The Duke (8 page)

Games and absurdity, he thought in disgust, heaving an impatient sigh under his breath. Even if this Miss Hamilton was as lovely as everyone claimed, he could never respect a woman who was no more than a glorified whore. Still, though his dignity was rather put off by it all, he was fixed enough in his quest to play along. He tried to look relaxed, but could scarcely hide his lordly disdain for the place and its resident harlots. His mother would have fit right in here, he thought in contempt.

Just then, he happened across a trio of his acquaintances, who promptly exclaimed with hilarity to find him in this house of lust. They clapped him on the back and pressed a drink into his hand. Feeling sheepish, Hawk drank with them, barely heeding their half-drunken ramblings. Furtively scanning the room, his gaze suddenly happened across a large gilt-framed mirror over the fireplace. In it, he saw Dolph Breckinridge.

Coldfell’s nephew was tucked away in an alcove on the far end of the salon. At first, Hawk could not see the woman he had cornered there. Then Dolph dropped to his knees in pleading, and Hawk glimpsed her face.

His eyes widened; he froze; he stared. Abruptly, he tore his stunned gaze away before anyone suspected he was spying. His heart was pounding.

My God, she is an angel.

He forced a taut smile at his friends, gripped his wineglass so hard he nearly snapped the stem, and listened not at all to his companions’ boasting about their success at Gentleman Jack’s boxing studio.

A prickling sensation raced down his spine. He slanted another covert glance at the mirror and beheld the silvery gold vision of the elegant young courtesan, ruling from her alcove like a virgin queen of some arctic country. Celestial and yet sensual, Miss Hamilton stared straight ahead, ignoring her kneeling devotee in cruel serene beauty. Her face was expressionless, as though her delicate features had been carved from alabaster. She had fine-boned cheeks, an aristocratic nose, and a firm, willful chin. Hawk’s stare followed the graceful curve of her throat downward to her slender body.

Her white muslin gown had sheer long sleeves, a straight, pleasing neckline and a standing Elizabethan-style collar of
Brabant
lace that framed the back of her head. She wore her flaxen tresses piled and coiled in glorious chaos atop her head. Tendrils of it wafted like whispered secrets against the curve of her neck, precisely where he should have liked to taste her.

He quivered and forced his gaze away, his pulse hammering. Merely knowing she was expertly trained to pleasure a man in every way sent ripples of unrest down into the hollow well of his soul.
God, it had been so long.

Traitor, he said to himself in contempt.

One of his companions asked him a question, but Hawk had ceased paying attention, for as he watched the mirror again Dolph and Miss Hamilton began to argue. The baronet pushed to his feet, looming over her with a snarl. Still, she sat on her cushioned bench, staring up at him in taunting silence. Dolph began gesticulating wildly. Miss Hamilton’s mouth curved in a slight smile of frosty mockery, at which Dolph shoved his hand into his pocket and flung a handful of coins in her face.

Hawk drew in his breath, fiery rage erupting through his veins. The young beauty flinched as the coins struck her, one catching her in the chin. The coins scattered all over her lap and rolled onto the floor.

Hawk whirled around, abandoned his friends without explanation, and began shouldering his way through the drawing room to go to her aid. He blasted his conscience for standing by and merely watching while a suspected rapist and murderer harassed a defenseless woman, demirep or no. He had certainly not expected an outburst of violence from Dolph in a room packed to brimming with Miss Hamilton’s admirers. It appeared no one else had noticed the spectacle unfolding in the alcove, else there ought to have been a general hue and cry to lynch the blackguard.

Hawk glanced back at the reflection in the glass when the thick crowd slowed his progress. He could see Harriette’s footmen, two big Cockney bruisers, surrounding Dolph in an instant, roughly herding him out. He was so intent on his purpose, shoving through the throng, that he bumped into someone and managed to spill the remainder of his wine on his formal white gloves. He’d forgotten he was even holding the wine. Muttering a curse, he passed off the empty glass to a liveried waiter and quickly pulled off his gloves and abandoned them on the servant’s tray, as well. Heedlessly, he pressed on, then suddenly found himself face-to-face with Dolph, flanked by Harriette’s footmen.

Instantly, he saw that Dolph was quite drunk.

“Hawkscliffe!” The baronet clutched Hawk’s lapel with an air of desperation. “They are throwing me out! It’s Belinda! She is driving me mad! You have to help me!”

He gritted his teeth against a surge of loathing. “What would you have me do?” He was sorely tempted to take Dolph outside and thrash him, but the man deserved so much more than that.

“Talk to her for me?” Dolph slurred. “Reason with her—tell her she has punished me long enough. All I want is to take care of her. And tell her—” His drink-reddened face hardened. “Tell her if she chooses anyone but me, she will be sorry.”

The bodyguards snarled at his threat.

Dolph’s grip on Hawk’s lapel eased as they dragged him away.

Struggling to collect his fury, Hawk clenched and unclenched his fists by his sides. He pivoted on his heel and shoved his way roughly through the rest of the crowd. Men backed out of his path when they saw him coming, his face darkened by wrath. He arrived at the edge of Miss Hamilton’s alcove just as she finished putting the last few coins that had been hurled at her on a servant’s tray. Her hands were shaking, he saw, and it pained him.

“Get rid of it, all of it. Take it. Here. Go! Hurry, he’ll be leaving in a moment,” she said in a jittery voice, waving the servant off to return Dolph’s money to him.

As Hawk stepped closer, suddenly unsure of what to say, Miss Hamilton frowned, reached into her bodice, and pulled out a silver half crown with a look of disgust. She handled the coin as though it were an insect that had fallen down her dress. She suddenly held the coin out to Hawk with an expectant look. “Please give this back to your friend,” she ordered, the vulnerability in her eyes all at odds with her haughty command.

He grew a little dazzled as he held her gaze. The color of her eyes made him think of wild orchids, but no, they were bluer than that—the soft, deep, violet blue of meadow cranesbill. Shadowed under long dun lashes, her eyes were mysterious, guarded . . . and innocent.

“Hello?” she called impatiently.

Taken aback, Hawk held out his hand. She dropped the coin into his palm. He faltered to feel how the metal still held her body’s silken warmth. A second ago, it had been pressed against her breast. His eyes glazed over.

“Go, won’t you?” she insisted. “He’ll be gone in a moment.”

He snapped out of his daze. “Certainly, I ‘ll give it to him later. I came to see if you were all right, Miss, ah,
Hamilton
, is it?”

“Oh, you’re no help.” She snatched the coin back from him and summoned another of her titled lackeys to deliver it—the fresh-faced young duke of
Leinster
. She gave him the coin and a caress on his smooth cheek, bestowing a smile as sweet as the breezes of the Blessed Isles.

“Thank you,
Leinster
,” she murmured in playful, lilting singsong that Hawk was sure had the siren’s power to mesmerize men. The handsome young Irish lord floated rather than walked away to do her bidding.

Hawk turned to her again in perplexed fascination, only to find he had lost his chance to speak to her. A couple of dashing youngbloods had swaggered over in front of him to pay their respects, oblivious to what had just happened.

All signs of Miss Hamilton’s distress had vanished behind her flawless smile. The two youngbloods, with whom she was now blithely flirting, had no idea she had just been practically attacked by Dolph. Only Hawk knew. He stared in fascination.

Why, she was a consummate actress, he thought. Of course she was, he realized, then scowled, standing like a dolt outside her alcove, half fearing he was out of his depth. Never in his life had he expected to find himself a supplicant vying for the favors of some fine little twenty-three-year-old bit o‘ muslin. Who did she think she was? He, the duke of Hawkscliffe, had come to rescue her and she didn’t seem to give a damn.

Miss Hamilton rose from her cushioned bench and parted the dandyish pair, flouncing off between them. With her nose in the air, she brushed by Hawk and strode toward the crowd that turned to adore her, calling out her name. She laughed gaily and lifted her arms out to them in an easy, natural acceptance of their worship. The dukes of Rutland and Bedford leaped to her sides and pulled her, all smiles, toward the green baize gaming tables while, to Hawk’s astonishment, his chief political opponent, the gruff old Lord Chancellor Eldon pressed a fresh glass of wine into her dainty hand. The chit had half of Parliament fawning on her.

Hawk stood there, left behind, as perplexed, routed, and baffled as the two foppish lads. Never in all his memory had a woman on the game sailed right past him as though he didn’t exist.

Obviously, she had no idea of his lofty name, his power and consequence—oh, shut up, he said to himself. Laughing suddenly for no apparent reason, he followed her.

Letting Dolph come to the party had been a mistake. She knew that now. She shouldn’t have allowed herself the indulgence of gloating, but she had paid the price for her pettiness, hadn’t she? He had certainly managed to frighten and embarrass her, Bel thought with a shudder, trying to put her stroke of bad judgment behind her and get on with the night.

Still, she couldn’t help but browbeat herself for overestimating her ability to manage him. Soon after arriving at the party, Dolph had seemed near tears, begging her to hear him out. Crocodile tears, she thought. Rather than cause a scene, she had agreed to talk privately with him in the alcove, but when he had cornered her there, it had quickly escalated into an ugly confrontation. At least, thank God, no one but that tall, scowling man, Dolph’s friend, had witnessed her humiliating moment.

Still a bit shaken by Dolph’s violent outburst, but with her smile pasted in place, Bel put the baronet and his tall, dark, elegant friend out of her mind and sat down to play her favorite game, vingt-et-un.

She was not a true gambler, but this simple little game always proved profitable for her. The stakes were in her favor: if Lady Luck let her beat her present opponent, a well-heeled pink of the ton, she would win his jeweled cravat pin worth fifty guineas. If she lost, all that she had to give him was a kiss—but she never lost, perhaps for the simple reason that the gentlemen were drinking while she was sober.

Dozens of men had gathered around the table, cheering her on as she thwarted her opponent in the first of three hands. The young lord stroked his dimpled chin and frowned at his cards.

Though she watched her opponent, Bel was wholly aware of the tall, saturnine stranger—Dolph’s friend—sauntering over to watch her play. A most august and imposing personage, she thought, studying him from the corner of her eye while she pretended to inspect her cards. Truth be told, she found him just a wee bit intimidating. Striking and cosmopolitan, he appeared in his mid- to late thirties, with the athletic physique and sun-bronzed complexion of an avid sportsman. His coal black hair was slicked back for evening, accentuating the stern, precise architecture of his face.

He stood with his chin high, his wide shoulders squared. With an imperious air of high reserve, he swept the crowd with a sharp, unsmiling glance. His cravat was starched and impeccable, his formal clothes austere black and white—and he wore them like the colors in which he saw the world, she thought in disdain, heedless of the colorfully dressed dandies all around her.

Unable to resist, Bel glanced over at him briefly just as he looked at her. He caught her gaze and held it frankly, sending her a faint, sly smile. For a moment, his velvety brown eyes utterly mesmerized her. She took one look into them and felt that she had known him all her life.

“Your turn, Miss Hamilton.”

“Of course.” Startled, she jerked back to face her opponent and smiled fetchingly at him while her heart beat rapidly. Arrogant blackguard! she thought, all her awareness focused on the stranger. How dare he stare at her? She didn’t care how attractive he was, she wanted nothing to do with him. He was Dolph’s friend. She knew because she had seen them talking briefly after Dolph had behaved so horribly to her.

Besides, no man that good-looking could be a bachelor. Life wasn’t that kind.

“One card, please,” she said sweetly.

She played her hand and soon gave a bright laugh to find herself the new owner of a shiny jeweled cravat pin. The young fop took his defeat with a grin, knowing he could go to the pawn shop and buy it back again tomorrow if he liked.

As Bel gave him her hand, he bent and pressed a gallant kiss to her knuckles, withdrawing with a bow. Suddenly, before she could protest, the dark stranger slid into the vacated chair, interlocked his fingers on the table and stared at her in placid challenge.

Narrowing her eyes, she rested her chin gracefully on her knuckles and gave him a dry smile of disdain. “You again.”