Four Dukes and a Devil (3 page)

I
f he was to claim his dance with Miss Rogers, Roan needed to be at the balls she attended with her highborn charges. There was the problem.

Her nonsense about the Irish Duke and the Order of Precedence had effectively cut him off from society, or at least that corner of it.

He stewed on this matter for a good three days. When not stewing, he made it a point to learn everything he could about Miss Susan Rogers, and what he learned, he liked.

She was actually from a good family. Her sisters were married to Lord Dodgin and Sir Alec Lawson or
Loud
son
,
as Roan liked to think of him. Sir Alec was one of the most annoying people of his acquaintance, and rumor had it that Dodgin wasn’t much better.

Perhaps that was why Miss Rogers lived in a modest set of rooms off Olivia Street. She might have decided poverty was better than living under either of their roofs. Certainly they would have extracted their pound of flesh for supporting her.

At last, his stewing hatched a plan so devilishly delightful, he knew every door in London would open to him, especially the ones hosting Miss Rogers.

The next day, he enlisted the aid of his friend, the Honorable Mr. Rees Trenholm, and they went to White’s. Roan chose a time when he knew the club would be the most crowded.

“I need Raggett,” Roan informed a staff member. Raggett was White’s proprietor, “And the Betting Book.”

At the words “Betting Book,” heads turned. The book was the most famous in London. There wasn’t a man in the room who didn’t enjoy a good wager, and Roan planned to make a brilliant one. It helped that Lord Alberth and Lord Bollinger sat not too far away at a table with a group of their cronies who were probably clients of Miss Rogers, too.

Roan could not have asked for a better opportunity.

Raggett wasted no time answering Roan’s summons, the Betting Book under his arm. “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to see you today,” he said with a bow.

“We wish to enter a wager,” Roan told him. He and Trenholm stood in the middle of the room, and he knew many were listening.

“Very well,” Raggett said, crossing to a secretary, where there was pen and ink. He dipped the nib of the pen, and said, “Your wager, Your Grace?”

“One hundred pounds,” Roan said, then stopped for dramatic effect, wanting every ear in the room on him. The talking had died down. “No,” he said, “make that one
thousand
pounds—” Now he had their interest. Of course, the color had drained from Trenholm’s face. “—That I will dance with Miss Susan Rogers before a fortnight has passed.”

Even Raggett blinked in speculative surprise at him. The stalwart proprietor had certainly heard of Roan’s dilemma. There wasn’t much that was discussed under White’s roof that escaped him. He lowered his head and recorded the bet.

Trenholm did his best to look brave. He didn’t succeed until Roan leaned close, and, in a side voice, assured him, “Don’t worry, I’ll cover both bets.”

His friend broke into a smile and immediately nudged Raggett. “And I’ll wager
two
thousand pounds that the lady will not dance. What do you say, Your Grace?”

What Roan had to say, he’d save for later, when he and Trenholm were alone. As it was, he had no choice but to match the bet.

Of course, there was no one within earshot who was not listening now.

All Roan had to do was say nonchalantly, “Is there anyone else for this wager?” to find out exactly who was listening. A host of men jumped at the opportunity and placed their wagers on both sides of the bet. Alberth and Bollinger were not among their number, but that was fine with Roan. He thanked Raggett for his attention to the matter and, with a nudge to Trenholm to follow, left the club.

Outside, he wasted no time in saying, “
Two
thousand?”

Trenholm grinned. “I thought since you were being expansive…”

Roan grumbled under his breath, but he wasn’t angry. The size of the wager alone was enough to make it the talk of London.

“Do you believe this will work?” Trenholm asked, suddenly sober.

“It will,” Roan said confidently. “Few can resist a wager or the opportunity to make a little mischief. I will have an invitation to a ball Miss Rogers will be attending by nightfall.”

And he was right. Where once no messengers had come to Roan’s door, the invitations now came pouring in. He had only to pick and choose. Some of the hostesses had written personal notes, assuring him that Miss Rogers would be in attendance.

His plan had worked better than he could have imagined…because as much as the
ton
adored putting on airs, they loved a good wager more.

Susan couldn’t put her finger on it but there was something in the air. She looked around yet another ballroom, keeping a watchful eye on her charges but also aware that everyone else seemed to be keeping their eyes on her.

It was very disconcerting—especially since after that night at the Bollinger affair, she’d half expected to see the Duke of Killeigh again, and hadn’t.

She’d told herself she was being silly. No duke, not even an Irish one, would worry himself over a nobody like herself. Besides, the Duke of Killeigh had been spitting angry with her when last they parted. Still, that hadn’t stopped her from looking at his card every night before she went out—

Miss Arabella came running up to her, interrupting her thoughts. “Have you heard the news, Miss Rogers?”

“What news?” Susan asked. The girl was so flushed with excitement, Susan wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that Napoleon had been defeated.

“About the wager the Irish Duke has made that he will claim a dance from you.”

“He made a wager?” For a second Susan felt faint. No wonder everyone was staring at her.

“In the Betting Book at White’s,” Miss Arabella said, and was quickly seconded by the other girls who had joined them. They all started speaking at once about what they’d overheard and from whom.

Susan was horrified. Such notoriety could ruin her business.

“Miss Rogers?” Lady Alberth’s voice intruded on her disturbing thoughts. “May we have a moment?” She was flanked by Lady Bollinger and Lady Riggins, Arabella’s mother.

Susan raised a hand to her forehead. This was not going to be good. “Of course.”

They left their daughters behind and found a private spot in their hosts’ library.

“You’ve heard about the wager?” Lady Alberth said.

“I have,” Susan admitted. “Just this moment.”

“I am not pleased. I discussed this with the other mothers, and they are as unhappy as I. A genteel woman should not have her name listed in the Betting Book at White’s.”

“My lady, I did not seek this out—” Susan started.

“That may be true,” her ladyship said, “but we’ve been talking amongst ourselves and we believe this sort of nonsense deflects attention away from where it should be—on our daughters.”

“You are very right, my lady,” Susan hurried to agree. She could not afford to have everyone walk off. Her dreams of her little house on Beech Street were fading quickly.

“Furthermore,” Lady Bollinger chimed in, “you convinced us and our daughters that the Duke of Killeigh was unacceptable. Now he has singled you out, has announced to everyone he wishes to dance with
you.
I wonder if you had an ulterior motive all along. Perhaps you wanted him for yourself?”

“We did not believe we were hiring a fortune huntress when we engaged your services,” Lady Riggins jumped in.

“You did not,” Susan assured her.
This is madness. Why is the duke doing this?

“Then you shall see this matter is set right?” Lady Alberth said.

“I shall attempt to do so,” Susan promised.

“’Attempt’ is unacceptable,” her ladyship countered. “You
will
set it to rights or not see a shilling from my husband.”

“And whatever you do,
don’t
dance with the Duke of Killeigh,” Lady Bollinger said, pointing her fan at Susan for emphasis.

“Or else you will set the wrong example for our daughters,” Lady Riggins agreed. “
You
can’t marry a duke. Why, you are of the working class now. I’ve had enough trouble explaining to Theresa why she must not be so moony-eyed for her Gerald without having to explain your infatuation with a duke.”

“My infatuation? Lady Alberth, I have not encouraged the duke or gone in search of his attention—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lady Alberth said. “You have it, and you will end it.”

“And we want proper husbands for our daughters. We are paying for it, and we expect it,” Lady Bollinger added.

Susan could have pointed out that they weren’t paying for it yet, but they weren’t in a listening mood.

The peeresses left the room. However, the moment the door closed, it opened again to let in her sisters, Jane and Ellen.

“I warned you,” Ellen said.

“Were you listening at the keyhole?” Susan accused.

Jane dismissed the charge with a wave of her hand. “One did not need to eavesdrop to know what was being said in this room. Alec warned you that you would embarrass us, and so you have.”

“I have done nothing of the sort,” Susan said.

“Your name is in the Betting Book at White’s,” Ellen replied with a self-righteous lift of her chin.

“Many women have their names in that book. The club members wager on everything from who will marry whom to who will drop her baby first to who has the bluest eyes.” A headache was starting to form behind her eyes. “This is ridiculous. One should expect at least a measure of support from one’s family.”

“You were offered the opportunity to live with Dodgin’s aunt,” Jane pointed out.

“I don’t call that support,” Susan muttered mutinously, and started for the door.

“Wait,” Ellen said. “We are not finished talking to you.”

“But
I
am finished talking to you,” Susan answered, her hand on the door handle.

“But we didn’t come about the scene in the library,” Ellen said. “One of your charges, Lady Theresa, I believe, was crying her eyes out in the Ladies’ Retiring Room. We thought you would want to know.”

“See? We do offer you our support,” Jane said, cattily.

Susan didn’t make a response but opened the door and left the room.

In the corridor, she tried her best to think clearly. It was hard when she was so hurt and angry by her sisters’ response to this crisis, and it was a devil of a fix. The best solution was to avoid the duke completely, which shouldn’t be hard. After all, because of her, he wasn’t being invited to anything.

The realization was a calming balm for her frantic thoughts. For the first time since she’d heard news of the wager, Susan drew a full breath and released it. All would be well. She needed to focus her attention on her charges. The Duke of Killeigh could take care of himself.

She hurried to the set of rooms set aside for the convenience of the ladies. Lady Theresa was not there, although the attending maid had seen her earlier, “Sobbing her eyes out.” Susan left to search for her in the ballroom.

However, just as she entered the ballroom, the butler announced, in grand, round tones, a new arrival to the ball. “His Grace, the Duke of Killeigh.”

Susan froze. She dared not take another step into the room. Was it her imagination that everyone turned almost as one and looked right at her?

Almost as one the crowd stepped back, creating a direct line between her and the duke standing proudly in the doorway. He looked magnificently handsome in his tailored black evening attire. That irrational, confusing pull between them was even stronger than it had been when first they’d met.

This wasn’t just any man; this was one she had been fated to meet.

And then she thought of the wager…

R
oan savored the moment. All eyes in the room, including those of the musicians, who rumor said had put down a quid or two of their own on the wager, were on him and the lovely Miss Rogers.

He had to admit, she had been amazingly easy to conquer. He’d barely even had to lay siege. One wager to catch the imagination of the
ton,
and she hadn’t stood a chance.

He walked forward.

Miss Rogers stood completely composed, but there was a gleam of anger in her golden brown eyes. She didn’t like losing any more than he did.

However, she’d been neatly outflanked.

As for himself, he’d never felt more alive in his life. He could literally feel the rush of his own blood through his veins, the pounding of his heart.

He didn’t bow. He was a duke, after all. But he inclined his head and offered one gloved hand. “Miss Rogers, would you do me the honor of a dance?”

The room had gone so silent, his words seemed to echo off the wall—or was that because in one split second, he’d found himself anxious as to her response, and not because his pride was on the line.

No, he wanted to know how she’d feel in his arms. He had a sudden need to know the scent of her skin and feel her move close to him in harmony.

Her long lashes swept down toward her cheeks.

The room seemed to hold a collective breath, one Roan discovered he held himself.

Her gloved hand came up to rest in his as she dipped into a small curtsy. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”

Triumph shot through him—and not because of the wager.

It was as if something he’d long sought was now in his sights. This woman was unlike any other. He knew it with a conviction that went all the way to his bones.

The room had come alive with her response. He could hear murmurs around him and knew those who had wagered against him must be spitting with frustration at how easily she had yielded to his request.

Roan turned to lead her to the dance floor. Their audience stepped back to allow them passage. They’d not taken more than two steps when Miss Rogers made a sharp gasp of a pain and started to fall forward. She caught herself before he could and straightened, placing all her weight on one foot.

Those demure long lashes at last raised for her eyes to meet his. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. I seem to have twisted my ankle. I won’t be able to dance.” She let go of his hand and limped back a step, practically hopping on one foot to demonstrate. “I beg you, please find another partner.”

She didn’t wait for his response but hobbled awkwardly away from him.

Now, he’d been outflanked.

Worse, the majority of people in the room knew, too. Many outwardly grinned.

In two steps he came up beside her. Hooking her arm in his, he said, “Please, let me help you, Miss Rogers. I feel completely responsible for your accident.”

She tried to disentangle herself. “It is not your fault, Your Grace. I pray you, please choose another partner.”

He tightened his hold. “I would be less than gallant to desert you after causing such an injury.”

“Your Grace—” she started to protest, but he cut her off by swinging her up in his arms.

“Let me carry you to a chair,” he said, moving toward a set of chairs in a corner of the rooms.

Laughter started all around them. Bright spots of color appeared on Miss Rogers’s cheeks. There would be hell to pay once she could set her tongue loose on him, but Roan now had the answer to some of his questions: She felt good in his arms, and there was no perfume that smelled better than the scent of her.

Realizing their audience, he enjoyed making a great show of making her comfortable in a chair. He had a servant fetch a footstool, but instead of setting her foot upon it, he sat himself, reached for her ankle, and rested it on his thigh.

“Your Grace,” she protested, trying to pull her foot away from him. He held fast, even going so far as to slide her kid slipper off her foot. “This is unseemly,” she whispered furiously at him.

“We must be careful,” he said with a straight face. “A twisted ankle is quick to swell. I think it must be wrapped. Fetch bandages,” he ordered the footman.

She leaned forward, speaking for his ears alone, “I don’t need it wrapped. Please, Your Grace. It will be fine.”

“You don’t want me or the rest of this fine company to believe you have twisted your ankle accidentally on purpose, do you?”

She studied him a moment, then looked around, realizing that even though the music and conversations had started up again, they were being closely watched. She settled back in her chair, turning her head away from him. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Roan agreed with mild amusement although he didn’t mind having Miss Rogers’s foot in his lap. She had a nice foot, as attractive and well formed as the rest of her. He couldn’t resist covertly running his thumb along the inside of her arch.

Her toes curled, but she pressed her lips together, stoically—and he had a flash of insight.

“It isn’t just me, is it? Or this Irish duke nonsense. You want to keep all men at bay.”

She turned to him, her eyes widening. For a second, she was speechless, and he knew he was right even before the denial reached her lips. “I wish I hadn’t started this nonsense,” she murmured.

“Yes, it’s bringing me too close.”

Her brows came together in a frown. “Would you stop that? We are in a roomful of people with prying ears.”

“No, I don’t believe I will,” he said. “I’m ready to be done with games or guessing.” He leaned forward. “And I don’t care that we are surrounded by people. In fact, I welcome it because what I’m feeling right now is real. Surprisingly real.”

She pulled back, resting her hands on the armrests. “Please, don’t speak to me that way, Your Grace.”

“Why not?” he asked evenly, watching her every move, every breath.

“Because…” She looked away.

He waited.

Her gaze swung back to meet his, her vulnerability clear in the depths of her somber eyes. “I don’t trust what I feel when you are near,” she whispered.

Her candor went straight to his heart, momentarily stunning him by the intensity of his own reaction.

When he didn’t speak immediately, she rushed on, “There can never be anything between us—”

Roan found his voice. “Why not?”

“Because,” she said as if it were an explanation.

“Because I’m Irish?” he demanded.

“
No,
” she hurried to say. “Because you are a duke. Because you could do so much better than I. Because I’ve made choices in my life that have been unconventional—” She paused, and a shudder went through her before she finished, “Because I’m old.”

Roan had been listening to her litany of objections, but that she thought herself old startled him enough to laugh. He regretted his response the moment the lines of her face tightened.

Not wanting her to form the wrong impression, he reached for her hand. “Anyone believing Miss Susan Rogers is so ancient as to be on the shelf is a daft fool,” he said. “As to the others, let me be the judge of the sort of wife I want. I don’t live my life for others, and advise you to follow my lead. Most people don’t know what they want, so they settle for rules and the opinions of others. Be brave, Miss Rogers. Be bold.”

“If only it were that easy, Your Grace,” she said sadly.

“
It is
.”

Abruptly, her whole manner changed. She pulled her hand from his. “Lord and Lady Alberth.”

Roan could have cursed the interruption. He had been so intent on Miss Rogers, he’d forgotten they were in a crowded ballroom. He rose, placing Miss Rogers stockinged foot on the stool. “Alberth,” he said greeting.

His lordship did not acknowledge him. Instead, he snapped to Miss Rogers, “Have you seen our daughter?”

Miss Rogers pushed herself out of the chair. “I was looking for her, my lord,” she said. “When I was—” She broke off as if words failed her. “Distracted,” she finished weakly, awkwardly slipping on her shoe.

Roan offered a hand to help her, but she ignored him.

“I want my daughter,” Alberth said, his voice tight with rage. “I want her now.”

“My lord,” his worried wife said. “We don’t know that she could have run off with Gerald Grover—”

“She shouldn’t have been given the opportunity,” Alberth said. “
She”
—he nodded to Miss Rogers—“was supposed to keep her eyes on her.”

“Let us adjourn this discussion to a more private place,” Roan said, moving to stand between the very angry Alberth and Miss Rogers. Too many people were taking an avid interest in the conversation.

“The only thing I’m going to do is find my daughter, Your Grace. This woman was supposed to watch her.”

“Alberth, you are working yourself up over nothing—”

“
Nothing?
She’s my only child, Your Grace. I must protect her. And while I worry, this woman”—he nodded toward Miss Rogers—“is-is
diddling
away with—with—” His voice broke off as if he realized he’d best think better of what he was saying.

“With
me
?” Roan asked pointedly, daring Alberth to go further.

“Please, Your Grace,” Miss Rogers said, taking a step forward.

Roan held up a protective arm, wanting to shield her from Alberth’s ridiculous accusations. However, before any of them could go further, a group of young women pushed their way through the growing audience around them.

“Miss Rogers,” one of the girls said. “Here is Lady Theresa.”

A very attractive dark-haired girl came forward. “Father, I’m right here,” she said in a low, embarrassed voice. “I’ve never left. And Gerald wasn’t here either.”

“Where have you been?” a worried Lady Alberth demanded. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Lady Theresa glanced around at the number of people surrounding them, then whispered in her mother’s ear. Lady Alberth’s eyes opened in surprised delight. She whispered to Alberth, whose anger evaporated.

“Haven’s son?” he repeated. The Earl of Haven’s son was said to be the catch of the Season.

“She was in the supper room with Haven’s son,” Alberth told the room at large.

There were appropriate murmurs of appreciation at the coup, and Lady Theresa blushed appropriately. “After Miss Rogers talked to me the other evening, I started to think that perhaps she was right. Perhaps I should be open to the addresses of other gentlemen.” Her gaze softened when she looked at a young blond-haired fellow, Haven’s son, who had joined the crowd around them.

“Well,” Roan said, “it appears someone is owed an apology.”

“Your Grace,” Miss Rogers protested.

Roan shook his head. “No, the man made accusations that were unjustified, and he should apologize.” He turned to Alberth. “Won’t you, my lord?” He edged his words with a hint of steel.

“She should have known where my daughter was,” Alberth answered.

“
You
didn’t even know where your daughter was,” Roan countered, and received several nods of agreement from their audience.

Alberth was not one to enjoy apologizing. He hedged and shifted his weight, then said, “Very well. I regret the misunderstanding.”

It was not a graceful apology, but Miss Rogers bobbed a curtsy, and replied, “Please, I beg you not to think of this again.”

His lordship shrugged, then walked over to meet Haven’s son. Lady Alberth followed him, and the crowd focused their attentions upon other matters.

Roan was pleased. In fact, he felt a bit heroic for standing up for Miss Rogers. He turned to her, expecting gratitude and, instead, he found her surrounded by Lady Bollinger and others.

Miss Rogers did not appear pleased, and he was puzzled.

The women walked off.

He approached. “Weren’t they happy Lady Theresa was found?” It seemed a safe question.

It wasn’t.

Miss Rogers turned to him with angry tears in her eyes. “No, they weren’t happy. In fact, I’ve been given the sack by all of them. I’m ruined. Everything I worked for is gone.”

“Miss Rogers, I don’t know what to say—”

“Don’t say
anything.
Not one word. You’ve said enough. You’ve done enough.” She turned and started walking away.

Roan went after her. Out in the foyer, he demanded, “What have I done wrong?”

She paused long enough to explain, “Have you ever seen one of those tightrope walkers? That’s what I do, Your Grace. I walk a tightrope between respectable society and not-so-respectable society. A gentlewoman at this level of society doesn’t work. My sisters warned me. I knew the risks I ran. I thought I could keep my balance, but this evening…” She shook her head. “You shouldn’t have paid attention to me. I’m not worth it. Losing my livelihood isn’t worth it.”

“Susan,” he said, using her Christian name because it was more direct, more intimate, “I wasn’t trying to harm you—”

“But that is what happened,” she replied, cutting him off. “Excuse me. I’ve been ordered to leave.”

She all but ran out the door, not waiting for her cloak. Roan stood for a second in confusion. He didn’t understand how everything had just gone wrong. He charged after her, but was waylaid by a footman who wanted to give him, “My lady’s cape.”

By the time Roan made it out the door, Miss Rogers had disappeared.

He needed to find her, but first he wanted a conversation with Bollinger and his wife.

Susan was furious with herself. What a
fool
she’d been. Her mistake had been in forgetting her place. She’d allowed her infatuation with the Duke of Killeigh to be too obvious. Too public.

Lady Bollinger and the others had not minced words. She had been deemed “unsuitable,” and they were right. Ellen and Jane had warned her.

Of course, it didn’t help when she returned to her lonely rooms and realized that the sharp words had not been what had hurt this evening.

No, what had pierced her like a lance was her own realization at how foolish she had been. Sitting with the duke, having him pay court to her, had actually led her to believe that there might be more to his intentions than some wager, or even pure lust.