When Seducing A Duke (13 page)

Wide lips curved into a rueful smile. “I know.” She moved to set the cup on the saucer. “My apologies.”

“No!” Rose reached out. “Don’t stop. Please. What else do you see?”

The cup hovered just over the saucer, but Sadie looked at Rose, not at it. “Only that this man you want and your father seem to have some kind of struggle between them. I can surmise only that your father has sway over you, and this man, even though he has passed on to the next world. What you want is obtainable, Lady Rose, but only if you are willing to give up and take control.”

“That’s…confusing, not to mention depressing.”

The fortune teller laughed, a lovely rich sound that instantly brightened Rose’s mood. “The most difficult choices are sometimes the easiest to make when the time comes. And sometimes, my lady, I am nothing more than a woman with a teacup. Your destiny is yours and yours alone.”

That was exactly what she needed to hear. “Thank you, Mrs. Moon.” She pushed back her chair and rose to her feet.

“Call me Sadie.” She extended her hand. “And there’s one more thing.”

Rose accepted the handshake with a smile, hoping she would see this strange woman again. “What is that?”

“The man in your cup—the one who you say hides from the world?”

“Yes, what of him?”

Sadie smiled. “He’s here.”

Chapter 11

F
rom where he sat in the box above the ballroom, Grey was able to watch Rose without her knowing.

The Duke of Ryeton, notorious rake and scoundrel, reduced to Peeping Tom. This is what Rose had brought him to.

It was exactly one week ago tonight that he’d made love to her for the last time. In this very building, in a room he canceled the reservation for just an hour ago.

The fundraiser was an annual event, for one cause or another. A group of ladies of a charitable event came up with the guest list and decided who would benefit from the money raised. Vienne La Rieux provided the location and the entertainment. Saint’s Row was just exclusive enough that many people would cheerfully open their pocketbooks to get inside. They had no idea what went on in the private rooms of this building, and that was the way it would stay. Vienne was on the edge of respectability, and she struck him as the kind of woman determined to stay there. She liked being scandalous enough to be sought after, but was smart enough not to cross any lines.

It was all business.

That was how he should approach his relationship with Rose, but he’d never had much of a head for commerce. Oh, he knew how to work the land, take care of tenants and all that, but when it came to actual trade or investments, he let his brother Trystan take care of the rest. The estate made money and Tryst invested it, insuring that the dukedom and their family would go on being one of the wealthiest in England, while others fell beneath the wheels of progress. He wanted to leave something for his heirs. Only, they wouldn’t be his heirs. They would be Archer’s heirs, and Trystan’s and Bronte’s.

And Grey was fine with that. Resolved even. A man like him could never marry because he’d trust a rat before he’d trust a woman of his own class. And any woman beneath his class would have sense enough to know that he was hardly husband material.

Except for one, of course. He told himself he was there to find her a proper husband, but that wasn’t the only reason, damn it.

The flap of the tent below opened and a familiar dark head emerged. He craned his neck forward, watching as Rose spoke to the garishly dressed fortune teller. He was too far away and the crowd below too noisy for him to make out what she said, but she was frowning.

And then she looked up. She looked right at him!

Grey jerked back into the shadows, heart pounding hard enough to bruise his ribs. Had she seen him? Slowly, he leaned forward, peering through the heavy curtains once more at the floor below.

She was gone.

His gaze raked over the crowd, searching for that familiar gait, the luster of her hair, but she wasn’t to be found. Where the devil was she? Had she gone back into the tent? Or had she left?

He didn’t see Archer down there either. Unease gave way to a disbelieving wave of jealousy. His brother wouldn’t. Would he? After intimating that he knew Grey had feelings for Rose, he wouldn’t honestly pursue her for himself? Grey would kill him if he did. Not that he would deny his brother happiness, but he would hack off his own foot to deny him Rose.

“The fortune teller told me you were here.”

Grey’s eyes closed as he stifled a groan. Caught. He hadn’t even heard the door of the box open, he’d been so intent on finding her.

And she had found him.

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to. He could hear her coming closer. “I told her she had to be mistaken because you would never risk being seen with this many people about. I wonder how she knew?”

Grey stood, turning to face her. The lamps bathed her in a golden glow, warming her skin and casting glints of red in her hair. It made his chest hurt to look at her.

“Perhaps she told you what she thought you wanted to hear.”

Rose inclined her head. “Perhaps. Why are you here, Grey?”

He could stop this right now and tell her he was looking for a lover to take her place, but even he couldn’t be that cruel—or that much of a liar. He could remind her that they had a rendezvous scheduled for this evening, but that would be cruel as well.

“I wanted to see you,” he admitted roughly. He could have just as easily told her the husband-hunting lie. That would have been better for both of them. “Happy?”

She shook her head, little wisps of hair floating around her cheeks as she took another step toward him. He had nowhere to go, no retreat to be made with the chairs behind him and her blocking the exit. The only other choice would be to venture out further into the box and risk being seen by all below.

“No,” she informed him tightly. “I’m not happy. What would make me happy Grey, is if you were to come down there with me.”

His fingers went to his mask, snug and tight against his face. “That isn’t going to happen.” But his gaze flitted to the part in the curtains. He could see the crowd below, hear their laughter and conversation.

When was the last time he had a conversation with someone he wasn’t a relation or employer to? Too long. Not since before the attack. He might not have had scores of friends, but there had been a few whose company he enjoyed.

“Why not?” She was a dog with a bone, for Christ’s sake. She came to him, put those soft hands on his shoulders. “Grey, I’ll be there beside you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

He grabbed her upper arms, hauling her tight against him so fast and rough her eyes grew as big as saucers. He’d scared her. Good.

“You need to stop talking to me like I’m a coward,” he ground out. “I am
not
a coward.”

She stared at him, the pulse hammering at the base of her throat. He wanted to kiss her there.

“All right,” she said.

He should release her, but he didn’t. If they were discovered together it would be the end of Rose’s reputation. They would be forced to marry, and as much as he would delight in having her in his bed, he did not want to live with the resentment that was bound to follow.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I despise society, not fear it?” He ran his thumbs over the soft skin of her upper arms—the small expanse between her sleeves and gloves. “I don’t…I don’t like the man I was in that world, Rose. I’m better where I am.”

It seemed to him then that she actually began to understand. She nodded her lovely head. “Did you honestly come here tonight to see me?”

He nodded. Christ, he wished he’d never said that. “I did.”

She leaned toward him, bathing him in the subtle scent of her skin—so fresh and warm, like rain on a warm day. “Thank you.”

Sweet lush lips brushed his as she came up on her toes, soft and terrible like the faintest touch of an angel’s wing. He shivered. No woman had ever made him tremble with a kiss, let alone a kiss as half-arsed as that one was, and yet it was all he could do to remain standing and not fall to his knees before her.

And beg. Beg for her to light the shadows for him once more, to give him a glimpse of why he bothered to go on when life was such an empty drudge.

“You’re not that man anymore, Grey,” she murmured. “He never would have come to an event just to see one woman, certainly not one he’d already bedded. He would have already moved on to the next conquest.”

He let go of her arms. She was right, and she shamed him with it. That she could have known what he was and still look at him as though he was the best man in the world.

“And he wouldn’t have left a beautiful young woman alone when she was his for the seducing,” he added, lightly tracing the curve of her shoulder with his finger. “But that’s what I’m going to do, even though I’d rather haul you down onto the floor and fuck you on the carpet.”

She gasped ever so softly at his crudeness.

“Good night, Rose.” He moved past her to part the curtains and step out into the lamp-lit corridor. The last time he’d walked down this hall it had been on his way to meet Rose that first night. Now he was walking away from her.

But he had been tempted to stay—and not for the reasons he gave her. It wasn’t that he wanted to screw her on the floor. He wanted to sit with her and talk. He wanted to hear all the gossip from below and have her tell him what the fortune teller had said. Why had she mentioned him in the first place?

And he wanted to take her downstairs and dance with her in front of the entire gathering. He wanted to look at Lady Devane and have her see that she hadn’t ruined him, not completely.

But he didn’t do any of these things. He went home and drank himself stupid instead.

“Your brother is the most ridiculous, hardheaded, stupid man I know!”

Rose half expected Archer to chastise her. Instead, he took a second glass of champagne from the footman passing with the tray and offered it to her. “And you are surprised by this?”

“Astonishingly, yes.” She took a long, unladylike swallow of the crisp, bubbly liquid.

“I’m astounded. Ah, here are two scoundrels you should know to avoid.” His grin told her he considered them quite the opposite.

They were good-looking men, one tall and dark, the other almost as tall with brown hair and blue eyes and enough of the Kane countenance that she picked him for Grey’s relation instantly. They met Archer enthusiastically, and then turned polite curiosity in her direction.

“Lady Rose Danvers,” Archer said jovially. “May I present the Earl of Autley.” The dark man bowed over her offered hand. “And my cousin, Mr. Aiden Kane?” The man who looked a bit like Grey smiled and took her hand next.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Lady Rose,” the earl said smoothly. “I hope you are enjoying your time in London?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Lord Archer has been a very entertaining companion.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Aiden said with a grin as he clapped Archer on the shoulder. Some of his humor faded. “Tell His Grace we asked after him, will you?”

Rose straightened at the mention of Grey. There was something unsaid passing between these three men, something about Grey. Something she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

The gentlemen excused themselves very properly with her and in a considerably more familiar fashion with Archer and then left the two of them alone again.

Archer was not quite his usual self.

“May I ask what that was all about?”

Archer turned to look at her, his expression one of faint surprise, as though he hadn’t expected to find her standing beside him. “Oh. Those two are Grey’s oldest friends.”

Rose frowned. “I cannot recall if he’s ever spoken of them to me.”

Her companion shrugged one shoulder. “He hardly speaks of them at all anymore, not that it’s any fault of theirs.”

And Rose understood his meaning. Like society and everything else, Grey had pushed his friends away as well after the attack. In fact, the only people he let anywhere near him were his family and her.

She wasn’t quite certain she wanted to dissect the implications of that honor.

“Say, Lady Rose, you wouldn’t happen to know the name of the lovely blonde standing next to Lord Ponsby, would you?”

“Hmm?” Distracted, Rose turned to look. “Oh, that’s Jacqueline Whitting. She’s the daughter of the late Earl Monteforte. This is her first season.”

Archer frowned. “No, not the girl—the woman with her.”

Rose looked again as she drained her glass of champagne. “That’s her mother, Lady Monteforte.”

“Her mother!” Archer’s jaw dropped. “She doesn’t look old enough to be the chit’s mother.”

Rose shrugged. “Apparently she was quite young when she married the old earl.”

“Must have been a babe,” he commented, his gaze riveted on the beautiful woman. Then, he turned to face Rose. “Now, what did my brother do to earn your ire this time?—insist that you are better off with a boring young man who will love you for your dowry? Hang your puppy like that dastardly Heathcliff?”

The last was meant to make her laugh, she knew, and laugh she did. And when she was done, she was in a much better humor. “You have read
Wuthering Heights?”

He nodded. “I have. Don’t look at me like that! You do not believe me?”

“I believe you, but I must confess my surprise. You do not seem the kind of man who would read novels.”

A sly smile curved his thin lips. “My dear girl. Who reads novels?”

“Mostly women, I would suspect,” she replied, setting her empty champagne flute on the tray of a footman. Yet another passed with a fresh tray of full glasses and she took one of those.

“Exactly. If one wants to converse with a woman, one should have a variety of subjects at hand.”

“But you only want to talk to them so you can seduce them.”

“You shock and wound me.”

Rose grinned. “Impossible.”

Archer chuckled in return. “I do, however, have to wonder where Lady Monteforte’s taste in literature lies.”

He was a rogue and a scoundrel, but he was an honest one. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“I just may—in a moment.” Holding his half-full glass in his hand, he turned fully to face her. “I want to make certain you are fine first. What happened to put you in such a foul temper?”

“Grey was here.”

He hadn’t known, that was obvious from the way his eyes widened. “You lie.”

Rose chuckled. “I saw him. I spoke to him. He said he came to see me. And then he ran out of here as though the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.”

Archer shook his head, an expression of disbelief on his face. “They tend to do that when Hades freezes over.” Then he offered her a grin. “He braved being seen in public just to come here and see you?”

“He was watching from a balcony. I wouldn’t have known he was here if the fortune teller hadn’t told me.”

His brows shot up. “And there’s a story for another time. Look, Lady Rose, I know he’s frustrating as all get-out, but you cannot expect Grey to change years of behavior in a week. You have to be patient—like waves lapping at a stone.”

That was so very easily said. He wasn’t the one being pressured to find a husband. He wasn’t the one who felt as though everything she wanted was just out of reach. “You know, I suddenly find myself very interested in Lady Monteforte’s literary tastes. Shall I make the introductions?”

“I will hang your puppy if you do not.”

Rose grinned. He truly was the most charming of rascals. “How very fortunate for me then, that I do not own a puppy.”

“For shame. Every young lady should have a puppy.”

Rose made the introductions, and Archer wasted no time in asking Lady Monteforte if she cared to dance. For a moment it seemed the lady might decline, but then Rose offered to stay with Jacqueline and Archer offered the widow his arm. She hesitated before taking it.

Interesting. Rose had never seen a woman react so coolly to Archer’s charm before. The Kane men were obviously losing their touch.

“How are you enjoying the Season, Lady Jacqueline?” Rose asked the younger girl when they were alone.

Little and fair with golden hair, wide blue eyes, and a reputedly large dowry, Lady Jacqueline Whitting was everything most Englishmen claimed to want in a bride. She also possessed a sweetness that Rose couldn’t decide if she found refreshing or annoying.

“Oh!” the girl gushed. “It’s been so exciting I can scarce believe it’s not a dream! Thank you so much for the kindness you showed me the night we met in introducing me to the other young ladies. I was so afraid I would never make friends, but you and Lady Eve made me feel quite welcome.”

Speaking of Eve, where the devil was her friend? She hadn’t seen her since she’d left her at Sadie’s tent, when Eve went off to make contact with her mystery gentleman. What if her friend was in trouble? She’d never forgive herself for encouraging her.

But no—there was a familiar blonde head on the other side of the room. Her friend looked a little mussed, but otherwise unharmed. Her color was a little high, though.

Good God, what had Eve been up to?

“Is it true that he’s the brother of the Duke of Ryeton?”

Rose’s attention snapped back to the petite girl standing next to her. “Pardon?”

Jacqueline nodded at Archer, who was trying to engage Lady Monteforte in conversation as they waltzed. “He is the brother of Ryeton, is he not?”

“Yes. He is the next in line for the title.” Now, why did she phrase it like that?

A faint blush colored the younger woman’s cheeks. “I’ve heard his brother the duke is quite scandalous. Do you know him?”

The bottom of Rose’s stomach seemed to drop several inches. “Yes. His Grace and my father were good friends.”

Jacqueline whirled on her like a gust of summer wind. “Then, you must tell me if the stories are true! I heard a lady once tried to drown herself because he spurned her affections. And that a mother and daughter once erupted into a public brawl over him! They say his face was quite ruined by a rejected lover. Is it true?”

Anyone else and Rose would have gladly imparted all she knew, but this was Grey, and talking about him like he was so…insignificant as a person was wrong. Shameful and wrong. He deserved better than this. “He was injured several years ago in an attack,” she admitted. “I do not know the particulars.”

Had a mother and daughter truly fought over him?
Oh, Grey.

Jacqueline looked a little disappointed, but not totally dashed. “Do you know him?”

“For most of my life, yes.”

“I hear he used to be quite handsome.”

“He still is. Lord Archer and he look a fair bit alike.”

Suddenly the young girl seemed to see Archer in a whole new light. “Is he as naughty as they say?”

Rose gave her a tight smile. “He’s never been anything but kind to me.” And now she understood why he strove to keep his distance, why he was so concerned that his reputation would taint hers.

It made her adore him all the more, and it broke her heart.

Jacqueline’s full lips pouted slightly. “I do wish he came out into society. I fancy him rather like a hero out of a gothic novel, like Mr. Heathcliff.”

How was that for a coincidence? This time Rose’s smile was more genuine. How many times had she thought of Grey the same way? “The duke would never hang a puppy though.”

The girl shared her amusement. “I should hope not!” She giggled. “Still, I imagine him very dark and fierce.”

He was neither of those things, but Rose didn’t bother to correct her assumptions. She was struck—and rather cruelly, if truth be known—by the realization that she was guilty of doing the same thing Jacqueline was doing. She had made Grey into a hero of sorts because he saved her family in their time of need, and because she had been there when he was attacked. She’d seen his pain.

But the truth of it was, that he had been an awful man before the attack. He’d respected no one and cared about no one other than himself. She believed him to have changed, but how much of that was wishful thinking, and how much was fact?

The waltz had ended and Archer and Lady Monteforte were returning to them. Rose paid them little heed. “Will you excuse me, Lady Jacqueline? I see a friend of mine that I must speak with.”

Of course the girl agreed and Rose turned and hurried through the crowd before Archer could claim her attention. She had to find Eve and find out what had happened with Mr. Dangerous. And then she had to go home.

She’d had enough of society for one night.