How to Beguile a Duke (Entangled Scandalous) (3 page)

The journal was not to be found on, below, behind, or anywhere else in this section of shelving. After carefully replacing all of the books, she stood and stretched, pressing her palms against her lower back and arching over them. At this rate, one day would not afford her enough time to complete a thorough search. Hooves clattered against cobblestones, and she moved to the window. A cart carried some sort of delivery for the kitchens.

“You seem perplexed,” the duke said from his desk.

She startled, having forgotten he was still in the room.

“That is because I am,” she said absently. “I hadn’t expected it to be so difficult to locate the journal.”

“Why are you so certain it is here?”

“Because my grandmother hid it in the library.”

He lifted his chin. “Why is the journal so important to you?”

Catherine clasped her hands in front of her and kept her eyes trained on the floor. “It is a family heirloom. My mother was devastated by the death of her father, and her mother died during their voyage to America. It would mean so much to her to have some token of her family.”

“Balderdash,” the duke said.

She snapped her head up. “I beg your pardon?”

He stood and moved to the front of his desk, then leaned against it and met her gaze in a clear challenge. “Balderdash. The dutiful daughter act doesn’t become you. Why do you really want that journal?”

Catherine’s mouth dropped open. How could he know there was more to the journal? Her lips moved as if of their own accord, preventing her from forming words.

The duke tapped his foot against the floor. “I’m waiting.”

She crossed her arms. “Your Grace. I have never been so insulted. I am not accustomed to having my word questioned.”

“Well you must become accustomed to it if you are going to continue to break into other people’s homes at your whim.”

“You should as well if you are going to lie to your guests about your whereabouts.”

He took a step forward and looked down his nose at her. Every part of her body awakened to his proximity. A whiff of cedar tickled her nose.

“Miss Malboeuf, you would do well to learn the customs of English society. It is my prerogative to turn away callers I do not wish to see. When my butler told you I was not at home, you should have understood it meant I did not wish to give you audience.”

She took a step back, hoping her mind would reengage. “It is still an untruth, which is the same thing as a lie. Why not tell the truth? Then I would have known your intentions from the start.”

The duke clenched his jaw. “Perhaps you should seek out someone who can provide you lessons in deportment.”

“That won’t be necessary, Your Grace. I attended a class on deportment in New Orleans.”

His gaze dropped to her unshod feet. “It’s a pity you weren’t able to complete the course.”

She supposed he was correct that it wasn’t proper for her to have removed her shoes, but she was accustomed to running about barefoot at home, and she wasn’t going to change that habit for one overbearing duke who didn’t deserve the amount of attention she had already wasted on him.

“Let’s get to the point, Your Grace. I would like to purchase Walsley Manor from you.”

He widened his stance and folded his arms across his chest. “That is out of the question. I will not sell my home to you under any circumstances.”

Her heart pounded, suffusing her face with heat. “But it’s not even your home. It has no sentimental value for you.”

“It has no sentimental value for you, either.”

She tapped her fingers against her arm. “It once belonged to my family. That is more than can be said for you.”

He studied her face, looking for a sign of weakness, no doubt. He sauntered back behind his desk and turned to meet her eyes. “Would you like to take a tour of the house?”

Her mouth nearly dropped open. What was he up to now? “I…yes, thank you. I would.”

He glanced at her half boots and returned his steady gaze to her. “Perhaps you’d like to put your boots back on first?”

“If it pleases you, Your Grace.” She slipped her feet back into her half boots and shot him a tentative smile.

He held out his arm to her and she took it. His warmth and sudden nearness sent an unwelcome shiver through her. Her body betrayed her as she struggled to determine his new strategy.

“Where would you like to begin?”

“I should like for you to show me your home as if I were an ordinary guest.”

He made a sound suspiciously like a snort. “Ordinary is something you shall never be, Miss Malboeuf.”

She took that as a compliment. “Be that as it may, I should like to start the tour from whichever place you would normally start.”

“I’m afraid I don’t often give tours of the house, but since you’re already inside, it makes sense to start with the ballroom.”

They proceeded to the ballroom in silence while Catherine attempted to deduce whether the duke didn’t allow visitors, or if he simply let his butler or housekeeper conduct the house tours. He moved so quickly through the wide corridor she barely had time to glimpse the exposed stone and occasional tapestry.

He glanced down at her as they reached the gallery. “Are you familiar with the history of the house?”

“No, not really. It makes my mother sad to tell stories about her parents or the house.” She leaned her head back and noted the detailed plasterwork on the walls and ceiling.

The duke drew in an audible breath and let go of her arm. “The original house was built as a fortified manor during the eleventh century, but additions were added at various times from the thirteenth through the seventeenth centuries.”

Catherine walked through the room, studying the elaborate plaster decoration on the walls and ceiling. A tapestry bearing a coat of arms hung at the end of the long, rectangular room. “Was that tapestry here when you purchased the property?”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “No. Only a handful of the furnishings that were damaged or otherwise of little value were spared by your cousin.”

She swallowed back regret at the loss of all of her family’s possessions. “So this tapestry depicts your coat of arms?”

“This is not the Boulstridge crest, but that of my mother’s ancestors.” He pursed his lips and turned away.

The chamber was quite long and narrow, but ideally suited to its purpose. It wasn’t difficult to imagine couples crossing back and forth across the floor in a lively dance. “Do you hold many balls here?”

The duke came up behind her. “No. I’ve never held a ball here. My entertaining is generally limited to London.”

Tilting her head to the side, she studied his face, the line of his chiseled jaw, his sculpted nose that was slightly crooked at the ridge, hinting that he hadn’t always been so poised and in control. He was a conundrum. Why would he want such a large house if he wasn’t going to entertain? It seemed certain the home he had inherited was equally as large. “Well, it is a shame not to take advantage of this lovely room when it is so perfectly designed for its intended use.” No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t imagine her mother in this house, but she could envision herself dancing with a handsome stranger in the ballroom.

She ran her hand over one of the lead bars that separated the diamond patterns of the windowpanes. “I’m afraid New Orleans is very young compared to England. The oldest homes were built no more than a century ago.”

She strolled to the end of the room to study another tapestry. The duke was strangely silent, so she continued speaking to fill the void. “Of course, there are many ruins in the Bahamas, but there is nothing that compares to this type of dwelling.” She halted in front of a faded painting at the other end of the room depicting a forest scene.

The duke halted next to her. His scent of cedar and sage drifted to her. A flutter rushed through her as quickly as a spring storm and she leaned forward to hide her sudden nervousness.

“This painting is one of the few decorations that remains from the time your family inhabited Walsley.”

She turned to meet his eyes, not understanding.

“As I said earlier, your cousin sold nearly all of the furnishings to pay his debts. When the house fell into disrepair, the roof collapsed and destroyed most of the top floor. All of the plaster and woodwork in the house has been replaced or restored to its original condition.” He took a step forward to study the painting. “Of course, as this was painted directly on the plaster, it could not be sold.”

“I hadn’t realized. There was no way for my mother to know what happened after she left.” Her stomach lurched as if she was on a horse that had bolted. What about the journal and the tiara? “Were the contents of the library sold?”

He raised his brows. “I did wonder how long it would take you to ask that question. The furnishings were sold, but the books were in place when I moved in. Of course, I’ve added to the collection over the years.”

Finally, a sign that he had normal human thoughts and feelings. “Of course. I should think less of you if you had not.”

He shot her that almost smile again. “Why, Miss Malboeuf, I didn’t think it was possible for your opinion of me to be lowered any further.”

Catherine returned his gesture with a genuine smile. “There is always room for me to lower my opinion of someone. It is much more difficult to convince me to raise it.”

He held out his arm again. “Shall we move on to the banqueting hall?”

She slid her arm through his. As they worked their way toward the hall, Catherine reluctantly conceded that the convoluted nature of the house was in keeping with the duke’s personality. Normally she was able to make a decision about someone’s character within the first few minutes of meeting him, but he was difficult to interpret.

…

Walsley was built on a steep incline and, as such, there were a bewildering number of levels. Necessity dictated that one must move up and down staircases of varying lengths to traverse the house. Many of the stone stairs bore the imprint of centuries of footsteps. Though it gave them a well-worn appearance, and was one of the reasons Nick had purchased the estate, it made them uneven and potentially hazardous. Though Miss Malboeuf was young and had certainly demonstrated her agility, he led her carefully through the maze of stairs and corridors until they reached the banqueting hall.

Miss Malboeuf slid her hand along one of the long tables that ran the length of each side of the hall. After walking to the center of the room, she spun around like a child enjoying a warm, sunny day outside.

A rare, protective urge overcame him for this enigma of a girl. He brushed it aside. “This table is the original. We had to do much work to restore it.” He waved his hand toward the other long wall. “That table was constructed to the exact specifications of the two original tables. This side of the room sustained the most damage and we were unable to save the surface of the table, though we did manage to salvage several of the legs.”

She walked over to the new table and touched the surface. “It’s a remarkable copy. I never would have guessed that the two were of different origin.”

He pointed to the vaulted ceiling. “We also had to replace much of the plasterwork and two of the ceiling beams. It’s best not to take any chances with structural elements.”

“No, of course not.” She glanced at the rafters and her gaze strayed to the balcony at the end of the chamber.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing. “Surely you don’t think so much of yourself that you must sit above your guests.”

She had issued a grave insult of the sort that would normally cause him to take offense, but it was uttered with such a lack of artifice that he found himself stifling his laughter instead of issuing a set down. “Why yes, Miss Malboeuf. I so dislike mingling with my guests that I had a balcony constructed for my personal use so I could lord over everyone in a manner befitting my superior station.”

She tilted her head to the side and regarded him, her eyes wide.

He crossed his arms and waited for her to speak. Surely she was about to issue a dressing down of her own. After a full minute passed, he began to wonder if she would ever speak again. He would have paid a small fortune to be privy to the thoughts inside her head.

“Whatever is the matter, Miss Malboeuf? Cat got your tongue?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that really the purpose of the balcony?”

He laughed. “Of course not. It is a minstrel’s gallery.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You wretched man. How could you lead me on in such a way?”

“No, no. You deserved it.” He placed his hand over his heart. “You wounded me to the core with your unkind words.”

“Nonsense. I expect that even if every person in England were to give you a dressing down it would have no effect on your ego whatsoever.”

She really was overstepping, but he couldn’t bring himself to set her to rights. He hadn’t been this entertained in a long time.

After a brief pause while she studied the balcony, she said, “So actors perform on the balcony to entertain the guests?”

He nodded. “I held a reception for the neighbors a few years ago and we had musicians in the gallery. I imagine if a family with children lived here they would conduct plays or charades as well.”

She studied him in that disconcerting way that made him feel as if she could tell what he was thinking. Though she was likely the most naive person he had ever met, she was very perceptive and almost completely without guile.

He turned away from her scrutiny and glanced out the window at the lower court. The clouds had cleared and the sun shone brightly. The gardens weren’t at their best this time of year, but the promise of spring was in the air.

A whiff of roses assailed his senses as Miss Malboeuf drew to a halt beside him. He leaned closer before catching himself and taking a step back. Her choice of fragrance was a remarkable coincidence given that the rose garden was one of few that had survived.

“Are we on the second floor? I must admit it is difficult to keep track. There seem to be staircases at every turn going up or down, but rarely both.”

“It depends on which part of the room you are in.”