A Duke but No Gentleman (11 page)

A part of her would have relished tossing her betrothal to another gentleman in their faces. She could just imagine Blackbern's reaction to the news. He and Norgrave might not be in love with her, but they were too arrogant to accept that she preferred someone else's company.

She glanced at her dance card and noted the name written down. Before she could move away from the marble column, an arm came around her waist and lifted her slightly off her feet to gain her compliance. Her backside was pressed against a warm, muscled wall that was unquestionably male.

“Miss me?”

“Ugh, no, I did not!” Imogene turned her face away, but she could not avoid Norgrave's quick kiss on her cheek. “Release me at once,” she said, prying his arm away from her waist. “Do you lurk behind pillars to waylay unsuspecting ladies?”

She had missed him, but he did not deserve to know the truth.

“A desperate man resorts to unsavory measures when he has neglected his lady.” Satisfied that he had her attention, he freed her and stepped back to admire her. “Why, Lady Imogene, you look positively scrumptious. If you would like to take a stroll with me in the gardens, I am certain we could find a quiet spot for me to test my theory.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“I believe I will reject your generous offer, my lord,” Imogene said haughtily. “And let me be clear. I am decidedly
not
your lady, so practice your unsavory measures elsewhere. Now if you will excuse me, I have promised Mr. Edgecomb my next dance.”

Her chin high, she started to leave, but he grasped her hand and halted her escape.

“Edgecomb is a dilettante and his hand is as limp as his—”

“Not another word,” Imogene ordered. She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes gleaming with mirth. “You are a very wicked man, Norgrave.”

“Coming from you, my dear, I take that as a high compliment.” Before she could protest, he hooked his arm through hers and escorted her to the middle of the ballroom. “You can do much better than Edgecomb, my dear Imogene.”

“I never said that he was courting me,” she said mildly. “I merely accepted his invitation to dance the minuet.”

“Dancing with the wrong gentleman would hurt your reputation.” Norgrave's expression darkened as he noticed Mr. Edgecomb's nimble approach. “My apologies, Edgecomb. Your tardiness has cost you dearly. If you hurry, you might find another dance partner.”

The marquess silenced the man's objection with a cutting glance. He nodded to Imogene and headed in the opposite direction.

“Mr. Edgecomb was not late,” she whispered as they joined two other couples. “What you did was unkind.”

“I disagree,” Norgrave replied. He stood opposite her and bowed. “And I saw you first.”

Actually, Blackbern had met her first, but she refrained from mentioning it.

Imogene and the two other ladies curtsied to their partners. She placed her right hand within the marquess's and they faced forward. With a spring in her step they took several steps forward, and then backward. The three couples pivoted to face each other. They stepped right and left, and circled in place. The ladies joined hands and the gentlemen mirrored their actions. In a line they stepped forward and retreated. In perfect formation, the men claimed their lady's left hand and Imogene walked with Norgrave between the lines they had formed. He released her hand and she bowed her head to walk under the arch the two ladies had formed with their arms. The marquess did the same, and they took their new positions at the end of the line.

The couples repeated the dance steps, each pair alternating their positions. Imogene was pleased with her performance. Her skills had improved under the critical eye of her dancing master. Norgrave was a competent partner. More than one lady was watching him as they danced.

With a parting grin to her partner she bent her head to walk under the arch her female companions had formed. The sudden appearance of a new lady flustered Imogene. Without thinking, she accepted the woman's hand and stepped forward as she was prepared to circle about to join Norgrave, but her hand was suddenly released and the unknown lady assumed her place in the line.

Her dancing master had neglected to mention this part of the dance. Before she could pout, the two ladies from a different set grasped her hands and stepped forward so they could greet their gentlemen.

Her mouth fell open when she realized the Duke of Blackbern was her new dance partner.

“Is that an invitation to kiss you, Lady Imogene?”

“Certainly not!” she said, ignoring the chuckles from her companions. Only her hours with the dancing master kept her from muddling the steps required. She offered the duke her hand and they promenaded and separated. “Did you conspire with that woman to get her to switch places?”

“Naturally,” he freely admitted. “You should have seen Norgrave's thunderous expression when I had you plucked from right under his nose. I thought he might challenge me on the spot.”

She and Blackbern moved gracefully together. At a glance, they gave the impression of familiarity.

“You could have waited your turn.”

His eyes were brimming with appreciation as his gaze lingered south of her face. “I was growing impatient. Besides, I have a habit of taking what I want.”

Imogene rolled her eyes as she stepped away from the duke. She had not made up her mind what her dance partner desired more—her or baiting the marquess. “Does the rivalry between you and Norgrave ever get tiresome?”

She squared her shoulders and then slid into a graceful curtsy and he formally bowed, a signal that the dance had ended. Before she could walk away, he stalked toward her. He grasped her by the elbow and escorted her in the opposite direction from Norgrave.

“I need to apologize for your rudeness,” she said, although she allowed him to direct their course because her struggles would have drawn attention to them.

“Later,” he said, his face a rigid mask of determination.

She could hardly fathom that she had thought she missed these two scoundrels.

The duke abruptly spun her in a half circle and she felt a solid wall against her back. “Blackbern—”

“Hush!” he ordered before he sealed his mouth over hers.

Imogene did not try to avoid his mouth. He murmured his approval when she lifted her chin and parted her lips. Her tongue met his and she sagged against the wall where he had pinned her. The duke knew how to kiss a lady.

Blackbern seized her by the shoulders as he tore his mouth away. He was out of breath and there was something in his expression that made her want to flee from him. “Little fool, you are not supposed to encourage me,” he exclaimed, behaving as if she was tormenting him.

Imogene smiled. “I like encouraging you, Your Grace.”

His expression was incredulous, as if he could not believe she was daring him to kiss her again. “You have caused me enough trouble, Lady Imogene. Now run back to Norgrave and offer him an apology. You can thank me later for distracting him. He is too angry with me to consider any mischief with you.”

Her spirits plummeted at his explanation. “You kissed me to provoke your friend?”

“Of course,” he said carelessly, seemingly oblivious to her pained expression. “When I kiss a lady, I prefer to do it in private so I can take my time.”

Imogene's lips betrayed her by trembling.

Blackbern noticed and took a hesitant step toward her. “Lady Imogene.”

“Thank you for the dance and the lesson in ballroom etiquette,” she said, slipping under his arm so she could put distance between them before she disgraced herself by crying.

“Imogene!”

She ignored his plea to return to him. He was a true scoundrel and she had to remind herself of that fact. Blinded by self-loathing and fury, she stepped right into Norgrave's arms.

“Sweet lady, has someone upset you?”

Imogene was in no mood to indulge either gentleman this evening. “Not in the slightest,” she lied. “If you will excuse me, I intend to spend some time upstairs in the drawing room set aside for the female guests.”

Norgrave cast a speculative look over her shoulder. She refused to glance back to see if the duke was observing them. “Of course, my dear. We will talk later after you have recovered from your upset.”

Her gaze focused on the floor, she resisted the urge to run toward the nearest door. If she was fortunate, she might find something to purge the foul taste of Blackbern from her mouth.

*   *   *

“Feeling better?”

Imogene had not expected to find Norgrave waiting for her when she reemerged from the ladies' saloon. He unfolded his crossed arms and straightened from his slouched position against the wall as she approached.

“You did not have to wait for me, my lord,” she said, her emotions too close to the surface to fence words with the marquess.

He frowned at her. “You were upset. If I were to wager a guess, I suspect Blackbern had something to do with it.”

“I do not wish to speak of it,” she replied, her mouth thinning at the reminder that the duke had kissed her to bait the gentleman walking beside her.

“Of course,” Norgrave said solicitously. “It was not my intention to distress you further by mentioning a certain gentleman.”

He guided her along a passageway she had not explored earlier, and down the stairs. She was not quite ready to return to the ballroom. Nor was she ready to face the duke.

“What is it?” he asked, noticing that her pace had slowed with each step.

“I cannot—” She shook her head, unwilling to explain her feelings about his closest friend. The two gentlemen were behaving as if they were rivals for her affection, but she did not trust the marquess not to reveal their conversation to the duke. “You go ahead. I am not quite ready to return to the ballroom.”

Her admission pleased Norgrave.

“Perhaps I can offer you a compromise,” he said rather mysteriously, before he led her through a side door. Instead of opening into another room, the door opened into a narrow gallery above the ballroom. “This way, you can enjoy the ball and my company.”

Imogene returned his smile, knowing she should not encourage him. Between Norgrave and Blackbern, she could not decide which gentleman was more arrogant. She was certain if she asked her companion for his opinion, he would view her complaint as a compliment.

“Do you often spend your evenings observing people?”

“You would be amazed what some people will do when they think they are not being observed,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner.

Imogene laughed, and continued down the gallery that circled the ballroom. They were not the only spectators. She stopped from time to time, and took a moment to view the guests below. Norgrave was correct. It was amusing to watch the awkward introductions, the groups of matrons sharing gossip as they observed their daughters from a distance, the fortune hunters seeking out potential heiresses, and the young couples stealing a few minutes of privacy in the alcove.

“You are quite brilliant, my lord. This is more entertaining than the theater,” she declared.

“I have always thought so,” he said, staring at her with an indulgent expression on his handsome face.

They had moved away from the dancers, and were positioned above the open doors that led to the back terrace. Imogene glanced across the ballroom and casually noticed a man and woman. A potted tree obscured the couple, but they appeared to be engaged in an intimate conversation. She braced her gloved hands on the railing to see what would happen next.

Any amusement she was feeling slipped away when the gentleman turned his head to reveal that she was staring at the Duke of Blackbern. The marquess stepped closer until her body was caged by his.

“Ah, I had wondered where Blackbern had gone,” he said, tilting his head as if he was attempting to discern the identity of the duke's companion. He did not seem particularly surprised that his friend had lured his female companion into one of the alcoves. “I had not realized—” He broke off as if he was reluctant to finish his thoughts.

“Realized what, Lord Norgrave?”

“Norgrave will suffice, my dear lady,” he said absently, his hand covering hers. The marquess nodded in the couple's direction. “Blackbern and Lady Flosham. It appears our mutual friend is keeping secrets.”

“Secrets?” she echoed weakly. Imogene watched as the duke lowered his head. It was impossible to discern if he was kissing the lady or merely speaking to her.

“The Countess of Flosham,” Norgrave said, oblivious to Imogene's growing disquiet. “She and Blackbern shared a very close friendship five years ago. Although their liaison lasted only a few months, our friend was quite smitten with her. She was the one to break their connection out of respect for her husband. There was some speculation a few years ago when her husband perished in an accident that the duke would renew his acquaintance with his former love. I suppose he was giving her time to mourn the loss of her husband.”

“I see,” Imogene said, not understanding the grief and disappointment welling up within her. She had no claim on the Duke of Blackbern. He had flirted and kissed her, but it had been her misfortune to assume he had been developing feelings for her. When he had kissed her earlier to make Norgrave envious, she had naively assumed his devotion had been genuine.

“It is quite admirable of the duke to take into account the countess's feelings for her husband,” she said, striving not to reveal her own feelings on the matter. “She is a fortunate lady to find two good gentlemen in her life.”

The curious look Norgrave sent her hinted that he was not entirely convinced that she was as unmoved by Blackbern's fickle affections as she appeared.

“You know, when I first saw you, I thought you superficially resembled Lady Flosham. You are both blondes and close in stature and looks,” he said, his keen perusal studying her from head to toe. “When Blackbern expressed an interest in meeting you, I had wondered if he was thinking of his countess.”