When Seducing A Duke (9 page)

He was the biggest arse in England.

Of course Grey would only admit to a title of such distinction when alone and in the relative safety of his own home.

Safe. Is that what he was? When a woman as dangerous as Rose offered him her heart and body and he cried off like a simpering fool rather than take what she offered. He’d taken it willingly enough when he suspected the truth—when he’d be able to pretend she was someone else.

And now she knew the truth about him. That he had figured out her masquerade, and was diabolical enough to allow it to continue for his own pleasure.

Thank God she didn’t know that he’d think of the gift she’d given him, the gift of her innocence, every time he thought about her future husband availing himself of her charms. Grey will always have been her first.

“Christ,” he swore, heading toward the small cabinet where he kept a supply of spirits for guests. “I am not going to do this.”

He found a bottle of scotch and poured himself a generous amount instead. He took a long swallow of the amber liquid, bracing himself against the potent burn as it slid down to his belly.

Once upon a time he would have said that Rose deserved this. This is what happened to innocent little girls who tried to dance with a big bad wolf. Years ago he would have shrugged, briefly lamented the loss of her body in his bed, and moved on to someone else.

He’d ruined her. Ruined her and dishonorably refused to do the right thing. History truly had a way of coming back and biting a man on the arse. Only this time he tried to excuse his behavior with the weak defense that he was doing what was best for Rose.

How could he have been so honest? He should have pretended outrage, but outrage had been his problem. He’d been so angry that she gave up so easily. They’d only had two nights together and now they’d never have another because by revealing herself to him she forced him to return to a damn code of morality where she was concerned.

It was all for the best, he told himself with another drink. Every time they would meet it would increase the risk of being found out. That kind of scandal was the last thing Rose needed her first Season since losing her father. The loss of her way of life and the loss of her father was more than anyone should have to suffer. She didn’t need the taint of him running any deeper through her life than it already did. He might always have the satisfaction of knowing he had her first, but no one else would.

And yet, he was idiot enough to allow himself a brief moment of regret that he had to turn her away, a slight twinge of dismay that they hadn’t been found out. Because then he would be forced to marry her and neither of them would have to feel so very guilty for betraying Charles’s requests because the matter would be out of their hands.

Ah, he was so very good at bending things to his own rationale when he wanted.

He sat down on the sofa so he couldn’t go after her. It was better this way. Hopefully she despised him now, would give up her foolish thoughts of him and go find a husband. Perhaps Kellan Maxwell would come up to snuff. The little shit.

A tapping on the window caught his attention and he turned to find his brother waving drunkenly at him through the glass with a ridiculous grin on his face. It was a sight he’d seen many times over the course of Archer’s life.

Mentally rolling his eyes at his younger sibling, Grey rose to his feet and crossed the carpet to unlatch the window and open the large casements into the room. “What the hell do you want?” he demanded.

Archer grinned at him, all roguish intent and impish good humor. “I thought I’d find you all alone with your thumb up your arse.”

Grey arched a brow. “What a charming way with words you have, brother. Did you sneak around the back of my house just to tell me that?”

“It’s my house too,” Archer argued with a slight weave. “Least when you’re not here.”

As a bachelor Archer had little choice in living arrangements. He could live with their mother and Bronte and never dare bring a woman or cronies home, or he could take a set of rooms at a lodging house—neither were appealing. Archer wanted a home, and now that he was back in London, apparently for good, he was looking for a townhouse to share with their youngest brother Trystan when he returned from America.

Until he found that dwelling, he divided his time between a set of private apartments, which he used to sleep and entertain, and Ryeton House, of which he was master when Grey wasn’t in residence.

“Why are you here, Arch?”

His brother grinned. “I’ve come to rescue you. Now grab your coat and let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To Whites, or Claridge’s or Boodle’s, or Chez Cherie’s. It doesn’t matter where we go. Come on, man!”

“Arch,” Grey said with a self-deprecating sigh, “with the odd exception under the cover of extreme darkness, I haven’t gone out in public in four years. Why would you think I’d go to a club, or even a brothel?”

“Because you need to get out,” his brother retorted hotly. “You can’t hide anymore. It’s not seemly.”

Hiding. Arch was the second person to accuse him of being a coward this evening. It was not a trend Grey cared for. “I’m not hiding. I choose not to go out into a society as poisonous as it is two-faced.”

Archer rolled his eyes—and almost fell over. Only his grip on the window ledge kept him upright. “Nothing two-faced about Chez Cherie’s. Just you’d rather sit here and play martyr.”

“You’re drunk.” Grey moved to shut the windows. “Go the hell home and sleep it off.”

A raised hand stopped him from shutting his brother out. “Wait!” Archer grinned foolishly. “I’ve got two lovely young ladies waiting in the hack. I know one of them would love to have the companionship of someone as lofty as you, Your Grace.”

Grey was unmoved. “Two women has never been a problem for you before, I’m sure you won’t have a problem entertaining both of them on your own.” Archer’s prowess was almost as legendary as Grey’s own had been, only Archer didn’t seem to inspire the same heightened emotions in his conquests—at least no one had tried to kill him yet. Perhaps his own tragedy had taught his brother the importance of discretion.

“One of them’s a brunette,” his brother blurted. “Tall, voluptuous, and with brown eyes a man could drown in.”

Grey stilled. “Brown eyes,” he repeated like an idiot. He was tempted, oh so tempted. But how could anyone ever satisfy him now that he’d had the real Rose?

Archer grinned. “Big brown eyes—like a spring foal. Good teeth too. Oh, and breasts a man could cheerfully suffocate between.” He weaved a little. “Trust me, Grey. She’s clean and tight as a virgin miss.”

Thank God for Archer’s drunken crassness. It was that last remark, however true it might be, that slapped a little sense into Grey.

Rose was no longer a virgin and that was his fault. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t known that first night. Oh, who was he trying to fool. He had known. On some level, his soul had known. And yet he took her anyway, relieving her of the one commodity other than a fortune that a young woman had to recommend herself. How could he not when it was so prettily offered? Rose might have made a mistake in giving herself to him, but she’d planned it well in advance. She’d chosen him to be her first.

She seemed to want him for herself
only
as well—little fool. Was she trying to break his heart?

“Sorry, Arch,” he said without much real remorse. “You are on your own tonight, old man.”

His brother looked genuinely bewildered, the drunken sod. “But…big brown eyes?”

Grey grinned despite himself. “She is all yours. You can tell me all about it tomorrow.” Grey’s mother, sister, and Archer were joining them for tea. It should be a wonderful good time, especially when Rose’s hatred had plenty of time to stew.

Archer looked delighted with the possibility of sharing his conquest, which only proved how inebriated his younger brother was. Archer might talk crassly and behave like a rake, but he wasn’t one for kissing and telling.

“Good-bye, Arch. Your ladies are waiting.”

That sent the other man off, and Grey closed the window as Archer stumbled off. He flicked the latch and returned to his scotch. He remained on his feet as he retrieved the glass and drained the contents.

He should go to bed. Things always looked better in the bright light of day. Plus, if he went to his own room he would be less tempted to go to Rose’s, throw himself at her feet, and beg her to…

To what? Forgive him? Absolve him? Maybe to let him give her a good demonstration of the delights of gamahuching. Christ, he was pathetic.

He would do none of these things, of course. It was better that she resent him. Better that she stay away. It would be easier for him to find someone else. She asked more of him than he was willing to give—more than he could ever give. After all, if he knew anything about himself it was that he was not the kind of man who could make any kind of deserving woman a good husband.

He’d learned long ago that women tended to want loyalty from their men, that they wanted not only a man’s fortune and his name, but his very heart and soul as well. It was this kind of greed, a woman wanting more than he was able to give that led to him sporting such a fetching scar.

It was that realization—justification?—that solidified the situation in his mind as he left the parlor. He had done the right thing by turning her away, rather than hauling her into his arms and promising her the moon as he had wanted. Eventually Rose would realize that, and know that by turning her away he’d been nobler with her than with any other woman he’d ever known.

Too bad, he reflected as he climbed the stairs to his rooms, that nobility couldn’t keep a fellow warm at night.

Chapter 8

R
ose managed to avoid Grey for the better part of the day on Saturday. She rose late and took breakfast in her room—toast and jam with a plate of steak and eggs and a pot of rich chocolate. Depressed spirits could diminish her appetite, but anger fueled it. And today she was angry. Not only at Grey, but at herself.

But she was not, she told herself, going to think about it. There was no point. She’d made a mistake, which she realized without Grey rubbing her face in it. And now the only thing left to do was move on.

The way she saw it, she had two choices. She could either pursue Grey and make an even bigger fool of herself, or she could throw all of her energy and efforts into finding a man she could like as much, or better than he. Perhaps she would be noble enough not to rub his face in it, but she doubted it.

Surely it couldn’t be that difficult to find someone to love her? She wasn’t an awful person, though she would freely admit to be willful and sometimes spoiled. Still, she was good at heart, and she was reasonably attractive with a large dowry. That had to be attractive to someone. The only reason she was so attached to Grey was because he’d been so good to her family, and he was the only man with whom she’d had more than one conversation in the last three years.

And so she would begin her search today.

After breakfast she climbed out of bed, poured a third cup of chocolate, bathed, and rang for Heather. By the time she finished dressing it was almost noon—time to meet Eve. The two of them, along with their mothers, were going shopping on Regent Street. It was exactly the kind of distraction Rose needed, made all the better by the knowledge that it would be Grey’s money she spent. If that made her a rotten person, then so be it. She was happy to be rotten to the core. Her pride was wounded, her feelings hurt, and her heart broken. It mattered not that she was to blame for the entire mess, though Grey certainly wasn’t blameless. If she had her own money she’d spend that, but she was a useless female and entirely dependent upon her benefactor and one day a husband. So, she would take advantage of Grey’s wealth, and try not to think that he had taken advantage of her feelings.

He had known!
How he must have laughed at her, the stupid little lovesick girl.

Rose shook her head. No more of that. Grey hadn’t laughed at her. In fact, he’d seemed as pained as she was.

Right, too much thinking.

Taking up her hat—a large wide-brimmed affair trimmed with cabbage roses and ribbon—Rose used a pin to adhere it to her hair and then gathered up her paisley wrap and gloves. She wore a chocolate-rose walking gown with champagne silk piping and a high neckline. Her gloves were dyed to match as were her low-heeled boots. She looked rather smart, if she said so herself.

They arrived at Regent Street before the “fashionable” shopping hours of two until four in an effort to avoid the huge crowds that tended to block the street and make travel next to impossible. For many this was as much a place to see and be seen as Hyde Park, and it wasn’t unusual to see a young lady and her chaperone stopping their driver in the middle of the street so the young woman could chat to a passing beau.

As early as they were, the street was still bustling with activity, the elegant shops with their stone fronts a constant flutter of
haute-ton
personalities, their footmen and maids laden with parcels.

Neither Rose nor Eve burdened their servants with such baggage. Rose bought some new perfume and gloves at Piver’s, the famous perfumer who obtained medals for his work at the Great Exhibitions of ’51 and ’62. The scent was irresistible, and well worth the price. And the gloves perfectly matched the ensemble she intended to wear out with Kellan later that day.

And then, because they were so exquisite and obviously of superior French design, she bought two new fans as well.

Then, with their new accessories packaged and tucked in the back of the carriage, they braved the ever-increasing traffic to return home. They moved at a snail’s pace, but Rose didn’t care. She was too busy craning her neck for a glimpse of all the ladies who had come out simply to be noticed.

Eve and Lady Rothchild left them safely on the front step of Ryeton House, with a promise to see them Monday evening at Lady Carlyle’s card party. Rose kissed her friend’s cheek and then hurried inside with her mother to change for tea. Grey’s family would be joining them. Were it not for that, Rose would feign a headache and stay in her room until Kellan came for her.

But since it wasn’t in her nature to be so rude, she rushed up the stairs, quickly donned a yellow tea gown with Heather’s help, put on matching yellow slippers and a pair of dainty gold earrings, and returned downstairs just in time to join everyone on the back terrace.

She just stepped out into the warm, grass-scented afternoon when a gentleman appeared at her elbow. “Lady Rose, you grow lovelier every time I see you.”

Had it been a stranger who spoke she might have been flustered, but since it was Archer, Grey’s younger brother, she merely grinned in response and offered her hand. “And your eyesight grows poorer every time you see me, sir.”

He bowed over her fingers. “If I am blind it is only by your beauty.”

She laughed at that, enjoying the good-natured sparkle in his bright blue eyes. He was so much more easy-natured than Grey, so much more full of life and flirtation. And yet, the family resemblance could not be denied even if Archer’s features were a little thinner, a little sharper.

How would Grey feel if she found a replacement for him in his own brother? It was too low, even in jest.

“Careful with your flattery, sir,” she warned teasingly. “I am trolling for a husband you know.”

Archer’s dark brows shot up in mock horror. “Never say!” Then he leaned closer to whisper, “Is my brother actually fool enough to let you get away?”

Rose’s heart lurched at the note of seriousness in his voice. When she raised her gaze to his she saw only concern and genuine affection there. “He’s packing my bags as we speak.”

He laughed then, a deep, rich sound that drew the attention of everyone on the terrace, including his older brother.

“Will you by chance be at the Devane musicale next week, Lord Archer?”

“I will,” he remarked, suddenly sober. “As much as it pains me to enter that viper’s pit. I’m accompanying Mama and Bronte. Since there’s never been any proof of what she did to Grey, Mama refuses to cut the woman. She’s better than that.”

Archer’s use of the word “cut” might have been ironic, but what a relief knowing he would be there. “Would you care to accompany Mama and myself as well?”

He regarded her with a sly smile. “My dear, Lady Rose. Do you plan to use me to make my brother jealous?”

“Of course not!” And she was honest to a point. “I wish to use your knowledge of eligible beaux and have you buoy my spirits. If that happens to annoy your brother, then so much the better.”

He laughed again. This time Grey scowled at the pair of them. Rose smiled and waved.

Archer tucked her hand around his arm and guided her toward the chairs where the others sat enjoying the day, the table before them laden with sandwiches, cakes, scones, and all kinds of preserves, cream, and biscuits. A large pot of tea sat in the center.

“What are you grinning at?” Grey demanded as they approached.

Archer gave his brother an easy smile, not the least bit intimidated. “Lady Rose has just accepted my invitation for both she and her dear mama to accompany us to the Devane musicale next week.”

Grey stiffened. It was the slightest movement, like a blade of grass fighting the breeze, but Rose noticed. She’d wager Archer did too.

“How nice,” he replied civilly, but Rose mentally winced at the coolness of his tone. He turned to his mother. “I’m parched. Mama, will you pour?”

And he didn’t look at her again.