Mad About the Duke (24 page)

Yes, right up to the hilt, and then the twist.

James didn't think he'd ever been insulted so in public.

At least not to his face.

And the lady didn't appear to have the least bit of remorse over her comments. Then again, she wasn't even looking at him.

“Your Grace, it was delightful to meet you,” she was saying to Avenbury, making a lovely and graceful curtsey.

The boy bowed in return. “Until next week, Lady Standon.”

As for him, James got the cut direct, for she didn't even deign him with a word.

Not even to tell him to go to hell.

She turned and walked off, dogs in tow and not a glance in his direction.

Apparently one didn't need to be a full-grown man to know what that meant.

Avenbury nudged him. “You might want to go after her.”

And as much as James knew he should go after her, he couldn't quite shake the murderous glare in her eyes. So he stood there beside his co-conspirator and watched her stomp across the meadow.

“She's rather mad,” he demurred.

“She's furious with you,” the boy said, getting straight to the point.

Ah, youth. There was no mincing words with them.

“Yes, quite,” James agreed. Actually, watching her stalk away was rather fascinating, for he couldn't help think of his brother's delight at having Miranda in high dudgeons.

Elinor, it seemed, had much the same temperament. Delightfully so. Such passion…such fire…

Still, that discovery didn't have him trotting across the fields after her.

After all, he already had one black eye, and she'd lived with Lucy Sterling long enough to have quite possibly learned how to deliver a stunning facer.

And more to the point, he probably deserved one.

Avenbury nudged him again. “You shouldn't let her go.”

“I suppose not,” he admitted.

“Parkerton, you're not afraid of Lady Standon, are you?”

James laughed. “I believe I am. A little.”

And it wasn't just the possibility of another facer but what the lady did to his heart.

Avenbury laughed as well. “Gramshaw says a duke isn't afraid of anything. 'Tis why Wellington was elevated.”

James met the boy's gaze. “A wise duke knows when he's met his match, Avenbury.”

The child proved stubborn, crossing his arms over his chest and looking as ducal as one could at the wry age of eleven. “Then I would think you've met yours.”

L
ady Standon! Lady Standon! Hold up,” the wretched blackguard called out to her.

Elinor continued apace.

In fact, she quickened her steps. Of course she was furious at St. Maur for his deception.

But there was one other problem.

She was utterly relieved that the Duke of Avenbury was, shall one say, unavailable. At least for a good ten years.

Relieved?
She shouldn't be relieved. Her list had just been halved. And she needed a husband. A ducal one.

Yet as much as she needed to marry, she couldn't shake this dangerous desire to find a happy match out of this desperate situation.

A marriage of passion and fire, like the scandalous heat that burned through her every time she got within kissing distance of St. Maur.

Oh, bother! When she got in the same room with him. Dreamt of him. Imagined him at all sorts of hours.

How difficult could it be to find such a man?

Longford is such a man,
she told herself, willing herself to believe it.
He is.
Respectable. Charming. The perfect choice.

Why, he'd been utterly attentive the other night at Lady Lowde's musicale, solicitous even…and there were the armloads of flowers he'd sent over, expensive hothouse roses…sweet orange blossoms, and even orchids.

And yet…

“Lady Standon, will you wait up?” St. Maur called after her.

More like ordered.

No, she most decidedly would not. Be ordered around by the likes of him.

Then, much to her chagrin, he took matters into his own hands.

From behind her, a sharp whistle pierced the air. The dogs reacted in unison, all coming to a halt, then spinning around and bolting toward the man.

Elinor found herself in a tangle of leads, and dogs, and limbs.

“Traitors!” she scolded, trying her best to haul them into order, but it was too late.

St. Maur's ploy worked only too well, giving him just the time he needed to catch up with her.

“What do you want?” she demanded, doing her best to untangle the leads and ignore him.

“Sit!” he ordered the dogs, and they all did. “Now, that is better.”

She shot a wry glance up at him. He had better not think her all that biddable.

Without asking, he reached over and took Bastion's rope from her hand so she could bend down to get Ivo and Fagus undone.

The little wretches, faced with this towering man of order, sat on their haunches like a trio of well-trained soldiers.

“St. Maur, what have you to say?” she said as she rose up and faced him.

He looked slightly contrite, as much as this arrogant fellow could. She thought for a second he was about to apologize, possibly even beg her forgiveness. As well he should.

Of course, he didn't.

“That went well, don't you think?” he said, rocking on his heels and looking so very well pleased with himself.

Elinor couldn't even manage to sputter.
Incorrigible, wretched bast—

“Yes, an excellent start to our venture, don't you think?”

“How dare you!” she finally burst out, having found her tongue.

And being an incorrigible bastard, he ignored her completely. “I suppose this does mean you will need to revise your list slightly.”

“Revise it?” she managed.

“Yes, exactly,” he said, snapping his fingers at her. “Make some additions to it. I've got some names I'd like to suggest, such as—”

“You?! You are going to suggest names for me to—” Elinor tightened up the leads she held, then snatched Bastion's from his grasp before she turned and marched away. “Of all the utter nonsense.”

This time he followed, right on her heels.

“You have to admit your first choice—”

She turned around and glared at him, if only because she had a moment while she waited for an opening in the carriages and carts.

“And who would you add?” she scoffed.

He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled, as if he was about to offer her the finest man in the land. “Parkerton.”

“Not him again,” she groaned.

“Yes. I think Parkerton would make an—”

Her laughter cut him off. Parkerton? That was the best he could do? She laughed even harder. “You, sir, are as mad as he is reputed to be.”

St. Maur appeared affronted. “He is not mad!”

“Most of his relations are,” she countered.

He could hardly argue with that. “I can assure you, the Duke of Parkerton is of a sound mind.”

She sputtered, trying to find the right words. Words that didn't reveal the truth.

I don't want sound…I want you…Someone who infuriates me one moment, and makes me feel entirely scandalous the next.

“If you are of a mind,” he said, taking her silence as some form of acquiescence, “I can arrange a meeting—”

“Oh, no you don't,” she told him, shaking a finger at him to emphasize the point. “I don't want to meet the man.”

“But he isn't—”

“Isn't what?” she pressed. “Like his brother? Mad Jack Tremont? His reputation alone is more than enough for me. I was married to one rotter. I will not marry another.” An opening came in the traffic and she gathered up her skirts and hurried across.

St. Maur followed, still pressing his point. “You can hardly judge a man by his brother, madame.”

“You can't?” she asked. “Did you ever meet my husband, Edward?”

The man shook his head.

“No, I suppose not. I have to imagine you don't travel in such circles. But if you had met him, you would have also met his brother Philip. Two apples from the same tree—spoiled down to their cores.” She huffed a sigh. “I have no doubt that Mad Jack and Parkerton are not much different. And I will not entangle myself or my sister with such an association.”

Parkerton, indeed!

“Then what do you propose to do, madame?” he demanded in that haughty, self-important way of his.

“Longford, sir,” she told him. “The Duke of Longford is still a viable candidate.” Elinor paused and cocked a brow at him, hoping to quell his smug expression. “And I have the advantage of knowing
he
is of age. So I shall concentrate all my efforts on him.”

Oh, her declaration did exactly what she'd hoped. Brought St. Maur to a stop. What she hadn't expected was for him to explode like an overinflated balloon.

“Over my dead body!”

She turned and looked at him. Instead of being cowed into listening to him, for his tone implied that he was well used to getting his way, that in no uncertain terms was he going to tolerate being brooked, she stubbornly set her heels.

“The Duke of Longford is no man for you, madame,” he continued with barely concealed fury. “He is a wretched bounder.”

Now she laughed again. “Good heavens, St. Maur, now you have gone too far. The Duke of Longford is charming and gracious.”

“In good company, yes,” he agreed, raking a hand through his hair. “Yet he doesn't always keep the
best of company, something I would think you know a little about.”

This stilled her, for indeed she did. Edward's company had always been the worst sort of fellows.

Despite being the second son of a duke, then eventually the heir, Edward Sterling had been barely received in good company, so to compare him to Longford was ridiculous, for Longford was received everywhere.

Still, Aunt Bedelia's confession about the man came back to haunt her.
Now there are rumors about Longford, and when I mentioned him to Chudley, he made a rather indelicate noise about the man….

But then again, how was she to trust St. Maur's estimation of the man?

“Do you, sir?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

“Do you keep the right sort of company?”

“What has that got to do—”

“Exactly my point. No man is perfect. And while I don't expect Longford to be all that different than most men of his rank, he
is
received, and that says more to me than your assertions to the contrary.”

He shook his head furiously. “Longford is out of the question, Lady Standon. And that is the end of the matter.”

She took a step back. “The end of the matter? You have no right to order me about.”

He crossed his arms and set his jaw. Actually he was rather handsome when he took such a stubborn stance, but right now she wasn't about to be bowled over by his presumption or his all-too-attractive veneer.

“Good day, St. Maur,” she said, nodding her dis
missal and continuing down the block toward Grosvenor Square.

“Madame, this is not up for discussion,” he said, hurrying after her. “You hired me to gain you an opinion of these men, and I am giving you one.”

“How unfortunate you were not as forthcoming about Avenbury.”

“Yes, well, I might have been a bit—”

“High-handed? Presumptuous?”

His jaw worked back and forth.

“The Duke of Longford has invited me to a private ball tomorrow night,” she told him. “And I will gain my own opinion of him then. Thankfully, without your interference, for the evening is invitation only and I doubt you will find his affairs as easy to breach as Setchfield's.”

She set out once again and therefore missed his parting shot.

“We shall see about that, madame,” he vowed. “We shall see.”

 

What sort of place is this?
James thought later that evening, as he and Jack descended from the plain hackney Jack had insisted they take on their errand to meet with Lord Lewis. The stench in the air overpowered him for a moment, while the looming, teetering houses that leaned against each other and into the streets had him worried he was about to be buried alive. But no, this grim pall that hung over everything was his first introduction to the dangerous world of Seven Dials.

Not that he didn't send one last, wistful glance at the hackney as it rolled quickly away, leaving him and Jack alone on this dark corner of hell.

But here he was. For if James was going to stop
Elinor from making a cake of herself over Longford, or worse, find herself embroiled in one of the duke's infamous parties, he needed to first stop Lewis's threats—the ones that were pushing her into making a hurried and ill-gotten marriage.

And so he'd sought Jack's help. Having been both a rake and a rogue before his less than noble talents had been honed to perfection by the Foreign Office, now it was time for Jack to put those nefarious skills to a new use—guiding James into the underbelly of London.

For that was where they would be able to find Lewis and trap him—and more importantly, stop him.

James had never thought he'd see the day when Jack's ill-gained talents would come in handy, but here it was.

“Good God, Jack, where have you brought me?” he asked.

“The sort of place you will find the devil and all his accompanying vices,” Jack said with cool confidence as he made his way down a garbage-strewn alley. “And if you want to match wits with the likes of Lewis, you are going to have to beat him without him seeing it coming.”

“As in, he would hardly expect the Duke of Parkerton to be playing cards in such a place.”

“Or losing like he's on his last vowel.”

“Must I spend the evening losing?”

Jack had come up with this plan, but James wasn't so sure about it. Especially when it meant gambling away a good bit of gold just to lure Lewis into their trap.

“Once you're seen as an easy mark, you'll have Lewis and his ilk circling in. No gamester can resist a goose out to be plucked.”

“Oh, so now I'm a goose,” James said, stepping around something that appeared to be…Oh, good Lord, that wasn't what he thought it was…James cringed. Yes, it was. “You really spent your time down here?” he asked, perplexed and a bit dazed by his brother's former haunt.

“Only when you cut me off,” Jack said merrily over his shoulder as he wove past a fellow who had passed out and been left by his companions.

“My apologies,” James said.

“Oh, don't apologize,” Jack said, waving him off. “I would never have found Miranda if it hadn't been for you cutting me off ‘once and for all.'”

James glanced over his shoulder and took another look at the hapless rake. “Isn't that—”

Jack nodded. “Oh, aye. Surprised he's still alive—but then again, tomorrow probably won't be the first morning he's woken up in the gutter with his pockets picked and his boots missing.”

“Shouldn't we—”

“No. We have our own concerns,” Jack said in a sharp, hard voice. “It is how it is played down here. Every man for himself. Don't forget that. And watch your back. I'll do my best to keep an eye out, but it would be best if no one recognizes you.”

“I doubt we will run into my usual crowd.” Besides, he'd donned another of Jack's suits for the night…Demmit, this charade needed to end, and end soon. Poor Richards was coming close to quitting over his master's new attire.

Jack glanced over at him and nodded in agreement. “You'd be well to remember that these players aren't your friends. They might have a title, or they might not, but they all have one thing in common: despera
tion. You only come down this far when you are on your last rag and need to climb out.”

James was no coward by any stretch of the imagination and had thought himself a bit dashing in his day, but never had he sunk down into this sort of company. Leaving one's companions to fend for themselves? Setting up subterfuge in order to win at cards? Why, it bordered on cheating, something James found deplorable.

The entire situation set his teeth on edge, but as Jack had explained it, there was no better way to steal away Lewis's hold on Tia's guardianship than by, well, stealing it away.

For Elinor, he told himself, using her image to illuminate the darkness around them. He'd do anything for her.