The Duke's Obsession (Entangled Scandalous) (6 page)

He never had been a very good liar, and his mother knew it. She came forward and rested her hand on his arm before facing Lady Isabella and her mother. “His Grace and I were going to give our praises to Lady Edith and her sisters on their fine accomplishments this evening. Perhaps you would care to join us?”

Ever the master of manipulation, his mother had so effortlessly created what, at least in her mind, was the perfect opportunity for him to engage in trite conversation with a young woman who cared more for his title and connections than whether he actually wished to engage in conversation with her at all. Just for once, he wished someone saw past the accoutrements of his station and blood to see the desires of the man underneath.

With a grand flourish he gave his biggest smile and said, “Ah, but before I give my cousins their due praise, I intend on asking Miss Farrington her opinion of this evening’s performance. Would you care to join me?”

Edward knew damn well the supercilious Countess of Dewbury would not wish to converse with an American, despite Lady Isabella’s furtive glances in Miss Farrington’s general direction. And by the smart pinch under his arm, his mother knew it, too.

“Perhaps at a later time,” the countess replied, and grabbed her daughter’s arm. “Lady Elizabeth is available and I’d like to extend my congratulations on her performance.”

With a forced smile and a nod to the countess, his mother replied, “I shall accompany you then.”

Which left him available to converse with Miss Farrington, a pursuit that seemed to be a common idea amongst the ton’s young bucks, if the sizeable and very male crowd growing around her was any indication. He discreetly elbowed through the gathering, the younger and less-titled lords stepping aside at his advance. Only Westbrook remained unmoved by his approach.

“Mr. Farrington,” Edward bowed. “Miss Farrington.”

“Your Grace,” Thomas Farrington replied. The man looked utterly relieved at Edward’s arrival.

“How did you find the evening’s performance?” Edward asked, hoping his presence alone would deter the majority of men lurking about to catch Miss Farrington’s notice. “I was just commenting to Lord Colwyn on how extraordinary it was,” Farrington replied. He turned toward his sister. “Were you equally as entranced?”

Westbrook took one of her gloved hands and brought them to his lips. “Not nearly as much as I, upon catching sight of Miss Farrington this evening.”

Edward swallowed the foul tang of bile flavoring his mouth.

“I am quite fond of violins,” Miss Farrington replied. “I was just going to give Lady Eugenia my congratulations.”

Before Westbrook could waylay her with any more of his flowery speech, Edward positioned himself beside Miss Farrington. “I was about to relay my own congratulatory remarks to my cousin. Shall I escort you there?”

He held out his arm, knowing full well she could refuse him. Hadn’t she done so just the day before? Edward was half expecting her to repeat the embarrassment when her white glove rested ever so lightly on his arm, warming his jacket and making his blood stir. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am most appreciative of your offer,” she replied.

A smile broke on his lips. But all joy at having bested Westbrook was lost as he began to usher her toward the gaggle of women surrounding his cousin, and she whispered, “I need your help.”

…

Daphne hated herself. In one sentence she had uttered the four most ridiculous words she had ever spoken in her existence. And all because her brother, the cursed man, had been unable to convince wary investors of his sincerity. That, along with the threat of extending her stay by weeks, if not months, had led her to become the desperate woman now standing in front of an attractive English duke.

“I had gathered.”

“You did?”

His lips came together in a straight line. “Yes. But I’ve only begun to see the depth at which my assistance is required. ”

Daphne flushed, the heat of her embarrassment no doubt evident to all within the viscount’s home. “I see. I didn’t realize it had become so obvious. My brother, of course, had warned me of such an outcome, but he has always been prone to exaggeration. I had no idea the effects would be so far-reaching.”

“Your brother foresaw this complication?” The duke ran his gloved hand over his face and sighed. “The man is far wiser than I.”

Daphne bit her tongue and did her best not to lend too much eagerness to her agreement of his statement. “Thomas had his suspicions, but I’ll admit to not paying them much heed. And while Mr. Burnham did issue his threat, I was not inclined to think a man of his standing would be given much—”

The duke stilled. “Mr. Burnham?”

Honestly, was the man not paying attention? “Yes, of course. You were in the room when Burnham issued his threat. Thomas is certain the churl followed through on his word.”

“Mr. Richard Burnham?” the duke repeated, his full lips enunciating each syllable.

Daphne tapped her slipper-covered toe in impatience. “I presume as much, though you would know the name better than I, given that he is under your employ.”

“We are not talking about Westbrook?”

Daphne’s toe stilled. “Of course not. The earl has not issued a threat to my family—at least not that I am aware.” She glanced back at Lord Westbrook, who now stood next to a cluster of young ladies, his eyes still trained on her. Had the earl said something to mar her name?

“Nor I,” he muttered, following her gaze. “Though the young earl is not all he presumes to be.”

She didn’t suppose he was. But then, neither was the duke. Daphne didn’t doubt the man harbored secrets of his own. Especially when that man engaged in trade, despite the ton’s disapproval.

“I have no arguments with Lord Westbrook, Your Grace. My quarrel lies with Mr. Burnham and him alone. Mr. Burnham has threatened my family’s reputation with lies. All of them, I assure you, are falsehoods, which he has spread amongst his peers, though how he is able to gain anyone’s favor…” Her voice faltered. Daphne cleared her throat and interlaced her fingers. “Barring your good judgment, of course.”

The duke straightened his shoulders. “Of course.”

She glanced away, her eyes darting to the wooden floor. Why did her mouth always get the best of her?

“Miss Farrington, are you implying Mr. Burnham has spread falsehoods against your family?”

Daphne returned her gaze to the duke’s concerned face. “I’m not implying anything. I know for a fact that Mr. Burnham is a cheat, a liar, and a man who has the trust of too many unsuspecting merchants and maritime investors.”

The duke leaned forward and lowered his voice. “A most serious accusation. And just how do you think I can be of help?”

Daphne stared at him, her eyes locked onto his. “Invest in our company. Give your approval and your name to the Farrington Line.”

He righted himself, his gaze sweeping over her. “Ah. You mean the same name you hold in disregard due to my English connections.”

Damn. She clenched her teeth before stating the bald fact. “Precisely.”

“And how exactly would I benefit from this business arrangement?” he asked, intrigue evident in his voice.

“Well, you would, of course, receive a return on your investment. A very high return,” she added.

The duke rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “As tempting as that sounds, Miss Farrington, I am after all, a nobleman. And one, according to your understanding of English aristocracy, who should not invest money in anything other than landed interests.”

“But you were more than willing to consider the opportunities previous to this debacle.” The words poured from her mouth before she had the decency to swallow them. If she wasn’t careful, she would attract further attention from the already curious onlookers casting their eyes in her direction.

He spoke low, his deep voice barely audible. “Yes, but that was before the damage done by Burnham. My name would now have to counteract not only an unusual investment, but also the negative reputation of your family’s company.”

Damn the man.

Daphne stood unperturbed. “I assure you that your investments—”

The duke held up his hand. “I am willing to give you the protection and strength of my name to clear your family of whatever blemishes Burnham may have contrived. With one condition.”

“And what condition would that be?” she asked, curious.

He paused, his gaze once again centered on hers. “I want you to judge me as a man. Not as a duke. Or as an aristocrat with English blood. Look at me as a person. Reserve your judgment of that man for a fortnight, and then tell me what you think of him. No matter your opinion, good or poor, as long as it’s honest, I will do all that is in my power to restore the good name and financial standing to your family’s business. Do we have a deal?”

Chapter Six

For some reason beyond the limits of understanding, chaos reigned. An English duke, of all people, valued her opinion. Or at least it appeared that he did. Why else would he ask her to withhold judgment of his character? A character she had readily placed into a neat little box labeled annoying, arrogant, and definitely not worth a second consideration before getting to know him.

Daphne took a deep breath. She needed to focus, to place everything in logical order. But no matter how she struggled, she could find absolutely nothing logical about her current situation. Clearly something was amiss in the universe.

“I don’t understand,” Daphne said. “You will lend your protection and invest in my family’s name if I reserve judgment of you as a man?” The question sounded even more ridiculous spoken aloud.

“Not precisely.” He steered her toward the edge of the room where the crowd was at its thinnest, and where the subtle scent of him, of bergamot and cloves, blended together and made her want to lean closer, if only to fill her nose with the exotic fragrance. “I don’t expect you to readily toss aside your misconceptions. I fully intend to prove them wrong. Respectively, I expect the same from you in exchange for my investment and the weight of my name.”

“You wish for me to prove the worthiness of my name while considering you as a person without the weight of yours?” she asked. Never mind that this entire idea was absurd. She had no intention of casting aside her opinions of him, just because he, arrogant man, proclaimed them to be wrong.

The duke lifted two flutes of champagne off a passing tray and handed her one. “More or less, yes.”

Daphne frowned at his madness before taking the glass, his gloved fingers lingering over hers and making her near drop the dratted vessel. She took a small sip of the bubbling drink, allowing the delicate bouquet to dance over her tongue before replying, “The success of our shipping line should be evidence enough of our credibility, and one I can readily prove with documentation. My brother has brought along records and can vouch for our accomplishments.”

“I’m certain he can,” the duke said, leaning forward, his voice taking on a deeper and more sensual tone. “But I did not ask for Mr. Farrington’s opinion. I asked for yours.”

Daphne’s heart raced beneath the thin layer of silk and lace her aunt had insisted she don for the evening’s entertainments. The man was positively vexing. As long as the ledgers provided proof of her family’s success, what difference did it make as to who displayed them? Attempting to infuse her voice with a patience she did not feel, she replied, “I can arrange a meeting where Thomas and I provide you with the relevant documents.”

He glanced at the sparkling liquid and took a deep swallow. “Excellent. And as time is of the essence, you can do so in three days, when you arrive at Thornhaven.” He placed the empty glass on a tray and led her a step closer toward the violinist and her growing crowd of admirers.

“Thornhaven?” she asked, glancing nervously around her as she glided past more curious faces. Perhaps it was in another area of Mayfair, overlooking Grosvenor Square or the boundaries of Hyde Park.

The duke swept her past a rotund man with large jowls and beady eyes. “Thornhaven is one of my estates, the closest one to London, just under a day’s ride away and where I wish to challenge your misconceptions and sway your mind. The countess and her daughters will accompany you and your brother, of course.”

It was a demand, not a request, and she had no intent of acceding to it. A trip to an estate outside of London implied an extended period of time. Time, that would likely be spent in the close company of a man whose very scent made her mind spin and her body yearn for his touch. A meeting within the city’s boundaries would be more than sufficient to address any of his concerns—and keep him at a distance.

“But would not a visit to my aunt’s home suffice?” Daphne persisted. “Thomas keeps the majority of his papers in my uncle’s library. Surely we can accommodate your needs without hindering you or your staff.”

“Yes, I suppose you could,” he said. “Though that would not allow enough time to change your perception of me.” He peered down at her, his crystalline blue eyes heating her more thoroughly than the crushed and ill-ventilated ballroom.

Daphne drank down a gulp of champagne before letting out an exasperated sigh. “And who am I that you value my opinion so highly, Your Grace?” She had made her disdain for his country quite clear. Why did he persist in tormenting her with his presence?

The duke flicked a piece of lint off his superfine jacket. “Just as you have asked me to clear your name of all misconceptions, I wish to disprove the false claims against my own.”

“But you are English and a duke. Your title, alone, evokes accepted assumptions.” The man made absolutely no sense at all.

“I do not deny my title, Miss Farrington. I do, however, wish to make you see that just because I am an English peer does not mean I am evil. I am an independent person who does not like to be prematurely judged—much, I believe, like yourself.”

The man was nothing like her and to be compared to him was an insult. Just as she could not sever her ties to her brother, neither could he cut the ones connecting him to his title and ancestry. It was why she was requesting his aid, was it not? So that she could use his influence to assist her in clearing the lies circulating about hers.

“A few days, Miss Farrington, is all I require for you to see me outside of society. If I am not able to gain your approbation after that time, then so be it. But I will not invest in the Farrington Line until I’ve at least had a chance to change your mind.”

…

Edward did not value the opinions of others. Unless, of course, those opinions were of him. He strove to portray perfection, a man unaffected by society, a moral and commanding authority, and he had done so successfully—at least he had until Miss Farrington had literally shoved her way into his life.

That she judged him based not on his actions but on his bloodlines, irked him beyond reason. That she thought him completely without merit was frustrating as hell. Yes, he was a duke, but he was a man first and foremost, and Edward was hell-bent on making certain that Miss Farrington saw him not as the aristocrat she and everyone else expected, but as a warm-blooded male who could more than prove her wrong.

Because of all things, he was intrigued. Curious. And if he dared to admit, enchanted by the idea that a woman of intelligence was not the least bit seduced by the very mask he wished to toss aside.

Did the same passion in which she wielded her disdain for everything English translate into every aspect of her life? Would she be as bold and fiery in bed as she was in her speech?

He sure as hell wanted to find out.

It was why, for the second time in less than a week, he had issued an impulsive invitation without giving much thought to its consequences. And he hadn’t offered the invitation so much as demanded it, acting with the very ducal arrogance Miss Farrington had accused him of in the first place.

He was a complete ass.

His only redemption at the moment was that in his idiocy, he had chosen Thornhaven as the retreat where he could further embarrass himself with his complete disregard for reason.

His father’s bachelor lodgings prior to marriage, Thornhaven was an estate his meddling mother did not frequent. Which suited Edward’s purpose just fine. There, he could entertain Miss Farrington in ways that were accepted, and hopefully in those that were not, while discussing unusual business particulars.

“I don’t understand,” his mother huffed. The emeralds dangling from her ears bobbed in perfect unison, the glittering gems swaying with her indignation as they rode over Park Lane.

“I don’t expect that you do.” He pulled the leather gloves from his fingers and rubbed a handkerchief over his face. “Perhaps we can discuss this after we’ve both had some rest.”

“You’ve made your interest in Miss Farrington abundantly clear.”

He supposed he had. Good. Perhaps men like Westbrook would avoid pursuing her, then. Miss Farrington, had, after all, requested the protection of his name. And had he not just given it?

“Confound it, Edward.” His mother ripped off her gloves and flung them against the door. “Why Miss Farrington? Why not any of the other ladies I have brought before you? What makes her so different, that you must go against my wishes?”

Her intelligence? Her wit? The passion with which she defended her ideals? “She intrigues me.”

“Then have her settle your curiosity discreetly. I did not fulfill my obligations to this family only to have you toss them away on some tart from the colonies.”

“If I wished to ruin the duchy with a tart, I’d have chosen Lady Chadwick, Mrs. Spalding, or any other of the recently widowed women interested in jumping into my bed. Despite her nationality, Miss Farrington is a lady and should be treated as such.”

She glared back, her stance unwavering, despite the carriage’s movement over the rocky cobblestone. “I am well aware of her interest in your title. Lady Amhurst has made it abundantly clear how excited she is in your attentions toward her niece.”

“And has not Lady Dewbury proclaimed to all who would listen her excitement at your interest in Lady Isabella?”

The thin membranes of her nostrils flared. “Lady Isabella is a titled lady. She cannot be compared to Miss Farrington.”

Edward closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “For Christ’s sake, she is the granddaughter of a marquess. She is a lady, whether she bears a title or not, and I expect you to treat her as one.”

She stared at him then, her scrutinizing glare one of complete mystification. “What is this about, Edward?”

He wondered the very same thing.

“If you must tarry with the American chit, do so behind closed doors. You do not have a choice. A duke never has a choice. He does what is best for his line, and marrying the daughter of a peer is what is expected for the future of this duchy. Lady Isabella will be your wife. I’ve already discussed the settlement terms with her father.”

Something inside of him roared to life.

“No.” He was five and thirty, not the little boy in leading strings she still thought him. “It is cause for concern, madam, that you should think yourself in a position to tell me with whom I may share my bed.”

“I am your mother,” she stated, as if her relationship explained everything.

“And I am the bloody damn Duke of Waverly,” he thundered. “I will choose a wife who fulfills my expectations and is acceptable to me. You will get your duchess, but it will be on my terms, not yours.”

She sat in silence, her mouth gaping open and closed like a hungry trout hunting for food in a freshwater stream. It was minutes before she lifted her gaze to his and whispered, “I don’t understand, Edward.”

And neither did he.

When had the opinion of an American woman he had known for less than a week become more valued than that of the woman who had guided him since birth?