Dusk With a Dangerous Duke (14 page)

Catherine unintentionally darkened Hunter’s mood by giving him something he had never desired.

Pity.

“You are worried about her,” Catherine said. Her astonishment was another mental lash.

Before he could reply, Saint asked, “What about Porter? Will she turn to him with the expectation that he will assist her in finding a way to break the contract?”

Hunter tugged at his cravat. He felt as if the fabric were strangling him. “It’s possible. This afternoon, I left a message with his assistant. He has orders to contact me the moment he hears from Lady Grace.”

The doors to the drawing room opened, and Sainthill’s butler entered the drawing room. “Forgive the intrusion, milord. The Marchioness of Netherley has arrived, and she insists on an audience immediately.”

“We have no time for ceremony, my good man,” Lady Netherley said from the other hall. “Sainthill would never turn me away when I’ve come to discuss Lords of Vice business.”

Saint glanced at Hunter. He shrugged, having no idea what news Vane’s mother was anxious to share. Since he had been planning to visit the elderly marchioness this afternoon, her unexpected visit was fortuitous.

“Allow her to enter,” Saint said to his butler. All three of them stood to await the lady’s arrival.

“It is high time,” Lady Netherley muttered as she leaned heavily on her walking stick to enter the drawing room. “I am too old to be—Saint, my dear boy! It is good to see you.” Saint inclined his head so she could kiss his cheek. “And Catherine … that color is so pretty on you. It brightens your eyes.”

“Thank you, Lady Netherley,” Catherine said demurely. “Please join us. We were about to ring for some tea.”

Hunter could not help but he impressed. One would think she had spent most of her life sheltered in the countryside. Of all the lady’s guises, this one perhaps suited her best. Everyone adored her and, more important, she and Saint were happy.

Lady Netherley seemed overcome with relief when she noticed Hunter. “What providence! I called on your residence first, but no one could tell me when you might return.”

Hunter took her hand, and guided her to the nearest chair. “You were looking for me?”

“Indeed I was, dear boy,” the elderly marchioness said, beckoning him to sit beside her. “This is my fourth stop. When you were not at home, I had the coachman stop at Nox—”

“You went to the club?” Saint asked, shaking his head as he walked by him and Lady Netherley.

No ladies were allowed entry into Nox. Their steward, Berus, must have been distressed to see the marchioness on the other side of the door.

She nodded. “I also called on my son and Dare’s residence. No one was receiving visitors this afternoon. You and Catherine were to be my last stop before I headed home.”

“What was so important that you were searching London for me?” Hunter asked, concerned.

Lady Netherley pulled out a small handkerchief that she had tucked into her sleeve and dabbed at her face. “It’s about Lady Grace.”

“What’s this?” he exclaimed, coming to his feet.

“Sit down, Hunter,” Catherine said, her tone sharpening to force his compliance. “Lady Netherley, is it true that Lady Grace has asked you to find her a husband?”

The elderly marchioness ceased patting her face at the question. “Quite. She’s a beautiful girl, and such impeccable manners. I have little doubt that I will be successful in finding her a respectable husband this season.”

Hunter inhaled deeply, working to remain calm. Throttling the old woman would not endear him to anyone. He tried a different tactic. “You came to deliver a message from Lady Grace, I assume?”

“A message?” The cataracts in her eyes gave the marchioness a slightly unfocused gaze. “Oh, no, not from Lady Grace. I came to tell you and your friends that trouble is afoot, Hunter.”

He closed his eyelids and pressed his fingers against the tender skin. “You are not the first to bring such news, my lady.”

“And I shall not be the last. I’ve come to warn you that your cousin has arrived in town,” Lady Netherley said, her gaze never leaving his face. “The rumors have reached his ears. He knows that your lady is dissatisfied with the arranged marriage, and hopes to cry off.”

“And my cousin?”

Not that he did not already suspect the truth.

Lady Netherley exhaled. “He is prepared to support her cause.”

“The devil he is!” Hunter exclaimed.

Chapter Thirteen

“Lady Grace!”

Grace ruthlessly quelled the excitement that rose within her at the sound of the Duke of Huntsley’s voice. She glanced up and noticed he had increased his pace to catch up to her and her companions. Was he afraid that she would run off? It did not signify that she had managed to avoid the gentleman for three days.

How had he deduced her whereabouts? If he had showed up on her doorstep, he would not have been able to charm the information from Rosemary. It was then that she noticed the two ladies with her had not spoken a single word. They appeared to be enthralled with the bonnets on display in the front window of the milliner’s shop.

Good grief—had the outing been a ruse to lure her and the duke together? Were her new friends, Regan and her cousin Miss Bramwell, attempting to play Cupid on her behalf?

“What have you done?” Grace murmured to Regan, since she was standing the closest.

“Like it or not, the man is your betrothed,” Regan said, smiling as she raised her hand in greeting to the approaching gentleman.

“Not for long,” Grace murmured back. “Lady Netherley will find me a suitable replacement.”

“I understand why you are angry,” Regan said quickly, the earnestness in her tone the only reason Grace was not heading in the opposite direction. “Men can be ars—flawed.”

Lady Bramwell giggled at her friend’s very un-lady-like description.

“Hunter was wrong when it came to his dealings with you. He usually doesn’t botch matters this badly.”

“If you say so,” Grace replied, too polite to contradict the lady’s assessment.

The duke was closing in on them, so Regan had little time to debate Grace’s sincerity. “However, those days are over and done with. Give him a second chance to know you, Grace. Hunter may surprise you.”

Even when the gentleman was in the wrong, he exuded confidence. The grin on his face never faltered as he slowed to a more leisurely stride and then stopped before the trio.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

He bowed. All three ladies curtsied.

“Hunter, what an amazing coincidence,” Miss Bramwell said, earning a sharp quelling look from Regan.

“Astounding,” Grace said, her gaze drinking in the sight of him. His proximity always managed to send her heart racing. She wondered if she would ever grow comfortable in his presence. Then she remembered that there would be no reason to do so if he failed to meet the terms of the marriage contract. “It is as if Fate had a hand in our meeting.”

Fate being Regan.

The young marchioness possessed a romantic heart. She was in love with her husband, so naturally she thought everyone deserved love matches as well. She had not believed Grace when she had confessed that any affection for the duke would end in heartache. Regan loved Huntsley like a brother or a cousin. She saw his faults but could not accept that he was innately cruel. And the young marchioness might be correct in her assessment of the Duke of Huntsley’s character, but she was wrong about his ability to love. The romantic sentiment was something Grace often appreciated in novels and poetry, but it was too much of a leap to believe the duke would ever hold any affection in his heart for her.

“What has lured you ladies from the drawing room this afternoon?” he inquired, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

Regan gave Grace an apologetic glance, while Miss Bramwell blushed prettily at the duke’s question. Her reaction was telling in itself. How many ladies in London were secretly pining for the Duke of Huntsley’s interest?

“Since I am new to town, Lady Pashley thought I might appreciate the London shops,” Grace explained when her companions did not immediately reply. “Many of the new fashions are unsuitable for the country, and the village shops do not offer much in variety.”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed at her blunt reminder that he had left her to rot in the country, but he offered no apologies. If he expected her to be a meek creature, then he was bound to be disappointed. She had been queen of Frethwell Hall, even as a child. The tutors and governesses hired by Mr. Porter had insisted that obedience was admirable in a young lady.

However, it was one of the lessons that never quite stuck.

“Well, you are in luck, then,” he said genially, unaware of her thoughts. “Both Regan and Miss Bramwell have exquisite taste and are well versed in the London fashions. Though, Regan, I do believe your husband would be happier if you raised the cut of your bodice now that you are a married lady.”

Regan laughed, reminding Grace that her companion shared a friendship with the duke she had been denied. “Dare has better sense than to tell me how to dress. It’s a viewpoint you would be wise to imitate if you wish to marry.”

Grace found her own cheeks warming at the bold comment.

“Regan!”

“Forgive me,” Regan said, slipping her hand through Grace’s arm in a friendly manner. “However, I did tell you gentlemen have certain failings, and it is our responsibility to set them on the right course.”

Hunter raised his eyebrows. “Then how do you explain your brother?”

“I don’t,” Regan said dismissively. “I’ll leave that impossible task to another lady.”

Miss Bramwell cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention. “Since we are here, I would not mind trying on that bonnet with the pink satin ribbons. It would complement a dress I already possess.”

“I second that notion,” Grace said, seizing on the opportunity to send the duke on his way. “Besides, we have taken enough of His Grace’s time. I am certain you have appointments.”

“Not at all,” the Duke of Huntsley said, his expression revealing he was aware that she was trying to get rid of him. “My afternoon is not encumbered with tasks, and it would be a rare treat for me to act as escort for three beautiful ladies.”

He walked past Grace and opened the door. “Shall we?”

Miss Bramwell seemed as uncomfortable with the notion of Huntsley accompanying them on their errands as she was.

Regan walked through the door first. “Lovely. A pity we couldn’t invite all the Lords of Vice,” she drawled over her shoulder.

“Splendid,” Grace said, surrendering to the undeniable fact she had finally gained the Duke of Huntsley’s attention.

Chapter Fourteen

Hunter was having a grand time.

He doubted Lady Grace would concur. Perhaps he was being a tad unfair, intruding on her afternoon with Regan and Miss Bramwell. Without his assistance, she was making friends on her own. While he was pleased his friends had welcomed his reluctant bride-to-be into their small social circle, he wondered whom they would side with if the lady pressed her case to end their marriage arrangement.

Not that Lady Grace did not have good reason to be vexed with him.

He had not understood how badly he had muddled his affairs until she had caught him in what appeared to be a compromising position with Lady Cliffton. Damn Portia and his poor timing. He could guess the lady’s intentions even if he had done everything to prevent her from spitting it out. The lady was unhappy with her marriage, and Hunter had once held a
tendre
for her. It wasn’t arrogant to reason that the lady hoped to conduct an affair with him. He was certain that Portia had heard the rumors about him. His choice in lovers varied in hair color, size, and carnal appetites. Nevertheless, all of them had one thing in common—he preferred the unattainable. Whores and widows only craved his coin, while the occasional married lovers were more interested in gaining petty revenge against their husbands by taking a younger, more virile lover.

Although Portia’s marriage had not been forged with the fires of passion, he had believed her to be strong in character and her reputation beyond reproach. She would have never considered having an affair with him years ago.

What had changed?

Hunter glanced in Lady Grace’s direction. She had disappeared behind a curtain to be measured by the seamstress. Would his duchess feel the same way in the coming years when the title and wealth began to seem like burdens rather than privileges?

No. As cross as she was with him, he could see that she possessed a sweet disposition. She was patient with Lady Netherley and kind to his friends; she treated her servants as if they were family. She was not marrying him out of ambition or greed, but rather because a promise had been made when they were children.

And by everything he held sacred, the lady was going to keep it!

Miss Bramwell laughed at something her cousin whispered in her ear. Regan noticed his regard and gave him a saucy smile. The minx. Dare had his hands full with that woman. He also owed her an expensive trinket for sending him a note, telling him of her outing with Lady Grace.

A few errands,
Regan’s note had explained. His three female companions enjoyed quite a busy afternoon. They worked their way down several streets, visiting milliners, a draper, a bookseller, a hosier, a perfumer, and a fur and feather manufactory. He could not fathom where these ladies found the energy to peruse the inventory of every store.

Mentally, he was exhausted. He might have begged for their mercy hours ago, but he had something to prove to Lady Grace.

The lady belonged to him.

Straightening from his casual stance against one of the ornate posts that separated parts of the small showroom, Hunter made his way across the room to the closed curtain that separated him and Lady Grace.

Regan noticed his movements and rushed to stop him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, crossing her arms. “You cannot go in there.”

He could have ignored her and pushed her aside. Not only was she Dare’s wife, she was also the young girl he had had a small hand in raising.