Mesmerising the Duke (Regency Romance) (Regency Lords Book 1)
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Authors: Regina Darcy
Copyright © Regina Darcy 2016
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a contemporary work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
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The candles in the drawing-room of Sheperton Manor glittered as brightly as the jewellery worn by the ladies dancing beneath it.
Despite the almost illicit nature of the activity being undertaken in the house’s gaming rooms, the ballroom was filled with a fair number of the
ton
, searching for some entertainment in the Buckinghamshire countryside. Those not indulging in a spot of dancing with one fair lady or another, were busy gambling in the nearby rooms.
Their hostess, Lady Archer, had once been a well-to-do dowager, but had fallen on hard times after several gambling misfortunes. But, being ever the entrepreneurial woman, she had taken her
penchant
for card games and made it into a minor business. An activity that would have warranted her exclusion from polite society.
But the
ton
were addicted to a good game of cards.
When Lady Archer had first thrown such a vulgar event, it had been quite the scandal in their local community. However now it was seen as the height of decadency to have attended such a gathering. Known through the county for her gambling soirees, she had turned misfortune to fortune, which had to be admired.
Her gaming gatherings differed in that both women and men could attend, and dancing and socialising was a must. Of course she did charge an entry fee, which was collected ever so discreetly on arrival.
How popular these soirees were could be witnessed by the merriment of the attendees as they swirled across the ballroom to the strains of the Viennese Waltz. It was well known that most of the women attending were some man’s wife and probably another man’s mistress. Or aspiring to be one or the other. This was especially true during her masquerade balls, during the month of love. It was this very event that would draw the most reluctant rake to the countryside. At these times, every sensible matron would remain at home, keeping a close eye on their charge.
Yes, Lady Archer’s was a place for decadent amusement but one gentleman looked conspicuously bored and unmoved by the merriment. His very presence was such that the eyes of almost every woman kept returning to his imposing figure. This scrutiny could have been due to his stature, but more likely than not it was due to the man himself. Douglas Montgomery, the Duke of Staffordshire, commonly referred to as Monty by his friends.
He was not only tall, but also extremely handsome. He had a reputation of leaving a sea of broken hearts wherever he went. Despite this, matrons with aspirations to move up in the world, would not hesitate to throw their daughters at him. Unfortunately for him, this was a frequent occurrence. His reputation did nothing to dissuade them from coveting the title of Duchess for their daughter.
Douglas knew that if he ever found himself in a compromising situation with any of those insipid girls he was done for it. His own sense of honour would demand that he did the right thing. That is why he avoided debutants like the plague. No, he preferred a mature woman. Preferably one that was already married and bored with her husband. The thought brought a cynical smile to the corner of his lips.
He had learnt the hard way that women were not to be trusted. At least his paramours were honest about their desires and what they expected of him. At the thought of his mistress he frowned.
Unfortunately, today he had to undertake the unpleasant task of informing her that their time together was at an end.
He had noticed the first signs of what he could only describe as affection in the lady’s rapport with him. He did not do affection. Douglas would stake his rogue reputation on his skills to satisfy any woman, however emotional satisfaction they had to look for elsewhere. His current liaison was set to get messy as the lady’s husband, the Earl of Chelsford, had recently been named
Lord Steward
.
His influence over the Sovereign was not to be underestimated. Although Countess Desdemona was an incomparable beauty, she wasn’t worth the hassle of having to tackle with her husband’s displeasure. Besides, as far as the Countess was concerned, he had grown restless, bordering on bored. Matters had not been helped by the fact that she had sent him three messages last week urging him to come urgently to Buckinghamshire. For what purpose, he did not know, but he would take this opportunity to end their assignations.
It was with quiet discomfort that he saw the Countess glide seductively towards him across the ballroom. Douglas frowned at this outward display. At this rate she would have the gossip tongues wagging before the end of the night. Even at an event such as this, a modicum of discretion was required.
Her elaborate gown with its full skirt, no doubt the latest French style, emphasised her 15 inch waist. The front was cut as low as decency permitted – which was very low indeed. But it served to accentuate her creamy shoulders and her ample bosom. Her mask served only to highlight the curves of her perfect mouth. Where once he would have been mesmerised by the sight, he was instead slightly irritated. Before she reached him, he turned and walked to a nearby alcove. He had no doubt she would follow.
“Douglas,” Desdemona whispered.
“Good evening Countess, how nice to see you in good health,” he replied coldly. It was best to get these matters over with as swiftly as possible in his experience.
“Why so cold my love? Do you not remember the heat of my embrace,” she pouted, while placing her hand on his arm. He promptly disengaged it.
“Desdemona, darling, stop wearing your affections on your sleeves. It is unseemly,” Douglas said in a cold voice.
It finally dawned on the Countess that this was not a secret rendezvous. Annoyed, she wrinkled her perfect forehead.
“Why did you call me here?” the Duke continued.
“Do I need a reason? Do you not long for my company as I crave yours?” she responded, fanning herself.
“No, my lady I do not.” Their gaze locked and it was in that moment the Countess understood she was in the process of being cast aside.
“I take no joy in this conversation,” Douglas resumed. But before he could finish he was abruptly interrupted. The Countess closed her fan violently and looked at him with venom. “My dear Douglas, I will not be cast aside as last night’s stale pastry,” she said and then smiled sweetly.
Douglas sighed deeply, “Surely you did not expect this to last? I have warned you on numerous occasions not to mistake our dalliance for more than a momentary pastime.”
“You
do
mean to cast me aside,” Desdemona said in a disbelieving voice. “Who do you take me for?” Douglas now suspected that their goodbyes were going to be much more tiring than he anticipated.
“I know too well the look you are currently sporting. I had not imagined to be on the receiving end of your scorn,” Desdemona spat. “Mark my words,
Your Grace
, you will feel my wrath and regret your actions today,” she whispered venomously.
Before the matter got completely out of hand, a male voice called the Duke’s name from behind. “Your Grace! So this is where you have been hiding out all night.”
It was with huge relief he welcomed the sight of Lord Nathaniel Hughes, the Viscount of Wiltshire, his nearest and dearest friend. Despite his mask, Nathaniel’s stature and sky-blue eyes were so distinctive, his disguise was unnecessary. The Viscount was impeccably well-dressed. Not a chemise misaligned.
“Countess,” he greeted with a nod. Desdemona spared him not so much as a glance, but instead sailed regally back out to the ballroom.
The moment she was out of sight, Nathaniel’s face cracked a big smile and he clasped hands with his friend.
“Monty, good to see you,” he said with a smile.
“Hughes, I was almost afraid you would leave me standing here with that shrew for another two hours, whilst you busied yourself with your cravat,” his friend replied, with a knowing smile.
“Give it a rest Monty, I get enough of a grilling from the chaps at the club.” Nathaniel removed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. “Besides, I just saved you from what looked to be a very unpleasant exchange. Not to mention, I am only in this godforsaken countryside hole to lend you a hand.”
“That you are indeed.”
“Is he here?”
“Yes, he is currently occupied in the gaming room.”
“Let’s get to the matter at hand.”
Douglas turned around and started walking back to the main room when he
stopped dead in his tracks. Despite her mask, the cascade of flaming hair from the beauty in the far room, beckoned him like a beacon. He looked in bemusement as the dainty little lady stomped her foot.
“Quite a beauty, old chap,” the Viscount whispered amused, “I wonder what has her so riled up?”
The beauty in question looked furious to say the least. Douglas watched intrigued as the man she was conversing with turned around and walked away. He could only assume this was her lover and he was witnessing an awkward end to their assignation. The woman was exceedingly young to be involved in such matters of the flesh. But based on the outwardly passion she exhibited, he could only imagine she was a hellion between the sheets. He smiled knowingly to himself as he watched her fan her heaving bosom.
“Monty, we do not have time for this,” Nathaniel warned in an exasperated voice, “we need to focus on this charade you dragged me to, not on some slip of a girl.”
“Not to worry Hughes, I will be with you shortly. Save a space for me at the whist table,” he replied with a distracted smile. Before the Viscount could reply, the Duke started making his way through the crowd; the woman and her ethereal beauty his sole focus.
Miss Georgette Anne Danford had never been so angry in her life. Naturally, she had a tiff, just like any well-bred young lady her age, but a full-on angry rage was a rare occurrence. Today would prove very different.
She was in a gambling den. Never mind how beautiful the ballroom or respectable-looking everything was, this was a gambling den. If it had been in London it would be a club, but stuck in the country side, Lady Archer had gentrified the establishment.
She had no moral qualms about gambling or any of the other vices of the
ton,
however she did mind being forced to experience it up close. Well-bred young women just didn’t attend this kind of social function.
What had Stephen been thinking dragging her here? During the month of love no less. Uncomfortable, she adjusted her mask. Thank the Lord this was a masquerade ball. She could only hope no-one recognised her. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Stephen was her guardian, however annoying that was. But so far she was more likely to be taking care of him than the other way around. Cursed convention held it that no woman could be left unsupervised or without guardianship, least she be widowed and even then only the wealthiest of widows enjoyed the kind of freedom Georgette longed for. Society had created a cage to house the “fairer sex” and she was only now understanding the full implications of her lack of freedom. Frustrated, she tried to discreetly pull up the bodice of her dress. Stephen had insisted that she wear the gaudy gown, best suited for a courtesan. His reasoning was that she would stand out less if she fitted in with the crowd. Unbidden, her thoughts went to the events that had led to their presence at Lady Archer’s.
Their mother had passed away in child bed, trying to give birth to their stillborn younger brother. For half their lives, they had only had one parent, John Danford. Their father had been a General in the Navy. Due to the nature of his profession, he was rarely home. But on the times that he was, he showered his children with his attention and affection. He had died during the Anglo-Maratha War. His son and daughter were left to fend for themselves on a very limited stipend. Sporadically they were invited to social events above their station due to the lingering memory of their father.
They both knew this state of affair would not last for very long. Soon General Danford’s heroics would be forgotten and so would his children. The only way out of this conundrum would be to marry well. To do so they had to attend any and all social events. But ever since the death of their mother and then their father, Stephen had been on a downward spiral of women, drinking and gambling. His obsession with these vices were taking a toll on their small stipend and on him physically. He now looked gaunt and pale and not at all like the twin brother she used to admire and love.
Only recently, he had started behaving paranoid, prone to fits of temper and obsessed with having her with him at all times of the day. Georgette suspected that he had been introduced to smoking the herbs of the Orient. These were not just expensive, but were also known to render a man addicted and wasteful. She clenched her fists, frustrated at how powerless she felt.
Stephen had promised her that they were only stopping by at Lady Archer’s for a short spell. But they had barely arrived when he left her in a corner, unchaperoned. It had now been over three hours. She had been rebuffing unsolicited advances the entire evening. Georgette had learnt more about men’s lecherous behaviour in one night, than a young woman should know in a lifetime.
She had finally convinced Stephen to step outside for a spell, but convincing him to take her home was proving a much harder endeavour. At the moment no one had recognised her, but there was only so much protection her mask could afford her. He was putting her reputation at risk for nothing.
“Stephen Jason Danford, you take me home right now!” she exclaimed, trying very hard not to raise her voice and cause more suspicion. He might be her guardian, but he had been her younger brother for far longer.
“Ettie, relax. Why do you persist on being so uptight?” her brother responded, clearly already slightly intoxicated.
“Stop calling me Ettie, you know I hate that nickname,” Georgette replied annoyed.
Stephen took his mask off and ran his hand through his brown curls, before sighing deeply.
“You didn’t mind it when father was alive,” her brother said solemnly. His reply took the steam out of her anger.
There is only the two of us left
.
As always he knew just the words to wrap her around his finger.
“Stephen, why did you bring me here?” she asked in a tired voice. “The real reason, not the lie you have been feeding me,” she added. On days like this she felt a hundred years older than her 23 years of age.
Her brother looked at her practically fidgeting in his frock.
“Just tell me whatever it is that you are hiding.”
“I am not hiding anything. I just like having you around, Ettie. Wouldn’t want to lose you – you are the only family I have left.”
“Stephen, you know full well I need to make an advantageous marriage. To achieve this, we should not be attending Lady Archer’s masquerade ball. We should take advantage of papa’s war hero status and frequent polite society.” Pleading, she settled her hand on his. “If I should be discovered here, my reputation will be tarnished beyond repair.”
“You won’t, Ettie. I will get you out of here. But first, I need to meet up with the Earl of Chesterton. He might have the solution to our current financial problems,” he responded.
“A solution? Stephen…,” she cautioned, her temper starting to bubble again. “What are you trying to drag me into?” Georgette snapped.
“Nothing. Simmer down, you are drawing attention,” he replied. “Why don’t you go and explore the library or something. I am sure there is one in the manor somewhere. No-one is likely to find you there and I will come and get you as soon as I am done,” he replied in a clear effort to placate her.
Stephen knew how much his sister loved reading dusty old manuscripts. He was sure that would keep her out of his hair long enough. The last thing he wanted her to find out was that he had already gamble away half the stipend that they had inherited. Bowing to her elegantly, he departed.
Georgette chewed on her lower lip as she mulled over her brother’s suggestion. It was clear she could not stay in the ballroom. The longer into the evening the merriments proceeded, the more masks were coming off and the more questionable certain behaviours were becoming. Those few matrons that had dared, ever so foolishly to bring their daughters to such a raucous event, had departed hours ago.
Keen to remove herself from the merriment, she decided to venture in pursuit of a sanctuary. The library would do as well as anywhere else. As she dashed off as swiftly as she could without drawing additional attention to herself, she did not see the man that was in pursuit of her. He was left perplexed wondering where the flaming beauty he had seen, had disappeared to.
