Dusk With a Dangerous Duke (16 page)

Thankfully, this reluctant bride did not contradict him.

“It is best that you do,” the woman said, taking the wrinkled dress from Hunter. She glanced pointedly at the front of his trousers, and for the first time he felt a burning heat of embarrassment in his face. “Distance from your lady might ease your affliction.”

Unable to think of a proper rebuttal, Hunter took the woman’s advice and left the private room.

Chapter Fifteen

“I heard your meeting with Lady Grace went well,” Saint said as they strode into Nox the following evening.

On most nights, Hunter felt a thrum of satisfaction at what he and the other Lords of Vice had created. While his grandmother might not approve of what he had done with the property on King Street, Nox had become a lucrative source of revenue. This evening, however, he surveyed the filled tables without much enthusiasm. He had spent a restless night plotting his next step with his future duchess.

“Was that sarcasm, Saint?” Hunter raised his hand to acknowledge several gentlemen who had called out his name. “I thought marriage had cured you of your jaded views toward the quest of love.”

Saint smiled, enjoying Hunter’s discomfort entirely too much. “So now you are in love?”

“Don’t be daft, you arse,” Hunter snapped back. “I just met the chit. Besides, love was never written into the marriage contract. My grandmother was a practical lady. There was no value to be gained by insisting that I love Lady Grace. As long as I marry her, increase the family’s holdings, and produce an heir, I have satisfied the terms of the arrangement.”

“It sounds cold.”

“No, it sounds like the dowager,” Hunter countered, annoyed that he had to offer an explanation. “Don’t tell me that you have forgotten how she was. Or has Catherine addled your brains and turned you into a romantic fool?”

“I am in love with her,” Saint freely admitted, looking far too happy for Hunter’s querulous disposition. “As for a fool, I cannot say. Though if I had let her run off as she had planned, I would have lived out my life regretting it.”

Hunter opened his mouth to say something spiteful, but thought better of it. No, he did not begrudge his friend’s happiness. Had he not quietly observed Saint over the years as his friend’s love for the woman he thought he could not have ate away at his soul? The marquess had been slowly withdrawing from the world, even his friends, and all of them would have done anything to save him.

Although it had taken him years, Saint had eventually summoned the courage to fight for the woman he had loved almost at first sight.

While his circumstances were not similar, Hunter had also allowed the years to distance himself from Lady Grace. There was no love lost between him and his bride. He was not even certain he liked her. Still, he would honor his commitments, and the lady would, as well, even if he had to prod her with a pistol to gain her obedience.

“That look on your face always means trouble,” Saint observed.

“What?” Hunter asked, confused before he realized that he had not offered his friend a proper reply to his question. “Forgive me, this business with Lady Grace has presented complications that I had not anticipated.”

“Obviously.”

Hunter ignored his friend’s dry retort. “The lady is not what I expected.”

“Sin told me that you deserve our pity. He said that your lady is a toothless hag who hasn’t taken a bath in ten years, who possesses the booming voice of a giant—”

Hunter stopped and gave his friend an incredulous look. He threw his head back and laughed until his stomach ached. Several patrons glanced in his direction. It was unusual for him to lose his composure, but he couldn’t help it. He had once thought uncharitable things about the lady.

“If Sin truly met Lady Grace, then he offered no such description to you,” he said, attempting to catch his breath. “The Duke and Duchess of Strangham were purported to be an incredibly striking couple, and their daughter has been blessed with beauty.”

Saint made a noise that indicated he was unconvinced.

“I have been her harshest critic, and I humbly admit that my assessment was based wholly on ignorance. Saint, she has a face that most women would envy. Delicate features, unblemished skin, and eyes the color of unripe olives. Her hair is thick, glossy, and the lightest of browns with a hint of gold woven within the strands of hair. She is petite, her limbs are finely formed, and her disposition is—”

“Akin to a harpy, according to Frost,” Saint added.

The need to defend the lady rose within Hunter’s chest—which, he was certain, was Frost’s intention. “Frost dislikes women who are opinionated. Since he cannot seduce her, I doubt he lingered in her presence longer than a few minutes. Though I agree, Lady Grace does have her faults. She is outspoken, stubborn, and determined to thwart my attempts to honor this arranged marriage.”

“She sounds like a scorned woman.”

Hunter nodded. “With good reason. It didn’t help that she caught me with Portia.”

Saint’s eyes widened in amazement. “Portia? Christ, what are you doing dallying with Cliffton’s wife? I thought you ended your association with the lady years ago.”

“Of course I severed all ties,” Hunter said, frowning as he recalled how his old love felt in his arms. “I had already hurt her. Why would I compound the problem by ruining her marriage to Cliffton? No, the lady sought me out.” And Lady Grace’s arrival had prevented Portia from explaining why she had longed to see him.

“I shouldn’t have to offer this advice, but I suggest that you stay away from Lady Cliffton. Lady Grace is skittish, and most women react badly when they encounter their husband’s former loves.”

Ladies were not the only ones who became a trifle upset about former lovers. There were several occasions when Hunter and his friends had to keep Saint from throttling one of Catherine’s lovers. While the brief affair had meant nothing to her, Saint had not taken the news very well.

To Saint, he said, “What I shared with Portia is no longer important and none of Lady Grace’s concern, so I would appreciate it if no one mentions Lady Cliffton’s name to her.”

Of course, his bride was brazen enough to bring up the lady on her own.

“So you do intend to marry her,” Saint said, sounding pleased with the revelation.

“I have little choice,” Hunter confessed. “I refuse to surrender my inheritance to my cousin, and the lady needs a keeper.”

It might as well be him.

Espying the steward of Nox, Hunter and Saint switched directions and headed his way.

“Good evening, Berus,” Hunter said, echoing his friend’s greeting. “Any problems we should be aware of?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” the servant said, signaling for brandy to be brought to the two men. “Though both of you might be interested in knowing that we had an unexpected guest three hours ago.”

“Who?” Saint asked, taking a glass of brandy from the silver salver presented to him.

“Lord Mulcaster,” Berus said, the name capturing both men’s attention. “He played faro for an hour … lost … and then departed.”

“Did he request to see anyone or talk to anyone?” Hunter asked.

“No, Your Grace.”

“He must be getting desperate if he showed up here of all places,” Saint murmured.

Hunter could feel satisfaction and eagerness radiating from his friend. “This isn’t the first time Mulcaster has patronized Nox.”

“No,” Saint conceded. “However, his fortune has changed in this town. A part of him is beginning to wonder if it’s mere coincidence or something orchestrated.”

When it came to people hurting his wife, Saint was capable of ruthlessness. Mulcaster had made an enemy when he had befriended Catherine’s foe.

“If that will be all, milord … Your Grace.” Berus bowed respectfully. “I shall continue with my duties.”

“The next time Mulcaster returns to Nox, I want to know about it. Send a messenger if necessary,” Saint said.

“Of course, milord. I will see to the task myself.” Berus departed, tireless in his pursuit to ensure that Nox lived up to the high standards set forth by his employers.

Hunter turned to Saint. “What has changed?”

“Nothing. Everything is going as planned,” his friend said, sipping his brandy nonchalantly.

“And what are those plans?” he asked, wondering if he truly wanted to know. Rumor had it that Catherine’s despicable cousin, Robert Royles, had disappeared months ago, and Hunter wondered often if his friend had anything to do with it.

A man in love would go to great lengths to protect those he loved. Saint’s next words proved it.

“Quite simply—I’m going to ruin the bastard.”

*   *   *

A few days ago, Grace might have declared her evening a triumph.

She had attended three balls, had danced on seven occasions, and was savoring her new friend, Lady Pashley. Regan. Apparently, the young marchioness considered herself an expert on the Lords of Vice, and was quite sympathetic about Grace’s predicament with the Duke of Huntsley.

As Frost’s sister, she had been practically raised by the wild rakes. Many members of the
ton
thought this arrangement was imprudent, and would put the poor girl on a direct course for ruination. Her fascination with the man everyone called Dare only seemed to confirm it. When her brother caught her kissing his friend, he sent her away to a boarding school. Isolated from the only family she had known, she had been miserable and lonely.

Regan’s sentence had lasted five years.

So naturally, the young woman was appalled that the duke had left Grace alone for most of her life.

“Nineteen years,” Regan murmured, shaking her head with disappointment. “If I had known, I would have traveled to Frethwell Hall each year.”

The declaration warmed Grace’s heart. “Thank you. I would have enjoyed having you there. Perhaps we could have conspired to lure the duke to come for a visit. Even so, I did have Mr. Porter. I always looked forward to his visits each spring. He was quite dedicated to his duties.”

“Dedicated to Hunter, you mean,” Regan said. Her esteem for the duke had plummeted when she learned how he had abandoned Grace to the country. “It also explains why Mr. Porter has neglected to contact you.”

“I have come to the same conclusion,” she admitted. “Now that the duke knows I am reluctant to go through with this marriage, he seems equally determined to see that I do. I find his change of heart bewildering.”

“I do not,” Regan said, opening her fan with a flourishing sweep of her hand. She gently fanned herself. “I believe I can offer some clarity to Hunter’s disposition if you are interested.”

“Of course.”

“Direct your gaze to the right,” she murmured, using the fan to conceal her instructions. “Do you see the gentleman in the gold waistcoat?”

“Yes.” To her astonishment, the gentleman was staring at her.

“The gentleman is Mr. Roland Walker.”

The name was unfamiliar to Grace. “Who is he?”

“Hunter’s cousin. A distant one. Neither man cares to acknowledge the blood connection. However, if you and Hunter do not marry, Mr. Walker will benefit rather generously from the discord.”

Mr. Porter had told her that a portion of the duke’s inheritance was in peril if the marriage did not take place. If he had mentioned the man’s name, she could not recall. “This is the man who will claim the dowager’s inheritance?”

“Precisely.”

Then this gentleman would be on her side when she pressed her case. “I want you to introduce us.”

Regan nodded, expecting this request. “I do not believe it will be a problem. He has been slowly making his way to you since you entered the ballroom.”

Chapter Sixteen

“Lady Grace is dancing with my cousin.”

Hunter stared at Vane in disbelief. “And you didn’t stop them? What is the point of having you watch over her if you are going to allow a blackguard like Walker to approach her?”

The earl took a step back to give Hunter room to stand, but he was in no mood to defer to his friend. In fact, one might assume that Vane was angry at him.

“You asked me to discreetly observe her. I did,” Vane said tersely. “She joined the ladies and together they have moved from ballroom to ballroom. Except for the dance invitations Lady Grace has accepted, she has rarely left Regan’s side.”

Lady Grace had been dancing with other gentlemen? Didn’t these men know she was betrothed to him? “I want names.”

“Of her dance partners? You can forget it,” the earl replied, not understanding how close Hunter was to losing his temper. “I’ll not be responsible for you putting a bullet into every gent who deigned to speak with your lady.”

His lady. A detail Lady Grace Kearley was determined to ignore.

“How long has she been chatting with my cousin?”

Vane shrugged. “Long enough, I suppose. He did ask her to dance.”

Hunter picked up his glass of brandy and finished it in one hearty swallow. “Has it escaped your notice that you left her alone with him?”

The accusation made the earl frown. “You told me to report anything unusual. Walker seemed to qualify.”

Hunter slammed down the empty glass on the table. “I expected you to send a messenger and then put an end to Walker’s mischief.”

Vane snorted. “Oh, and having me, who is basically a stranger, drag Lady Grace away wouldn’t have her screaming for a constable. And then I would have to explain to sweet and loving Isabel that I wasn’t ravishing the chit, but rescuing her from your cousin who had only asked her to dance. No, thank you, I think I’ll pass on that bit of lunacy.”

When his friend described it in that manner, it did sound a little cracked. “That chit is ripe for the picking, and I wouldn’t put it past my cousin to wonder if my inheritance isn’t the only thing of mine he can claim.”

“That’s up to you.” Vane raised his hands in surrender. “I’m done. If you’re worried about Lady Grace, then it’s up to you to protect her.”

“The lady isn’t too fond of me,” Hunter grumbled.

“So change her mind.” The earl gave him an exasperated look. “You can be charming. I’ve witnessed it on countless occasions. Tell me, how many women have you tumbled onto their backs with simply a grin and a few sweet words?”