How to Lose a Duke in Ten Days (8 page)

Blinking, she pushed Arlington hard in the chest, which only managed to propel
her
in the opposite direction.  Shoving Arlington was like shoving a granite statue. He hadn’t moved an inch, but he had that particular look in his eyes, as though he wanted to step forward and sweep her back up into his arms.  

Mrs. Maddox swept through the unlocked door, a preemptive scowl stretched across her face. “Everything all right in here?” Her eyes narrowed. “I was certain I heard something improper.”

Pippa’s cheeks grew hot. “We were just discussing…” Her gaze flew to Arlington. She’d never been good at lying to Mrs. Maddox. The woman had an unfortunate knack for ferreting out lies,
especially
Pippa’s lies.

“We were discussing the laws of chemistry,” Arlington finished smoothly. The man lied with the fluid grace of a true aristocrat.

“Yes.” Pippa swallowed. “His Grace proclaims himself an expert on the subject. I find, in fact, that he knows very little.”

“My knowledge is vast on the subject.” He smiled wolfishly. “I have only just begun to educate you, Miss Welby.” 

And indeed, she was beginning to fear that he might be right.  

*   *   *

That night, the Theatre Royal was a crush. Pippa tightened her grip on Arlington’s arm as her gaze swept the sitting area, where patrons mingled prior to the curtain rising.  It was the first performance of the Season with Mr. Kean in the lead as Richard III, and everyone of consequence was in attendance.

Mrs. Maddox had immediately taken a vacant chair within sight of Pippa. Her joints often troubled her and even when Pippa was a child, she was frequently found sitting—though as of late, the pain had worsened. Laudanum was the only thing that offered relief, and Mrs. Maddox used it liberally—as evidenced by her tendency to doze off at any given moment.

Pippa ran her hands down the white muslin gown she wore. It was simple, unadorned, and as modest as she could manage. Her mother’s pearls would have paired beautifully with the gown, adding just a hint of sophistication, but in the end, she’d decided not to wear them. The more plain and unappealing she appeared, the better.

“Would you care for some refreshment before we take our seats?” Arlington asked.

“That would be splendid, thank you.” 

With a bow, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

He wasn’t gone a single breath, before Lady Wayland and her daughters, Missy and Harriet, closed in on her, pressing in with false smiles. Pippa’s blood went cold as ice. They were acquaintances, though only in the strictest, most unpleasant sense.

Shortly after her father came into his fortune, he had sent her to the finest finishing school money could buy her into—the “Ladies’ Eton” in Queen Square, exclusive only to the daughters of the nobility and gentry. Pippa was neither, though the head of the school, Miss Stevenson, had made an exception due to her mother’s lineage. More than likely, she just needed the money, as Father had offered triple the tuition.

That’s where Pippa had the misfortune of meeting Missy and Harriet, who’d made it their mission to torment her for the entire two years she was in residence. Pippa often spent her afternoons locked in the cellar—a cruel trick the sisters liked to play, so she would miss lessons. She could still feel the penetrating chill of the cellar and the dark, clawing panic that had gripped her. She would scream until her throat was raw. It had often been hours before anyone discovered she was missing. And when she’d finally found the courage to tell the headmistress about her mistreatment, she’d been reprimanded for allowing herself to be put in such a situation.

Tightening her grip around her fan, she tried not to snap it in two. She glanced around for an escape, but the room was so tightly packed, she could hardly move, let alone flee.

Lady Wayland was the first to speak—her graying hair gathered high on top of her head, her fan flicking feverishly over her weathered face.  “Well, well, it appears congratulations are in order. You have caught yourself a duke, my dear girl. Pray tell, however did you manage it?”

Pippa stiffened. Her words were civil enough, but there was an underlying venom in her tone. Bitterness and odium laced every word. The daughters of the
ton
were desperate to marry, and more to the point, they were desperate to marry well. The news that the duke had chosen someone they so clearly despised must have been quite a blow to their inflated pride.

Pippa smiled tightly, a plan forming. Perhaps she could torment Lady Wayland, her daughters,
and
the duke, all in one fell swoop.

“How did I manage it?” Because of course the duke’s interest could only be the result of a scheme on Pippa’s part. “Well, it was no simple feat, I can assure you. It took a great deal of persistence.”

“How so?” Missy chimed in, her tight, glossy curls bouncing as she leaned forward, eager to hear Pippa’s secret.  

Pippa tapped her chin in feigned reflection. “Let’s see, there’s the time I sent him a sweet little puppy in a basket. He has a
deep
affection for dogs, you see, and I knew a cute little pug would be the surest way to his heart.”

“And it worked?” Harriet asked. 

Pippa shrugged in an
isn’t it obvious?
gesture.

“So, to be clear,” Harriet said, “you gave him a
pug
and he was instantly besotted?”

Pippa struggled to keep a straight face. “Well, that coupled with my trailing his every step. After our twelfth ‘chance’ encounter, he simply had no choice but to notice me. We ladies assume men want a meek little dove, but what they
really
desire is a lioness—a woman who carefully stalks her prey, then pounces at precisely the right moment.”

“Fascinating,” Lady Wayland said flatly. “What an enterprising woman you are, Miss Welby. But then, I suppose you would have to be, considering your
reprehensible
origins.” She lowered her voice to a conspiring whisper. “It’s being bandied about that you offered the duke far more than puppies to secure his affections. Indeed, it wouldn’t surprise me to find that you’d trapped the poor man. What other explanation can there be for his choosing a bride so far beneath him?”

Pippa stiffened at her blatant accusation. The Waylands were spiteful and envious, and despite her resolve to be strong, she felt like a girl of thirteen again, trapped beneath their cruelty, with no one to help her. She felt helpless and vulnerable, and she cursed herself for it. 

“Lady Wayland.” A deep, familiar baritone resonated from behind.

Pippa turned to see Arlington standing directly behind her, all smooth aristocratic power. He placed a hand on the curve of her back—a small, reassuring gesture that made her feel safe. He moved a half step in front of her in subtle, yet protective way. “Perhaps you would care to say to me what you just said to Miss Welby.”

Lady Wayland laughed, the sound high-pitched and nervous. “Whatever do you mean?” She turned to Pippa with a tight smile. “We were just offering our congratulations, weren’t we, my dears?” 

Harriet and Missy each let out a noncommittal squeak and hid behind their matching lace fans. It was satisfying to see them so frightened. They looked as though they would rather be anywhere but face-to-face with the duke at that moment. 

“I sincerely hope so,” he said, a threat implicit in his tone. “Should I discover you’ve been less than kind to my betrothed, I will show you just how unkind
I
can be.”

Pippa swallowed and blinked up at him in astonishment. He was defending her. Of course he would, she reasoned. She was his intended. To show disrespect to her was disrespecting him by association—something he would never stand for. Still, she felt united with him in this. She wasn’t alone.

Lady Wayland’s face blanched and she seemed to realize, as Pippa did, that Arlington was not a man who made idle threats.

“Well, I…” Lady Wayland gaped idly, grasping for words. Finally she grabbed each daughter by the arm, turned, and pushed her way through the crowd, departing as though she’d been nothing more than an apparition.

Pippa released a heavy breath just as Arlington pressed a cold glass of punch into her hand.

“Thank you.” Though she wasn’t sure if she was thanking him for the punch or for his interference. Both perhaps.

“Are you acquainted with them?”

“I went to finishing school with Lady Wayland’s daughters.” She pushed out a breath, not wanting to reveal more, but his hard look compelled her to continue. “They were…not kind. Indeed, from the moment I walked through the doors, they set out to make my life a living hell. They succeeded most triumphantly.”

Arlington reached out and traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip. He tipped her chin up, until she was looking directly into his sharp blue eyes. What she saw made her heart clench and squeeze. Sympathy and compassion burned in his eyes, for
her
. “They will never hurt you again.” His voice was low and gentle. Soothing. “You have my word. Never again.” 

She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “You are very kind.”

Arlington dropped his hand and smirked, all traces of sympathy gone. “I am not a kind man. I do what needs to be done, nothing more.”

Blinking up at him, she could see in his eyes that what he said was true. Well, what he believed to be true, in any event. She wasn’t convinced. He’d just proven he could be compassionate.  

“I believe you can be kind, when you choose to be.”

“There should be no illusions between us. Everything I do is a means to an end, Miss Welby. You’d be wise to remember that.”

She already knew that, of course. Still, there was a small part of her that had hoped, if only for a moment, that his advances were guided by genuine admiration for her. It was foolish, she knew—the duke cared for no one save himself—and yet, in his eyes, a moment ago, she’d
thought
she’d glimpsed true affection. A need to defend her, and not just for the sake of his own reputation.   

“Tell me, Your Grace, was your father as cold and practical as you?” It might explain a lot if he’d been raised in the shadow of such a man. 

“He was the reverse, in fact—kind and generous to a fault. It was that kindness that killed him. In the end, when my parents fell ill, there was no money for medication. The people he’d helped had abandoned him.”

A sharp pang of sympathy struck her in the chest. “Surely someone, a relative perhaps, would have stepped in…”

Arlington laughed, but it was a cold, bitter sound. “That would have required my father to admit his own defeat, which he would never have done. Until the very end, he insisted he would rebuild his fortune by his own merits.”

Could there ever have been two men so different—one so generous it was his downfall, and the other so ruthless he was nearly invincible?

“Pride is a family trait, then, I see.”

“I am nothing like my father,” he said. “He was weak, vulnerable. He allowed his kindness to destroy him. I will not make that same mistake.”

“That seems rather harsh.”

“The world is a harsh place, Miss Welby. The strong survive while the weak perish.” He swallowed and for a fraction of a second he had the look of vulnerability about him. A breath later it was gone, replaced again with his hard, implacable demeanor. “That, I’m afraid, is a material fact of life.”

“I’m not sure I agree. There is always a place for kindness in the world—without it, our existence would be very sad indeed.”

He smiled down at her, a perfectly devilish smile that lit her up inside. How in heavens did he do that? Just seeing the tilt of his lips, she positively melted.

“Your optimism is refreshing,” he said. “Come, the play is about to start.”   

After rousing Miss Maddox from her chair, Arlington pressed his hand to the small of Pippa’s back and led them through the crowd to his box. As they walked, she was acutely aware of everyone’s eyes on them. Not only was there a duke in their midst, but he was engaged to the daughter of a
tradesman
as well. She could practically feel the scathing glances being cast her way.

She knew, in that moment, Lady Wayland was not alone in her thinking. They
all
despised her and like Lady Wayland, they no doubt wondered how Pippa had managed to land a duke.

When they arrived at his box, blue brocade drapes fell over the entrance, closing them in. With a groan, Miss Maddox selected one of the chairs near the front, her back to them, and instantly nodded off.

There were several comfortable chairs situated within the spacious compartment, and Pippa took the one that was farthest back. Several candles burned at even intervals along the walls, but here she was cast in shadow. She had no desire to be seen tonight.

“I shouldn’t have come here with you,” she said, tears pricking the backs of her eyes. 

One would think she’d be used to society’s contempt by now, but in truth, it still stung. Every remark, every pointed glance was just another reminder that she would never truly belong to the upper echelons. Not that she wanted to, particularly—the members of the
ton
were far too cruel for her liking. But to be accepted and treated as an equal would be…

Impossible,
her mind finished. 

Perhaps that was why Charles was one of her only friends—they were equals. No pretense or hierarchy. They could enjoy each other’s company without all the tedious posturing.

“Nonsense.” Arlington lowered himself into the chair next to her. He turned to face her, his crystal blue eyes catching in the candlelight. “You belong here, with me. Anyone who claims differently is a fool.”

“
Everyone
claims differently, except you. Perhaps you are the fool.”

He gazed at her for a moment, and she half expected him to give her a set-down for such an impertinent comment. But when he spoke, his voice was gentle. “I have built my fortune by seeing things most people do not. Where others see a mere rock, I see a gem.” He reached out and titled her chin up. “I see a value in you, Miss Welby—beauty and intelligence unparalleled by others of your sex.”