The Duke Can Go to the Devil (10 page)

“That ‘something' may have been a flattened spleen,” Sophie said, obviously torn between laughter and horror.

Even though May laughed, she shook her head. “He's made of sterner stuff than that. And really, I think I am an oddity to him. He's used to people either fearing him or fawning over him, and obviously I'm not one to do either.”

“That is an understatement,” Charity teased, flashing a grin, “but as you say, it must have ended well. Forgiveness given, transgressions forgotten, ways parted?”

“Indeed.”

More or less, anyhow. They didn't need to know that she hadn't been able to properly concentrate this morning during her exercises, preoccupied as she was with the man. She kept imagining she heard a horse in the distance and had looked around over and over again, until she had finally given up on finding her inner peace for the day and had made her way home.

“And what if you see him again?”

She pursed her lips, giving Charity's question due thought. “Supposedly he is headed back to his estate soon. Since there's only one more major event, I don't imagine the likelihood of running into him is very high. The park will probably be packed to capacity.”

Sophie sat forward on the divan, her smile absolutely wicked. “All the more reason to have a plan in place to ensure that you
will
see him. Now that you've caught the duke's attention, it's only fitting you should add ‘kissed a duke' to your list of accomplishments during your world travels.”

“Sophie!” May and Charity exclaimed in unison, for once the both of them equally shocked.

“What? You've obviously piqued his interest. I've never seen him show any interest at all to any one female before, and Lord knows I would have read about it in the scandal sheets if it had happened. Everyone wants to guess at who will catch the bachelor duke's eye.”

May shook her head, quickly dismissing her friend's ridiculous suggestion. “I can assure you, the only thing I have caught is his censure. Thankfully, we parted on good terms, as my aunt would have thrown away the key otherwise. I don't need to jeopardize my freedom by attempting to kiss the man.”

The other two had no need to know that her heart was suddenly pounding away in her chest like the beat of a kendang drum. The thought of his surprisingly strong arms encircling her and those gorgeously masculine lips of his pressing against her own was much more enticing than it should have been.

Unconvinced by her protest, Sophie crossed her arms over her generous bosom. “And here I always assumed you were the most adventurous of the three of us. This is to be a summer to remember, one that we shall all look back on fondly when we are old and gray and wishing to relive the escapades of our youth. Don't you want to say that the first man you ever kissed was a handsome duke universally sought by others but felled by you?”

“Don't be silly—I've been kissed before. And I don't need to make a conquest of one of your famous peers.”

Charity nodded in agreement. “Yes, I think perhaps you're right. Kisses are to be reserved for someone you actually like, for one thing.”

“I do like the duke. I simply see no need to corner the man.” He could certainly be infuriating when he put his mind to it, but she meant it when she said she liked him. Most of the time.

Sophie's grin bordered on sly as she sent May a sideways look. “Oh, I saw the way he looked at you during that dance-to-end-all-dances. I can assure you, cornering will
not
be necessary.”

It was absurd to pay any mind to Sophie's words, but that didn't stop the spark of awareness that danced though May's belly. It made no sense that Radcliffe, of all people, should cause that sort of reaction in her. He was self-important, condescending, heavy-handed . . . kind, forgiving, and on the rare occasion, witty. He
possessed power and confidence in spades, and whether she liked it or not, it was a potent combination.

For one indulgent second, she imagined that wink that he gave her and swallowed. No matter what she wanted to think of him, he was attractive to her contrary self. Lifting her chin, she said, “The concert is for music and a farewell to friends. Let us leave it at that.”

Sophie and Charity exchanged glances, then looked back at her in unison. “Mmhmm,” Sophie murmured, her lips turned up in a knowing grin. “And let us hope some farewells are more exciting than others.”

T
he lanterns were already lit by the time William arrived at the park for the final concert of the festival. There were thousands of them strewn from every branch and bush, sending their colorful glow over the whole place, making it feel as though one were walking though a prism. The bright colors added a jubilant air to the event, the perfect atmosphere for the last evening of the festival.

Tonight, in keeping with the Farewell to Bath Musical Masquerade theme, the festival-goers wore brilliant, jewel-tone clothes with fanciful masks playfully obscuring the wearers' identities. Of course, as with any masked event, one could generally recognize those with whom one was familiar, but it always lent a bit of mischief and mystery to the occasion. William knew from experience that those present would be more daring, more honest to their true selves.

Adjusting his own mask, which was covered in unembellished midnight-blue satin to complement his jacket of the same color, he peered out over the crowd, gaining his bearings. Most of the activity was clustered around the pavilion, where a full orchestra was arranged in a sweeping half-moon, their dark and somber clothes
serving as the perfect backdrop for the dull shine of their instruments.

The amphitheater was divided into several dozen temporary boxes, each one separated by bright fabric panels and boasting between six and ten seats. Some were attended to by servants, and featured tables of food and drink, not unlike the boxes at Vauxhall Gardens.

Since the concert had yet to begin, many of those present were still milling about, conversing with great enthusiasm, if the level of noise was any indication. William ignored those clustered on the lawn and instead scanned the boxes for Dering, who had invited William to join him. In a matter of moments he spotted his friend's huge frame, which stood head and shoulders above those around him. He was at the center of a small group of people, gesturing widely as he no doubt relayed one of his many stories.

William plunged ahead into the throng, keeping his attention straight ahead as a means of discouraging interruption. He was well aware that masked events did nothing to hide his identity, and instead seemed to make him only more approachable to those who were normally too shy or prudent to speak to him.

Tonight would be no different, it seemed. He'd made it only halfway to his destination when someone snagged his arm, bringing him to an abrupt stop. He swung around, prepared to give a cutting remark, when he spotted the golden hair of the woman whose fingers still clutched his sleeve. For a moment, his heart leapt to his throat, but then he realized she was far too short to be his lovely rival. He released his breath and scowled at the light brown eyes behind the shimmering gold mask. “I beg your pardon,” he said curtly, tugging his arm from her grasp.

She gave a sultry little chuckle. “I thought that might be you. It's Miss Harmon, Your Grace. I'm positively crushed we missed each other at the ball the other night.”

He had to work to keep his annoyance in check. It was just like her to presume that he would wish to speak with her. Despite the come-hither glint in her eyes, there was something very calculating about the way she looked at him. He was willing to bet that was why one with her beauty was still unmarried. It certainly wasn't for lack of trying on her part.

“Is there something I can do for you, Miss Harmon?”

Her smile never wavered as she leaned in close. “Perhaps you wouldn't mind escorting me to my father's box? I fear I've grown weary of standing about with no decent conversation to be had.”

He had absolutely no desire to escort her anywhere, but he lived and breathed proper manners, and he was going that direction anyhow. Inwardly sighing, he offered a shallow nod. “Very well.”

At his invitation, she snaked her arm fully around his, as good as claiming him. “My hero,” she purred as they started down the footpath toward the pavilion. “I can't tell you how delighted I was that you'd decided to join the festival, however briefly. In all honesty, though it was rich in musical diversions, I found it alarmingly devoid of proper society.”

“Interesting. I have found perfectly acceptable company thus far.”

“Oh, do go on,” she said, as though they both knew he was putting her on. “Why, I saw you speaking with Miss Bradford at the ball, you poor thing. Despite her handsome face, she has all the wit and manners of a dairymaid.” She gave a commiserative chuckle, shaking her
head. “And now I feel as though I've insulted dairymaids.”

The surge of anger that the comment brought took William by surprise. Yes, he might have thought the same thing only a few days before, but that didn't mean that he would sit by and let Miss Harmon spread her venom. “Miss Bradford is not used to society, I daresay. She has proven to be a unique and interesting individual, despite her shortcomings.”

Why was it he felt as though he were betraying her simply by mentioning her shortcomings? Lord knew she had many.

“How very diplomatic of you, Your Grace. I confess I wouldn't be nearly so kind if she had spoken to me the way she spoke to you. And on your birthday, no less.” She tutted, shaking her head.

His shoulders tensed as he realized that she was speaking of their argument outside of the Assembly Rooms the night they met. It was too much to hope that the incident would have been ignored. Wexley's coachman must have been one of the witnesses. “How she and I speak is of no concern to you, Miss Harmon.”

His voice was heavy with censure, but she didn't seem at all concerned. “Of course you are right,” she said airily, flipping a hand by way of dismissal. “But should you desire the company of one with the utmost respect and admiration for both you and your rank, I do hope you'll know where to look.”

He didn't wish to pursue the topic any longer, and he certainly had no intention of taking her up on her offer, so he said simply, “Indeed.”

Her eyes brightened behind her shimmering mask. “I know what a great music lover you are, and that various obligations kept you from attending much of the ball. As
an exceptionally accomplished pianoforte player, I would be more than happy to give you a private performance before you depart.”

She put so much husky emphasis on the word
private
, it was impossible to mistake her meaning. Yes, he could imagine her father would just love that. “I'm afraid I'll be returning to my estate by week's end.” He paused just at the edge of the first row of boxes. “I imagine you can find your way from here?”

“Oh, yes, I'm aware,” she said, making no move to disengage her hand from his arm. “Lady Radcliffe was telling me only yesterday of her plans to accompany you to Clifton House. Why, with the two of you, it would only take a handful more to make it a house party. No need to keep such a fine estate all to yourselves.”

If she thought that implying friendship with his stepmother would gain her any favors, she was sorely mistaken. “The solitude is its greatest asset, Miss Harmon. If Lady Radcliffe feels otherwise, she is welcome to avoid it.”

Her smile turned hard, as though she were gritting her teeth. “If you should change your mind, I trust I'll be the first to know.”

Instead of answering her honestly, which was impossible to do without being overtly harsh, he pulled his arm from her grasp and tipped his head. “I hope you enjoy your evening, Miss Harmon.”

Dipping into a pretty curtsy, she looked up at him through the slanted holes of her mask. “And you, Your Grace. I do hope I'll see you again soon.”

To say the words were ripe with promise would be a tremendous understatement. It made him very, very glad that he hadn't been here for the whole festival. It was also clear warning that he should be on his guard
tonight. He didn't want to find himself alone in her clutches somewhere.

Turning on his heel, he headed straight to Dering's box.

*   *   *

“He's here!” Sophie dropped her opera glasses onto the blanket and turned back to May, her dark eyes huge against the pale yellow of her mask.

“If by
he
, you mean your husband, then yes, I'm here,” Lord Evansleigh said, cutting a teasing grin to his wife. “
Right
here.”

It was probably a good thing that they were positioned so far from the rest of the concertgoers. May sat in the middle, Charity and Sophie on either side of her, and their respective significant others beside them. In order for Charity's betrothed to join them, they had claimed a spot on the lawn well away from the orchestra. Lord Cadgwith rarely joined them for festival outings, but he seemed quite content. With the distance from the rest of the attendees, it allowed their small group to relax and truly enjoy themselves. It also allowed them to tease and laugh as much as they pleased.

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Oh, hush, we're not talking to or about you,” she replied tartly, before laughing when he grabbed her by the waist and tugged her against him. “And besides, I know
exactly
where you are: at my side where you belong.”

Evansleigh nodded as though perfectly pleased with his wife's possessiveness. “Very well. Back to your spying, then.”

May grinned. The pair of them were exactly what she thought a good English married couple would never be: completely in love and uncaring of who knew it. Wasn't that why her mother had run away with her father?
Theirs was a match that was looked down upon by Mama's family, and to this day, May had never spoken to or written with anyone on her mother's side.

Charity leaned forward. “The duke is here? Where did you see him?”

Sophie handed her the glasses and pointed to the left of the stage. “The third box from the front. He's with Dering and a few of their friends.”

Pushing her mask up onto her forehead, Charity squinted through the lenses. “Oh yes! I see him. Very dark and dashing tonight, I must say.”

“I can hear you,” Cadgwith deadpanned, never taking his eyes from the stage.

“That's nice, dear,” Charity replied, winking to May and Sophie. “And your coloring is much too fair to ever be dark and dashing. You will have to settle for rakishly handsome.” After Cadgwith's chuckle, she held out the glasses to May. “He does look rather lonely, if you ask me.”

May crossed her arms. “Oh no, I am not participating in this.”

Her pulse might have kicked up at Sophie's announcement, but she was determined not to be their little project tonight.

“Mmhmm,” Sophie murmured, exchanging a glance with Charity. “Don't think that we didn't notice that you wore your most gorgeous gown yet tonight, which is really saying something, given the caliber of your wardrobe.”

“First of all, I wore this gown because I was
allowed
to wear this gown. My aunt would never normally allow me to leave the house in scarlet red,” she said, waving to the bold silk and satin creation, its hem and high waistline skillfully embroidered with shimmering gold thread.
It was by far her favorite gown, and it had been moldering in her trunks since she arrived. Paired with the glittering gold mask Sophie had commissioned for her, May had to admit that she felt special. Powerful. More like herself than she had in a long time.

“Is there a second of all?” Charity asked, her gray eyes wide and innocent. Too innocent.

May narrowed her eyes. “Second of all, whatever I choose to wear has nothing to do whatsoever with any man, duke or otherwise.”

Sophie scoffed, unimpressed. “Other than the fact that you look absolutely exquisite, and any unmarried man under the age of ninety would take notice, including one handsome and available Duke of Radcliffe.”

May chose not to respond. It was clear her friends had their hearts set on pairing May with the duke, so she knew she'd be wasting her breath. Besides, he
had
been on her mind when she had slipped into the gorgeous gown, but she would have worn it whether he was here or not, so technically her claims held truth.

Still. If she did happen to run into the man, a part of her hoped he'd take note. There was absolutely nothing wrong with that, even if she didn't wish to share that particular fact with her friends.

Pulling off her mask, Sophie turned to Charity with raised brows. “Not another word. I think we may have just won.”

They were absolutely incorrigible. “The two of you may think what you like. I am here to enjoy the marvelous music, and to spend time with you both before you leave next week.”

“So here is my plan,” Sophie said, obviously ignoring May's protestations. “After the concert, we shall all go over to greet Radcliffe, and I'll convince him to walk
with us. Once we naturally break up into pairs, you can lead him to the copse of trees beside the canal and voila! A stolen kiss with the duke.”

May shook her head and laughed. The woman's imagination was positively legendary. “Absolutely not. Not only do I have no interest in kissing the man, that is the most convoluted—”

Charity grabbed May's hand, cutting her off midsentence. “He's leaving!”

The wave of disappointment that washed from her chest all the way down to her toes proved May to be a liar. Parting with her aunt standing there watching their every move had not given her the chance to properly say good-bye. Her stomach twisted anxiously at the thought of him simply walking out of her life forever. Swallowing her pride, she snatched the opera glasses from Charity's fingers and peered through them.

There he was, exiting the box with his shoulders wide and straight and his strides long and confident. Damn it all, she might not want to ambush the man with kisses, but she did want to see him one more time before he left for good. After all, he hadn't seen her dress, and she hadn't told him how very ineffective that mask was at concealing his identity. His composure and self-assurance branded him as the man of power he was, regardless of some piece of fabric stretched across part of his face.