A Duke but No Gentleman (19 page)

Imogene laughed as they descended the stairs. “Mama is weary of the endless stream of suitors who have been filing through our drawing room. She laments that I have not narrowed my choices to one or two gentlemen.”

“So few,” he teased. “You are young and deserve to be courted by dozens of suitors.”

As long as Imogene chose the right gentleman at the end of the season.

With Blackbern out of town, Norgrave intended to use the duke's absence to his advantage. He might have taunted his friend into agreeing to the wager, but his time with her had convinced him that the lady had value beyond a quick fuck. He had already surmised that Imogene had tender feelings for his friend, but he was confident that nothing would come of it.

He, on the other hand, had higher aspirations for the future, and with Imogene at his side, he would achieve them.

“Perhaps I should have you speak to my mother and father,” Imogene grumbled, obviously frustrated by her family's interference.

Norgrave believed that with a little effort, he could sway the duke and duchess to his side. “I am honored you view me as an ally.”

They crossed the front hall.

“Of course,” she said cheerfully. “You are a good friend.”

Damn it, how could she not see that he was more than a friend? Once she discovered the shallowness of Blackbern's affection and scrubbed the stardust from her eyes, she would finally see the man willing to stand by her.

Imogene paused at the hall table to retrieve the bonnet she had removed earlier. As she picked it up, her reticule hidden underneath it tumbled to the floor. She muttered something about clumsiness and knelt down to gather up the items that had spilled on impact.

“Allow me,” he offered, kneeling beside her. He picked up her reticule and suddenly stilled at what he had discovered beneath it. Before she could react, he grabbed the key.

She nibbled her lower lip in dismay. “If I may have it, I will—”

“I recognize this key,” he said, holding it just out of her reach. His gaze was solely focused on the last item he expected her to have concealed in her reticule. “Did Blackbern give this to you?”

Imogene stared at him. Guilt shimmered in her eyes as she nodded. “I was not supposed to tell anyone.”

His hand closed around the key. Blackbern was not careless with his possessions. Until this moment, Norgrave had been the only one who had a key to the duke's house. Even if Imogene did not fully comprehend the meaning behind the gesture, he saw it with brilliant clarity.

Blackbern had been lying to him.

At some point, his friend had won their little wager by seducing Imogene. Instead of gloating about it to Norgrave, he had given the lady the key to his mother's house.

Blackbern had finally fallen in love.

The realization roiled in his gut like an oily tar.

“I have not used it,” Imogene confessed, his silence making her nervous. “Tri—Blackbern insisted that I keep it.”

“Our friend is generous that way.” It was a measure of his control that he stood and offered her the key instead of backhanding her with his closed fist. “Forgive me, my lady, I regretfully cannot enjoy your mother's gardens. I forgot about a prior commitment.”

Uncertain, Imogene accepted the rest of the items he pressed into her hands. “You are welcome to call again, Norgrave.”

“I shall return, Imogene. Perhaps I can help you cross a few suitors off your long list,” he said, the smile on his face never reaching his eyes.

“I would appreciate any help.”

Norgrave kissed her hand and turned away. It was not until he had returned to his coach that he allowed his fury to surface. His dark thoughts were consumed with Blackbern and Imogene.

He had sorely underestimated his friend.

And Imogene.

Had the two of them laughed at his failed attempts to seduce her?

Norgrave slammed his fist against the glass window until it fractured into a delicate web of sharp splinters. The pain focused his thoughts and a plan of revenge began to form in his head.

When he was finished, Blackbern would rue the day he had betrayed their friendship. And Imogene—the duplicitous lady needed to be punished.

He was the perfect man for the task.

 

Chapter Fifteen

Imogene used her key to unlock the front door, and slipped into the house. She was confident that she was alone. Servants were hired to keep the town house clean and tidy, but the staff was gone by dusk since Tristan preferred his privacy. She shut the door, trying not to contemplate how many women had entered this dwelling at Tristan's invitation. Her chest tightened at the thought. How many of them had believed she alone had captured her handsome lover's elusive heart? How many had departed the house in tears, grieving that the passion they had shared with Tristan had burned itself out?

Am I doomed to a similar fate?

Until she had received Tristan's brief summons for her to join him at his mother's house, she had been unaware of his return to London. Imogene believed he genuinely cared for her, and perhaps he did in his own way. However, had she not been warned by numerous people that she should not trust the duke's fickle affection? He had loved countless ladies—many who were lovelier and richer than her—and none of them had kept his devotion for long. Perhaps that explained why she had felt a touch of unease at his summons. She had retained his interest longer than most, and a part of her had been waiting for him to grow bored with her. To tell her that it was time for her to let him go.

The warm light of several oil lamps greeted her in the front hall. Hours had passed since she had sent a response to his terse note, but she did not expect him to be waiting for her. His duties often delayed him, and he once told her that he liked entering the house, knowing that she was waiting for him.

What was so important that it had driven him to wait for her?

“Tristan?” she called out.

He did not respond. There was only the high-pitched wail of the wind as it gusted and blew through unseen crevices in the house, causing it to creak and shudder. She started at the sound of someone stepping on a loose floorboard overhead.

Tristan.

Perhaps the approaching storm had masked her arrival. Or he was simply waiting for her to join him. Imogene shook her head, unsurprised by his arrogance. She set down her reticule on the table. Tristan was too used to getting his way. Imogene opened a small drawer in the table and withdrew a candle. She pushed it into the empty socket of a candleholder, and used the flame from the nearby lamp to ignite it.

With the candle to light her way, she slowly climbed the grand staircase. She opened the door to the drawing room, but it was dark and empty.

“What sort of game are we playing this evening, Tristan?” she called out, keenly listening for any sound that might reveal his whereabouts.

Unafraid, she moved through the house, opening and closing doors as she passed them. She expected to find him in the bedchamber to which he had brought her on several occasions, but to her chagrin, it was also empty.

With each step her annoyance was increasing. Imogene turned left to search the eastern wing of the house. She had yet to explore this portion of the house, since Tristan had other activities in mind when they met here. The door to the chamber at the end of the corridor was open and soft candlelight was a warm beacon in the darkness.

Imogene hurried down the passageway and crossed the threshold. The d
é
cor within the chamber was distinctly feminine, leading her to believe that this was the wing that Tristan's mother had occupied when she was alive.

“This was the last place I would have thought to search for you,” Imogene said as she glimpsed his movements through the partially drawn curtains of the bed. “I left the house as soon as I could. Is something amiss?”

Imogene set her candle down on the nearest table and followed him to the other side of the bed. Her hand fluttered to her mouth to smother her gasp.

It wasn't Tristan who had summoned her. Lord Norgrave straightened as he stood to greet her. “No, my dear. Nothing is amiss. In fact, everything has worked out quite perfectly.”

Confused, she stepped closer and peered at the bed. She half expected to find Tristan reclining against the pillows. “I do not understand. I thought—”

He nodded, his eyes filled with kindness. “You believed that Tristan sent the note. I regret that I resorted to a little trickery to gain a private audience with you. Tristan has distinctive handwriting, but I learned to imitate it many years ago. People who have known him longer than you have been fooled by my skills.”

“So this was a prank?” she asked, a hint of a smile teasing her lips.

“I suppose you could call it one.” He walked to her and clasped her by the hands. Norgrave brought one hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on her gloved knuckles. “Are you amused?”

She laughed, noting he had not released her hands. “Of course. You had me completely fooled. I am certain Tristan will find all of this humorous. When is he expected?”

Instead of answering her question, Norgrave led her to the bed and invited her to sit on the mattress. Above all people, Tristan trusted this gentleman so Imogene saw no reason to protest.

“I was enjoying some brandy,” he said, retrieving his abandoned glass. He took a sip and contemplated her over the rim of the glass. “Would you like to join me?”

Imogene wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you. It is too strong for my stomach,” she said, recalling the night when Tristan practically poured the awful stuff down her throat to calm her nerves.

“If you like, I suppose I could find a bottle of wine,” he said, his eyes resting on her face with a fierce intensity that made her uneasy.

Imogene silently wondered how much of the bottle the marquess had consumed as he waited for her. “There is no need to go to the trouble. I really cannot stay,” she said, rising from the mattress. “Please pass along my regrets to Tristan.”

Norgrave placed his glass of brandy on the table he had been leaning against. He stepped in front of her to prevent her from leaving. “There is no reason to bother him. He doesn't know you are here.”

“Oh,” she said faintly. “I see. You have used your key.”

It wasn't a question, but he nodded as if it was. “I've had it for years. While Tristan thought the place too grand to use it as his residence, he was reluctant to sell it. Some years, he leases it to families who can afford his exorbitant demands, but lately he has discovered other uses for it.”

Imogene felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. Norgrave knew she and Tristan were lovers. Had he told him? It made little sense since he had appeared eager to keep their relationship a secret.

“Tristan told me that he often comes here to be alone.”

Norgrave chuckled. “Is that why he gave you a key, too, Imogene?” He shook his head. “Do you know how many balls Tristan has hosted in this old house? If only the ghosts in this house could speak. I am not referring to the refined balls you have enjoyed during your stay in London. I speak of the decadent, drunken orgies that continued for days. The glorious nights when both Tristan and I buried our cocks in so many eager wenches, our ballocks were bruised for a sennight.”

Imogene backed away from him and bumped up against the edge of the mattress. The marquess spoke with deliberate crudeness to upset her. Tristan had never denied that he was a scoundrel. Out of kindness he had tried to shelter her from his unsavory past, but he could not escape it completely—not when London was littered with his flirtations and former lovers.

“You speak of the past, not the present, my lord,” she said, anger putting an edge to her voice.

“Do I?” Norgrave purred, pleased by her reaction. “I recall not too long ago when a pretty courtesan was kneeling at your lover's feet, her talented mouth wrapped around Tristan's—”

“Enough!” she pleaded, closing her eyes as if she could banish the image the marquess's words invoked. Her eyes snapped open. She was furious that she was allowing Norgrave to bait her. “I am well aware that Tristan is no saint. In some circles, he is not even viewed as a gentleman. Is there a point in discussing his past with me?”

Beyond hurting me?

“I do not mean to distress you, my dear. In truth, I admire you greatly. You are beautiful and full of compassion. I thought it was imperative that you understood the man who claimed your virginity.”

She glanced away.

“Ah, yes … I know all about it. Naturally, Tristan does not keep secrets from me. He told me all about his fascination with you. It was amusing, really. For a man who has spent most of his adult life steeped in sin, your innocence beguiled him. I hope you do not begrudge him sharing all the scandalous details with me.”

“Why would I mind?” she softly countered, struggling not to drown in the hurt rising up to choke her. “As long as you found it all so
amusing.
”

He lightly grasped her chin and encouraged her to meet his earnest gaze. “Not all of it, sweet Imogene. It pains me to tell you that Tristan cannot be trusted with your heart. I am certain you are already aware that he tires of you and is seeking a way to end your relationship.”

Hearing her private fears uttered by this gentleman gave her pains in her chest. Norgrave had to hold her up as her knees weakened and her shoulders slumped in defeat. “You did not summon me over a prank. Is that why you are here, my lord? Are you his messenger?”

“I fear so, my poor girl.” His face tightened with anger. “I am often asked to clean up his messes. As his closest friend, it has been my honor to serve him, until this day. Not when I have to gaze upon your sorrowful expression. It shames me to be a part of this. Tristan is a coward and a bastard for hurting you like this.”

Imogene stared at the marquess with tear-filled eyes. If she allowed those tears to fall, her devastation would be complete. She refused to shame herself further in Lord Norgrave's presence.