Dusk With a Dangerous Duke (9 page)

“Too long if you have forgotten that you used to call me Portia,” she said, the hint of a pout forming on her full lips.

“That was before you married Cliffton.” He took her hand and bowed. “You should be grateful I have decided to behave myself.”

The twenty-eight-year-old Portia Fletcher, Countess of Cliffton, looked as lovely as she had when he’d first met her, when she was seventeen and attending her first ball.

A year and a half older than Portia, Hunter had been smitten that first meeting. Three weeks later, he was convinced that he was in love. It had been a unique experience for him, for no other lady had touched his heart as Portia had. Nevertheless, their future appeared bleak from the onset. While the lady’s family was determined to see her marry well, Hunter had been unable to offer for her hand.

He had a promise to keep to his grandmother.

No amount of tearful pleas from Portia could persuade him into breaking his vow. Disappointed by his decision and concerned that their daughter’s friendship with Hunter might discourage other wealthy suitors, her father accepted the first marriage offer, which happened to be the slightly older Lord Cliffton.

Although Hunter had no right to interfere, he had tried to talk Portia into refusing Cliffton’s offer. She was willing as long as Hunter discarded Lady Grace so he could marry her. He had been tempted. At least his feelings for Portia would not have been feigned. In the end, her parents had won. They justly forbade him from seeing their daughter, and then used his abandonment to convince her that Lord Cliffton was a respectable choice after her scandalous behavior with a gentleman who was engaged to marry another lady.

Portia married Cliffton and gave the earl two handsome sons. On the surface, she seemed content with her marriage. Hunter deliberately kept his distance. He had done enough to hurt her and himself. From that day on, he avoided emotional entanglements. His ill-fated relationship with Portia was just another reason why he had resented the young girl his grandmother had foisted off on him. When he had lost Portia, it had felt as if love had been plucked from his grasp.

The passing years and the nameless women who had briefly caught his interest had eased the pain of choosing his honor over love. These days, while he occasionally felt regret, he was also plagued with a lingering guilt over Portia. Not once had he even asked for her forgiveness.

He smiled wistfully. “You look well, my lady. If you were not already married, all the chits hopeful for a good match this season would be envious of your beauty.”

“May I return the compliment?” she asked, entering the small parlor. “It has been three years since I last spoke to you. Where have you been hiding yourself that you have no time to visit with old friends?”

He stifled the small annoyance he felt at the suggestion that he had been hiding from her. “I have not been exactly hiding, Portia. I just have other amusements that distract me from spending my evenings in stuffy ballrooms.”

Would she be appalled to learn that he enjoyed last season at Madame Venna’s Golden Pearl before she closed the doors forever? In many ways, there were very few differences between the ladies of the
ton
and the women he bedded at the brothel. Both of them required payment of some kind.

“For some time, I have longed to speak with you,” the countess said, staring at him with a worshipful expression that had once made him feel invincible and capable of heroic feats.

Then he had failed her, and her adoration seemed akin to mockery.

*   *   *

“The Duke of Huntsley is
here
? In this ballroom?”

What confidence she had gained in her flirtatious exchange with Frost swiftly faded with the announcement that the duke had arrived and was currently searching for her.

“I am afraid so, my dear,” Lady Netherley said, gazing anxiously at Grace. “I told him you were—” She made a vague gesture with her hand. “About. Hunter was impatient so he set off to look for you on his own. By the by, where were you? You and Frost seemed to vanish after your dance.”

Her cheeks warmed at the implication. “We were just getting to know each other,” she said weakly. “He said he was curious about me since the duke rarely speaks of me.”

How could he, when he had not bothered to inquire after her?

Now that he had finally come for her, she was uncertain how she felt about it. There was a fluttering in her stomach, and her palms were beginning to sweat.

“Shall I have someone bring the coach to the front door?” Lady Netherley asked, correctly guessing that a part of Grace wanted to flee.

The other part was relieved it was almost over.

“Are you leaving?” Lady Sinclair inquired, likely overhearing the marchioness’s question. “I thought you might. It was one of the reasons why I told Sin to keep Hunter away from the ballroom this evening.”

Grace glared at Lady Netherley. “You told Juliana, too? How many people are conspiring against me?”

“No one is plotting against you, Grace,” Juliana said soothingly. “While I do not quite understand the dowager’s intentions for betrothing you to her grandson at such a tender age, I assume it was necessary. Nevertheless, this situation with Hunter is simply unacceptable, and do not believe for one minute that you are to blame.”

“I have always thought so,” Grace said drily.

“Everyone will tell you that Hunter is a good man. Stubborn, I grant you, and oftentimes selfish, but he never shirks his duties.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I hope you will give him a chance. Us, as well,” she said, her gesture encompassing Lady Netherley. “It was one of the reasons why we orchestrated this introduction before you encountered Hunter. We want to show you that you are not alone. You have friends, even if you decide that you do not wish to be the Duchess of Huntsley.”

“Frost advised against the match,” she blurted out.

Juliana’s green eyes hardened, reminding Grace of emeralds. “Of course he did,” she muttered, exchanging a look of annoyance with the elderly marchioness. “May I offer you some friendly advice? In the future, walk away from Frost if he begins to share his opinion on the subject of marriage. It will spare you from his ignorance, not to mention a mild headache.”

The urge to defend Lord Chillingsworth bubbled up inside her, but it would have taken more time than she had. Besides, it was obvious that this was not the first time the blond marchioness had disagreed with the earl.

“I will alert the servants of our departure,” Lady Netherley said, her voice quavering with unspoken emotion.

Grace couldn’t decide if she was distressed over their leaving or the small detail that her evening had not gone as planned.

“No,” she said quietly, touching the older woman on the arm to delay her from seeing to her task. “I am staying.”

Lady Netherley brightened instantly. “You are?”

Juliana studied Grace’s face. “Are you certain? No one was intending to force a meeting this evening.” She rolled her eyes as she shook her head. “Hunter came up with this foolish idea on his own.”

Her right eyebrow arced in astonishment at the twenty-four-year-old marchioness’s uncharitable opinion. According to Lady Netherley, Juliana had married Sin five years ago. Although Sin was not the first Lord of Vice to marry—that honor went to a very young Earl of Rainecourt—Juliana had been the lady to herald the changes that were about to take place within Nox. As the men married, their loyalties subtly shifted from the boyhood bonds they had forged to the new lives they were building with their wives.

“Nineteen years is long enough, do you not agree?” Grace wondered out loud.

Because of her grandfather and the dowager, she was supposed to be the one who would alter the Duke of Huntsley’s life. Perhaps she could not blame him for fighting to hold on to the life he had built with his own hands.

“Juliana, do you know where I might find His Grace?”

The young marchioness’s lips twitched at Grace’s formality, but she tipped her head to convey the direction in which to find the duke. “Across the ballroom, and head for the doors to the outer passageway. You might find him near the staircase.”

“Lady Netherley?”

“Yes, dear girl,” she said, eager to make amends for her loose tongue. “Do you wish for me to join you?”

“No, but it is kind of you to offer. I thought you might want to alert the servants to prepare for our departure,” Grace said, squaring her shoulders. “Something tells me that my meeting with the Duke of Huntsley will be brief.”

*   *   *

The anxiety Grace had been feeling seemed a futile exercise when she realized the duke was not in the passageway as Juliana had presumed. Perhaps he had gone upstairs? Her gloved hand brushed the ornately carved newel as she glanced upward and met the amused gaze of Lord Chillingsworth.

“Looking for someone, darling?”

Recalling Juliana’s warning, Grace hesitated. Was the earl friend or foe? The question cast his kiss in a sinister light as well. Had Huntsley sent his friend to seduce her?

“So many questions, I see,” Frost said, descending to meet her halfway. “And worries. Has someone been whispering naughty tales about me?”

“Not at all!” she said quickly, causing him to chuckle.

“Indeed. I’ll let you in on a tiny secret. Whatever you were told was only partly true. My friends and I do try to protect the ladies from some of the unsavory aspects of our lives.” Before she could inquire, Frost continued, “By now, you’ve learned Hunter has escaped his guards and is presently somewhere in this house. Presumably searching for you.”

“Ah … yes,” she said, glancing over the earl’s shoulder, but he appeared to be alone. “Do you know the whereabouts of your friend?”

His turquoise-blue eyes shimmered with delight. “Indeed, fair lady, I do. Continue up the staircase, and turn left. There is a small parlor two doors down on the right. You will find him there.”

“Thank you,” she said, lifting the front of her skirt high enough to avoid stepping on the hem as she ascended the stairs. As she passed Frost, she paused. “Does he know?”

“Know what, Grace?”

She took a breath to steady her nerves. “Is he waiting for me?”

He glanced up and appeared to contemplate her question. “No, darling. Hunter is impatient, which you’ll discover for yourself. If you get the opportunity, please send him my regards.”

Lord Chillingsworth’s enigmatic comment did nothing to ease the butterflies in Grace’s stomach. Her hand briefly connected with the polished oak balustrade as she made her way upstairs to the next landing. She smiled benignly at the couple sitting on the small bench at the top of the stairs. They had slipped away from the noise of the ballroom to share a quiet moment together.

Grace headed left, giving them their privacy. Her gaze found the door almost immediately, and someone had left it open. Perhaps even the Duke of Huntsley. It never occurred to her until now that this was some ruse on Frost’s part, a clever excuse to separate her from the other guests.

But for what purpose?

She glanced over her shoulder, but he had not followed. He was still at his post on the stairs, or he had strolled off to join his friends. She started to cross the threshold of the parlor, but what she glimpsed within the interior of the room caused her to halt. With her legs abruptly locked in place, she used her hand to prevent herself from losing her balance.

The Duke of Huntsley was there. Nor was he alone. A dark-haired woman had managed to coil herself around him like a common vine her gardeners ripped out of the colorful flower beds by the roots.

“This isn’t the place, Portia,” the duke murmured, doing nothing to untangle himself from what appeared to be a torrid embrace. He had even placed his hand on the lady’s back to hold her in place.

“Then when? I must see you,” the woman pleaded, her breasts deliberately pressing against his chest.

Leave before you are caught.

Grace commanded her limbs to move, but she seemed frozen in place. Was this woman the duke’s mistress? One of her neighbors had trouble with his wife when the unfortunate lady discovered that her husband had been keeping a mistress. Her friends told her that all gentlemen kept mistresses. The notion disturbed her sleep for weeks. All the while, she had wondered if the Duke of Huntsley had taken mistresses. He was certainly wealthy enough to keep one. Then her uncle confirmed her suspicions on one of his visits. According to him, her betrothed had an entire stable of fallen women for his pleasure.

Was this the reason why Frost had directed her upstairs? Had he wanted to prove to her that the duke was unwilling to commit himself to just one lady?

If so, the message had been delivered like a blade into her heart.

The Duke of Huntsley’s gaze shifted from his companion’s face to Grace. “We are not alone.”

His warning was as effective as a bucket of frigid water. The woman stiffened, immediately releasing the duke. In one graceful movement she slipped out of his arms and turned to confront Grace.

“Forgive me,” Grace said, her fingers digging into the door frame. “I did not mean to intrude. I was told that the parlor was empty.”

It was a lie, but she would do anything to leave with her dignity intact. Then she was going to seek out Frost and deliver the slap he sorely deserved for tricking her.

The duke’s gaze glinted with recognition and pleasure. “It is you. How unexpected. It appears fate does have a sense of humor. Please, you are welcome to join us.” He gave the woman a pointed glance. “Though I doubt Portia can remain. Were you not telling me that you had to rejoin your husband?”

His mistress was married?

The woman’s mouth thinned with displeasure. She clearly did not like to be dismissed. Or perhaps, she was not happy leaving her lover in the company of another woman.

“Yes … yes, of course,” she said, her movements as stiff as her voice. “We can discuss this at a later date.”

“Please send my regards to your husband, Portia.”

The woman nodded. As she walked toward Grace, she delivered a scathing look. It was enough to prompt her to move out of the lady’s way. This mysterious Portia was not the only lady who hoped to make a quick escape.