A Scandalous Charade (17 page)

Juliet simply blinked at Caroline Staveley. She’d never contemplated such a thing before. Did women fight for men? Did she have it in her to fight for Luke? Not if he didn’t want her. She would not make a fool of herself. But was Caroline right? Was he simply frightened?

Caroline grinned devilishly, and Juliet realized for the first time that she and Luke had the same smile. “He’ll come around. Trust me, I know my brother. Just don’t give up yet and promise to go along with whatever plan I come up with.”

She wasn’t sure why she found herself nodding to that, but Caroline seemed so certain. And she did want Luke.

~12 ~

Brothers were such bothersome creatures. Just as Caroline was certain that Luke had found the perfect woman for him, he’d gone and gotten cold feet. Though she supposed that might be natural for a man who had spent the majority of his life skirt chasing. Settling on only one could be a bit frightening—or so the Duke of Kelfield had once explained to her

In Caroline’s opinion, Luke just needed a little push. Unfortunately, until him, Juliet hadn’t shown any interest at all in any of the men that surrounded her. Therefore Luke probably felt secure that none of them could snatch her away from him. He was taking the girl’s affection for granted.

What she needed to do was put a little fear in him. A little jealousy would work nicely. The problem with that was Luke wouldn’t be jealous of just anyone. Her vain brother was confident his devastatingly handsome looks and his clever wit—few could compare to him. But surely there must be someone the scoundrel would be jealous of. Someone also devastatingly handsome. Someone also quite clever. Someone women adored, to their own detriment. Someone like Luke, only more dangerous.

Caroline smiled mischievously, and she sipped her tea. The answer was perfectly clear, especially as the perfect specimen had just walked into her parlor.

Alexander Everett, the Duke of Kelfield, stood in the open doorway with a quizzical look on his strikingly handsome face. He was tall, slender, and broad shouldered. His thick ebony hair and silvery grey eyes made him appear to be Lucifer himself, intent on sin and debauchery.

He was perfect.

Alexander looked back toward the corridor and gestured with a wave of his hand. “Caro, you really need to pension that man off. He’s a deaf as a door nail. I asked for Lord Staveley.”

He was obviously referring to poor Merton, who really was as old as Methuselah. But the old fellow resisted any talk of retirement, as did Staveley, who swore he’d be lost without the ancient butler. “I know, darling, but David is so fond of him.” With a slow grace, Caroline rose from her seat and crossed the room toward the devilish duke. “And you have missed Staveley. He has gone out with Carteret for the afternoon.”

“Shopping?” He furrowed his brow. She enjoyed the look on his face. No one who knew David well could easily envision her reclusive husband shopping.

“Well, my birthday is just around the corner, darling, and Staveley always has such difficulty picking out just the right bauble. So it was kismet that I happened to mention the ruby tiara I so desperately want to Bethany Carteret last week.”

“What a coincidence,” Alexander remarked dryly as she hooked her arm in his and led him back toward the chaise. “Caroline, do the men in your life know you pull all the strings?”

She giggled. “I believe Masten is on to me. But you’ll keep my secret, won’t you, Alex?”

“Always, my dear,” he responded as they settled onto the chaise.

“How fortuitous for me that Staveley is out and Merton is deaf, because, Alexander darling, I was just thinking about you right before you walked in.”

His dark brows quirked upward and he grinned rakishly. “Indeed? Well, how terribly unfortunate for me, in that case. You haven’t once again decided that it’s time for me to marry, have you, Caro?”

On the contrary, it was quite past time for Alexander to settle down and find a proper wife. Though the devil had always avoided the swarms of nice girls she tried to push in his direction. “Alexander, what would you say if I told you I’d refrain from foisting anymore young ladies upon you?”

His handsome face looked quite serious, and he rubbed his brow as if to stave off a headache. “I’d say, my dear, that you have some nefarious plan you want my help with.”

How wonderful to associate with intelligent men, that one didn’t have to spell everything out for. “Indeed. Are you familiar with Lady Juliet St. Claire?”

He stared at her, half bemused. “No, and I can’t imagine where you’re going with this.”

Caroline smiled reassuringly as she grasped his hands in hers. “I’ve decided that she would make a splendid sister-in-law for me. Honestly, darling, she is the one for Luke. But alas my brother is as stubborn as you are. So, let me explain your role…”

***

Juliet had never met the infamous Duke of Kelfield, though she had heard of him. Then again, everyone had heard of him. He was rumored to be the most morally depraved man in all of England, perhaps all of Europe. It was said that he’d founded a social group fashioned after Dashwood’s Hell-Fire Club from half a century earlier. It was said that he had fathered more than two dozen children. It was said that he regularly debauched virgins, had installed a troop of female acrobats in his Mayfair townhouse, and had once even seduced the wife of a vicar.

He was quite a scandalous figure, to put it mildly.

Therefore, Juliet had been completely shocked when Caroline Staveley announced at tea that the duke had offered to escort them all to the Hollingsworth Ball that very evening. Georgie had bristled at the idea, but Juliet welcomed it. She wasn’t quite sure what Caroline was up to, but she was more than willing to give it a shot.

But the Duke of Kelfield? Juliet was surprised that Caroline even associated with a man of his reputation. Even still, she was surprised when he arrived with Caroline at the appointed hour to escort her and Georgie to the Hollingsworth Ball.

The room seemed to shrink in size when Kelfield stepped into the parlor. The wicked duke exuded sensuality and his steely grey gaze seemed to assess her immediately. It was the first time she ever felt naked, though she was fully clothed.

While Caroline and Georgie were chatting quietly in the corner, the duke made his way directly to Juliet’s side. “Lady Juliet, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed then smiled roguishly as he let his gaze roam across her figure.

“Hmm,” the duke responded with a conspiratorial dip of his head. “Caroline has been trying to convince me for years that everyone has the one, their perfect match, waiting for them. She seems to believe that you are the one for Beckford.”

Juliet considered all that she’d ever heard about the devilish duke. Exactly how well did he know Lucas? Then it hit her. “Your Hell-Fire Club?” she brazenly asked.

Kelfield’s eyes danced with delight. “A gentleman would never answer that—”

But of course he wasn’t one.

“And a proper Lady would never ask,” he continued as an appreciative smile spread across his face. “Tell me, sweetheart, is Beckford the one for you?”

She nodded without a moment’s hesitation. “Yes.”

“My loss, then.” He winked at her. “Very well, my dear. I know precisely how to drive Beckford to a raging distraction. Just follow my lead, and no ‘Your Gracing’ me. I detest it. Besides, if you call me Alexander, with a soft little breathy thing to your voice, he’ll go positively mad and fall at your feet.”

Her eyes must be as round as saucers as she listened to him. “I don’t know that I want him at my feet.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, that’s exactly where you want him.” Then Kelfield—er, Alexander roared with laughter as she tried to deduce the double meaning she was certain was there.

***

Luke sat alone, slumped in the far back table of The Blue Crow’s Social Club, but it was a gaming hell, irrespective of what they called it. Intermittent groans and cheers could be heard from the hazard tables while the card players sat quietly studying their opponents along the side walls of the club.

Thank God for the Scots and their whiskey, Luke thought to himself as he downed another glass of the heavenly amber substance. He lost track of how much he’d had, and was glad that numbness had started to spread across his body, blocking out feelings, unwanted thoughts, and painful images of Juliet’s pretty face as he had ended their acquaintance. She’d tried to hide her hurt, but he’d seen it and it had made the entire ordeal that much more painful. No matter how many times he told himself it was for her own good, his heart ached. His heart, the one muscle members of the ton were certain he lacked.

Just as he was motioning for a refill, an enormous ham-hock of a hand slapped him across the back. “Fancy meeting you here, Beckford,” came the booming baritone voice of the Marquess of Astwick.

The last thing Luke wanted now was to deal with the gregarious marquess. He was in a terrible mood, and he intended to stay that way and suffer alone. “Bugger off, Chet.”

Most people would have the decency to be offended by that or in the very least leave him in peace, but not Astwick, who laughed loudly and fell into the spot opposite Luke. “You charm is legendary, as always. Actually, old man, I’m surprised to see you here. Am I to take it that there’s trouble in paradise?”

“At the risk of repeating myself, go bugger off, Astwick.”

“Ah.” The marquess nodded understandingly. “If I was thrown over for Kelfield, I wouldn’t want to talk about it either. Don’t worry, Luke, I won’t say another word about it.”

Thrown over for Kelfield? What the devil was the fool talking about? Astwick usually made some sort of sense. Perhaps he’d had too much whiskey. “What about Kelfield?”

Astwick’s toothy grin did nothing but annoy Luke, so he tried to ignore it. “I just left the Hollingsworth ball. And your sweet Lady Juliet was hanging on Kelfield’s arm, looking all doe-eyed up at him. Then I see you here, deep in your cups. I just assumed—”

Luke jumped to his feet, which was a mistake, as he nearly stumbled backward. He grasped the table to steady himself and glared into Astwick’s shocked face. “Juliet St. Claire is on Kelfield’s arm?” he asked incredulously.

The smile vanished from Astwick’s face, and the marquess nodded with a frown. “Sorry, old man. I assumed you knew.”

The devil he did. Luke started toward the door. He stumbled at first, but the adrenaline that started pumping through his veins battled with the whiskey for control. By the time he’d reached the hell’s front doors and hailed a hack, he was as sober as a vicar on Sunday morning.

Kelfield? Kelfield! For God’s sake, had she completely lost her mind? And how could Georgie have let this happen? She shadowed Luke’s every move, but she let Kelfield near her sister? And how did he not know Juliet was acquainted with the most depraved man in London? Question after question flooded his mind while anxiety warred in his heart.

The Hollingsworth ball. Would she still be there when he arrived? Surely Kelfield wouldn’t attempt anything with a ballroom full of witnesses. Juliet had to be marginally safe—unless the blackguard had hauled her into a secluded room, or the back balcony, or God forbid his coach.

When the hack stopped near a large Mayfair home, the driver yelled down to him, “Close as I can git, Guv’nor. Unless ye want t’ wait fer some o’ this mess t’ clear up. Lot o’ swells o’er ‘ere.”

Wait? Like hell. Luke threw open the door, paid the driver and walked the last few blocks to his destination.

When he entered the Hollingsworth ballroom, Luke’s eyes scanned the room for any sign of Juliet—praying that Astwick had simply been mistaken. She could not be on Kelfield’s arm. But to his utter dismay, there on the dance floor, the wicked duke held Juliet in his arms, a bit closer than society deemed proper and much too close for Luke’s comfort. Though to be perfectly honest, he wasn’t at all comfortable with Kelfield being in the same room with Juliet, let alone waltzing with her or touching her.

He decided almost at once that he liked it much better in the days when she refused to dance at all. At least then she’d been safe.

Luke folded his arms across his chest, his gaze transfixed on his princess. She was simply breathtaking tonight, wearing a deep blue gown with her hair piled loosely on her head. Sapphire pins blinked at him from across the room. Images of removing those pins from her hair and running his fingers through her mane rushed into his mind.

Just as Luke’s thoughts were starting to get enjoyable, the duke threw back his head and laughed at some clever witticism Juliet had apparently made, and Luke’s blood began to boil all over again. What was she doing with him? Why did Kelfield get to enjoy her company? Why did Kelfield get to hold her too close for propriety? And why did Kelfield have a distinctly lascivious twinkle in his eyes?

Being noble was a goddamned bloody nuisance. He was well and through with emulating that ridiculous virtue. If he could just get her alone, he’d end this farce.