What I Did For a Duke (5 page)

“Where is Olivia?” Genevieve tried mulishly.

Olivia was slippery, that’s what Olivia was. She might very well be hiding behind a flower arrangement and snickering at Genevieve.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see yet another one being brought through the door. Mrs. Mullin, the housekeeper, stood scratching her head in the foyer, clearly wondering where to direct the footmen.

Her father and Ian and the duke had vanished from the foyer. To look at horses or some such, no doubt.

Isolde sighed. “My dear,
please
just . . .”

And then Genevieve watched in horror as her mother actually . . .

. . .
wrung her hands
.

This was a dirty trick, indeed. Not for the first time, or even the thousandth, Genevieve wished that she had her sister’s fortitude. For despite her battered emotional condition she of course took pity on her mother, who worried so over all of them, had stalwartly and with humor survived sending sons off to war and to the gallows, and had truly despaired that Olivia would ever be married.

For her mother’s sake, she would go on the walk.

She hadn’t any conversation or charm or any of
herself
to spare. But she would go and walk alongside the duke.

When her mother saw her softening she placed a hand on her knee and offered a concession.

“My dear, you’re certain to enjoy yourself. After all, Harry and Millicent will go along, too.”

Chapter 4

M
oncrieffe’s first look at the girl he meant to seduce and abandon was hardly promising, though this in itself suggested his task might be easier than he’d dreamed. She was petite and colorless and lightless. Her complexion was fair and unblemished, but it was difficult to know her age, for the bloom was most certainly off of her. Her walking dress was white muslin striped in gray, and she’d thrown a shawl around it, and was clutching it defensively in one pale fist. Her presence was in fact so subdued he would not have been surprised to hear she was mute.

Her friend, on the other hand—introduced as Lady Millicent Blenkenship—was a place a man could comfortably rest his eyes. A lush round girl. Lord Harry Osborne and an almost comically wary Ian Eversea were to come along on this walk, too, and Jacob Eversea, as host, was to lead the way.

Moncrieffe was not one for walks that led nowhere in particular to places of minimal interest. He could have demurred. He possessed rank; the Everseas were polite. In all likelihood they would do anything he suggested, perhaps even launch into a rousing version of that everlasting pub song about Colin Eversea’s ignominious rescue from the gallows, though they might be a trifle sensitive about that for all he knew.

But he had an objective, and so he assented, and they all mounted an expedition to see the Everseas’ folly.

“Breathe that in, eh, Moncrieffe! Nothing like a hint of sea in the Sussex autumn air.” This was Jacob Eversea, heartily striding forward.

Despite the fact that he . . .
owned
so much of the fresh air and open spaces of England, Moncrieffe spent most of his time in the coal-smut-thickened skies of London.

Which could be why he was promptly wracked by a fit of coughing the moment he dutifully inhaled.

He stopped. His concerned hosts ringed him. Through watering eyes he gained an impression of sympathetic watching eyes. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ian Eversea trying not to look hopeful about his impending demise.

He put up one finger:
Momentarily.

“That’ll clear a man’s lungs, by God, won’t it, Moncrieffe.” Jacob Eversea was waiting patiently. “We’re not going to lose you, are we?”

“By God,” Moncrieffe croaked, when he could speak again. “I’m well. Naught to be concerned about. ’Tis nothing a good snort of dirty London air wouldn’t cure.”

Jacob Eversea snorted at that. “I’ve some cigars that come a close substitute. I’ll share them later as a cure once we’ve endured this trip. Five-card loo tonight, eh, Your Grace? And come Saturday . . . spread the word, lads!” he directed to Ian and Harry.

Who smiled politely.

“I would tolerate no other diversion at night,” the duke said somberly, and the elder Eversea laughed.

For five-card loo was the game the duke was known for winning the most. And it was hardly considered a reputable game.

“Do you need a walking staff?”

What
a quiet voice.

The duke turned slowly, incredulously toward it, then looked down. This was Miss Genevieve Eversea asking. So very politely and
solicitously
. As though she expected him to tip over should his boot encounter a rut and they would have to rush to fetch a plow horse to tow him up out of it.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Genevieve. The duke is in excellent health,” Eversea called back to her irritably as they trundled up the lane.

Genevieve didn’t seem at all nonplussed by her father’s tone. She was doubtless used to him.

He may as well begin charming her now.

“He’s correct, Miss Eversea. But your concern is kind, indeed,” the duke said softly.

“Harry! Do look at that funny squirrel! He’s so fat!”

Lady Millicent was all but skipping up the lane, but she’d paused to point at a small round beast that glowered and made those gulping squirrel noises at them from on high. It flicked its tale irritably. “I should like to draw it!”

“Plenty more squirrels where that one came from, Millicent,” Jacob said with infinitely dry patience.

And so with Jacob’s pace, and Ian’s eagerness to keep his distance from Moncrieffe, and Millicent pointing out squirrels to Harry, Genevieve and the duke were in due time left behind. He wondered if she was doing it out of solicitousness, the way one might humor an invalid.

She seemed to be comfortable saying absolutely nothing.

They walked for a few moments down that lane lined with stripped trees. Leaves crunched underfoot.

“I love this part of England. I’ve an estate but a few hours from here.”

That he hadn’t seen in several months because . . . well, why would he? He’d a larger one even closer; he preferred his St. James Square town house. Rosemont held memories that gave him no comfort.

“Rosemont,” she said softly.

Which surprised him.

He considered whether he liked her voice. It was low, a soft alto; very refined. But the word had been all but uninflected. He’d learned over the years that one can quickly ascertain whether someone possessed intelligence from a mere syllable or two. It was something about the confidence with which they spoke.

He was instantly certain she was not a simpleton.

“Do you know it, Miss Eversea? Rosemont?”

“Yes.”

He looked around. Naught but trees and a long drive; beyond them were soft rolling hills. This was Sussex, all right. He waited.

And waited.

“This is the place in the conversation where one might forgive me for thinking you’d expound a bit.”

It was admirably dry, that sentence. She
ought
to smile. She ought to be attempting to charm
him
, after all. At least a little. He was a bloody duke.

“It’s lovely,” was all she said. Dutifully. Perhaps interpreting him literally.

Or
perhaps
as a means of discouraging any other such witticisms.

“Did you like the dolphin pool?” he asked, knowing full well there was no such thing at Rosemont.

“Satyr pool,” she corrected him.

“You recall the satyr?”

“Yes.”

“The one urinating in the fountain in the circular drive?”

“It’s spitting,” she corrected.

Dear God, this was discouraging. She wasn’t even
blushing
, and he’d most definitely been offensive. She possessed not a shred of whimsy.

“Ah, of course. I hadn’t visited it in some time but I recollect it was performing one or another of a man’s favorite pastimes. Spitting, smoking, wagering . . .”

She didn’t quite sigh. But he had the most peculiar impression that she was stifling one.

He began to wonder if he’d been wrong and if she was dim, after all.

Or insufferably prim.

It
might
be satisfying to undo all of that.

Then again, it might be an onerous chore.

Up ahead he saw the long figure of Ian Eversea walking alongside his father. He glanced behind him, from him to Genevieve, a flicker of concern over his pale face.

The duke intercepted the glance and returned it with black inscrutability.

Ian whipped his head back around immediately, and absently felt his back, as though he expected to find a dagger plunged there any minute.

“It was very thoughtful of you, Miss Eversea, to consider whether I might need assistance walking. Kindness is a very appealing quality. It is everything I hope for in a wife.”

There. He’d gone and said the word every girl considered the grail of conversation.

“My sister, Olivia, is very kind,” she said almost too quickly. “She would make a splendid wife.”

He blinked. It was the liveliest she’d sounded yet. “Oh?”

“Olivia deserves to make a splendid match. She was thwarted in love once before. A grand title would be perfect.”

“As a
consolation
prize?” She’d succeeded in startling him.

“I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to make you squeak.”

What a word! “I’ve never
squeaked
in my entire life.”

“You achieved a special octave then, if you prefer,” she allowed calmly. “And you just did it again.”

And now he was determined to ruffle the calm, calm surface that was Genevieve Eversea’s composure, if only to ascertain she was human. The girl was either void of social skills—which seemed unlikely, given her upbringing—or she was a minx and she was trying to deflect him for some unfathomable reason. Regardless, she’d seized control of their conversation.

He wanted it back.

“A special octave . . .” He pretended to muse this. “Are you suggesting I sound like a castrato?”

Ah! At last! An agreeable tide of pink slowly flooded those pale cheeks. A second passed during which he’d thought she was speechless.

“If the shoe fits,” she finally agreed absently.

He turned sharply to look at her. He narrowed his eyes.

But her eyes were fixed on the lane ahead and then she dropped them to her feet just as Lord Harry turned and began walking backward, waving gaily at her.

She lifted her head slightly, with an obvious effort raised a hand back at him, produced a strained smile, and dropped her eyes.

And then she breathed in so deeply her shoulders lifted. As though bracing herself. And when she looked up again, the tops of her ears were pink, he noticed. From cold, or was some other suppressed emotion heating them up?

“It’s only that . . . well, if Olivia cannot be with the man she loves, as he has vanished like a bloody
cowardly
. . .”

She stopped talking abruptly. Yanking herself back like a dog on a lead.

Which was a pity, as the words had acquired a fascinating whiff of venom and had begun to escalate in volume. She would have done some squeaking of her own.

Genevieve Eversea was beginning to interest him.

“If she cannot be with the man she loves . . .” he prompted.

“I do believe she can only to be with someone . . . impressive.”

“Impressive . . .” He pretended to ponder this. “I hope you do not think I presume, but I cannot help but wonder if you’re referring to me. Given my rank and fortune, some might describe me as such. And I’m flattered indeed, given that there really are so many other words you could have chosen to describe me.”

A pause followed. The girl was most definitely a
thinker
.

“We have only just become acquainted, Lord Moncrieffe. I might elect to use other words to describe you should I come to know you better.”

Exquisite and refined as convent lace, her manners, her delivery.

And still he could have sworn she was having one over on him.

She seemed to be watching her feet now. The scenery didn’t interest her, or it caused her discomfort.

And as he watched her, something unfamiliar stirred.

He was . . .
genuinely
interested in what she might say next.

And as for Genevieve Eversea, she gave him only her profile. One would have thought she’d never been so bored. No frisking about for her, like her friend up ahead.

“Look at
that
squirrel! It has a stripe!” he heard faintly. Followed by a delighted squeal from the lush Lady Millicent.

Jacob Eversea, Ian, Lord Harry, and Lady Millicent had momentarily disappeared over the swell of a small hill.

And on they strode for a few more silent moments.

“Do you ever gamble, Miss Eversea?”

“No,” she said shortly.

“A pity. Because I suspect you have an excellent game face. You’d make a
fortune
.”

Her head swiveled quickly toward him, her eyes wide. She quickly looked away again, and just as quickly recomposed herself.

He studied her profile. Quite ordinary, sadly. She’d lovely skin. Pity there was no color in it, in her cheeks
or
lips. The lashes were thick and black. It was difficult to know much about her figure, given that she’d draped a shawl over the dress. Her hair was dark and shiny and from the looks of how it was pinned up, plentiful. He tried to find something in all of this to inspire enthusiasm for the seduction. He found nothing.

“And the best part about gambling, Miss Eversea, is that sometimes . . . you
win
. I nearly always win.”

She couldn’t disguise but instantly doused that flicker of wary comprehension in her eyes. Ah. She suspected he was onto her. But she was determined to pretend she didn’t understand him.

This was . . . well, there was no other word for it. This was
interesting
.

What was a girl of twenty or so doing possessed of such control? Why was she . . .
deploying
it around him? Considering that most of the members of her family were hardly known for theirs. And for heaven’s sake, he was a
duke
and hardly a gargoyle. His presence and reputation never failed to elicit some sort of reaction, but not once, not once had he witnessed indifference. She was an anomaly.

“I thank you for your suggestion, Your Grace, but my family is possessed of a substantial fortune—”

“Indeed?” he said, as if this was news to him. Because it amused him to say it.

“And I don’t approve of gambling.”

“And of course one must only engage in pastimes one approves of.”

She was silent. Her lips compressed. More disapproval? Or could it be she was actually suppressing a smile?

She continued steadfastly refusing to look at him. She sighed.

After a few more steps, when she spoke again, it was with bemusement he began to suspect that he wasn’t the only one with an objective today. But what was
hers
?

“It is just that Olivia’s happiness is so important to me. I cannot imagine any man who came to know her wouldn’t come to love her, for everyone does,” she said earnestly.

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion again. And he said absolutely nothing.

Miss Eversea wasn’t the only thinker.

“Selflessness is such an appealing quality,” he volleyed with quiet passion. “It’s perhaps my favorite of all qualities in any female. And when someone puts the happiness of a loved one before her own . . . why, it’s
irresistibly
appealing,” he added meaningfully.