consumed him.

Still, a skilled lover knows when to have patience—and a man in love knows that his woman’s pleasure comes far, far before his own. So, as ready as he was, Grey was in no hurry to let this night end, not when it might prove to be the best of his new-found life.

Wearing only his trousers, he took Rose’s hand and led her to their bed. He climbed onto the mattress and pulled her down beside him, lying so that they were face-to-face.