My Dark Duke (9 page)

‘Well, then, please proceed.' The earl retreated to the side of the room and rang for a footman.

James noticed the bemused look on diMarco's face as the duke removed his coat, waistcoat and cravat, handing it over to the servant. The tutor handed him a foil and James took his place at the line that had been marked on the floor. His opponent did the same.

The fencers saluted each other.

‘
En garde
,' called out diMarco.

They adopted their positions.

‘
Pret. Allez.
'

The duke was taken by surprise when his opponent immediately advanced upon him. However, being an experienced fencer, he parried the lunge easily and made an advance himself as the other man recovered from the lunge, stepping backwards. James's thrust was met with a circular parry and the slighter man leapt backwards as he advanced. With a few deft strokes he managed to touch the tip of the foil just below his opponent's shoulder.

‘Halt!'

One point to James.

The fencers went back to their starting positions. This time, it was the duke who went on the offensive first. The other man danced backwards, using the cross-steps James had witnessed earlier. His opponent parried the duke's attacks skilfully, feinting and dodging the foil with his weapon and his quick footwork.

Soon, it was James who was retreating. But not for long. He feinted left, and when his opponent moved, immediately attacked, his advance-lunge perfectly executed. But as his opponent swerved to the side to avoid him, something happened to make James freeze in his tracks.

He never would have dreamt he could be distracted in the middle of a bout. Or that he would be so uncouth and uncontrolled as to stare agape at anyone. Except he was doing exactly that. All because of some hair. His opponent's hair, to be exact. A thick skein of midnight silk was unravelling down from the back of the mask. He felt as if his thoughts were unravelling in the same way.

There was a stunned silence in the room as James tried to process what he was seeing.

A woman?

He had been duelling with a woman? How was that even possible? What woman was allowed to fence? Before he could demand to know her identity, the woman recovered, swung around and touched her foil to the centre of his chest.

‘
Touché
,' she pronounced, stepping back and lifting the mask up and over her head.

James blinked at the vision before him. Of all the scenarios he had imagined, he had never considered that this would be his next meeting with the lady who had been a constant presence in his mind for weeks. For one, he had never pictured her in a shirt and breeches. Breeches which lovingly moulded to the curve of her bottom and her supple, muscled thighs. He forced the image of them wrapped around his body out of his mind.
This is not the time for that, you lust-driven fool
. ‘Lady Alethea. I didn't expect to meet you under these circumstances.' An understatement, to be sure.

She blushed, though a smile lit up her countenance. Tendrils of damp hair curled wildly about her face and her already rosy cheeks were flushed. James had to remind himself not to touch her temptingly soft skin. He was glad the others were too far away to hear his conversation with her.

‘You took me by surprise, too, Your Grace.' Her voice was slightly husky. It did not assist in abating his desire for her.

There were a thousand and one things he wanted to say to her, but this was neither the time nor the place. So he decided to address the subject at hand. ‘May I congratulate you on that last point you scored.'

She graciously inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Your Grace. It was too good an opportunity for me to pass up.' There was not a trace of shame on her lovely face.

James felt his own lips twitch. ‘You did not consider it unfair to take that point, then?'

The dark-haired minx had the gall to shrug her shoulders. ‘Why ever would I think that? I had not planned for my bothersome hair to fall down, hence distracting you.'

He nodded agreeably. ‘No, certainly not. You are right, of course. It was entirely my fault for being distracted. It was rather careless of me.'

‘If you were in a duel, you would be as dead as the proverbial doornail by now, Your Grace.' The lady gave him a guileless look.

‘A lady is always right.' James didn't bother to state the obvious: that he would not have duelled with a woman and would therefore have had no cause to be distracted. ‘Just so we can decide on the winner of this bout, should we proceed for another point?'

Lady Alethea chewed her lip. She looked hesitant. As well she should be, thought James. She knew he had far more experience than she did, no matter how talented she was.

‘If you don't say yes, I will begin to think that you are afraid of losing, my lady.' James was not above being underhanded in these sorts of matters. He believed he knew her character well enough.

She set her jaw stubbornly. ‘I am certainly not afraid,' she uttered immediately, proving him right.

He hid his elation, keeping his expression perfectly blank. ‘Well, in that case, let's make this more interesting, shall we? Let's have a wager.'

A look of suspicion joined the frown. ‘What sort of wager?'

‘If I win . . .' Inspiration suddenly struck and he smiled wickedly at her. ‘You will freely bestow upon me an article of clothing.'

She gaped at him, her incredibly black eyes rounding like saucers. It was all he could do not to drag her into his arms and kiss her senseless. ‘A . . . an article of clothing?'

James almost laughed out loud. A lesser woman would doubtless have swooned. Not her. ‘Do not be concerned, I promise it won't be anything too scandalous.'

‘Your Grace, this conversation is scandalous enough,' she answered pertly. ‘But I accept.'

‘And what is to be your prize, then?'

‘I shall tell you after the bout.'

The duke inclined his head. ‘Very well. Shall we begin?'

‘Of course.'

This time, James gave no quarter. He wanted his prize and he took no chances. Advance, lunge, parry, advance, advance-lunge, remise, riposte, attack. He did not retreat once. Their foils finally engaged and James knew then that he had her. Slowly, surely, he leaned against her weapon with his until she was forced to take a step back over the marked line.

The point was his.

He stepped back and dropped his arm. They stared at each other, breaths coming fast. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his friend turn to speak with the Italian.

‘I have decided. I will have a glove, Lady Alethea. At our next meeting at an evening function, you shall give me your glove. A glove which you shall be wearing on the night.'

Her dark eyes widened.

He had her.

James smiled and was about to turn away when he remembered his earlier question. ‘What would have been your prize?' His eyebrows lifted at the smile that now wreathed her face. A smile filled with no little mischief.

‘It was to have been a kiss from you.'

As he stood there, stunned, she turned to walk away, pausing just long enough to say, ‘So you see, you should have allowed me to win. It was most unchivalrous of you, Your Grace. I bid you farewell for now.'

He did not know how long it was before he recovered enough to hear the earl calling out to him. By then, she was gone. James narrowed his eyes as he strode towards the two men. Enough was enough. She had bested him for the last time. Anticipation burned through his veins at the thought of their next meeting. She was going to learn that an innocent was no match for the Dark Duke.

A Glove Pays a Debt of Honour

‘Do you see him yet?'

‘No . . . not yet.' Alethea was distracted as she answered her sister's question. Her eyes searched the large ballroom for the man she both yearned and dreaded to see. It had been more than a week, nine days to be exact, since her fencing bout with the duke. To her disappointment, he had not visited her. Nor did she meet him at any of the engagements she had attended.

Tonight's event was different, though. The charity ball hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Drakeford was one of the premiere events of the season. Everyone who was anyone would be present. If Trent did not turn up at the gathering tonight, then Alethea would know for certain that he was avoiding her. Not that she could really blame him. She had acted like a common trollop at their last meeting. Saying that her prize would have been a kiss from him. It was a complete lie.

Well, perhaps four-fifths of one. Her brow furrowed. Two-fifths? All right, so she wanted him to kiss her. Among other things. Things that Ruth had explained one did in the marriage bed. Oh dear. She
must
be a trollop. She would have wagered her favourite foil that none of the unwed ladies in the room would have had such wicked thoughts as hers. Alethea sighed, resigned to the fact that her soul was more than likely already in the possession of the devil. At least that was what Reverend Short – whose surname was most misleading when it came to his sermons – had preached in one of his tedious services while she was growing up.

Oh well, if she was going to be damned for all eternity, she might as well experience an actual kiss. As she and Charlotte walked across the ballroom behind their parents, she wondered idly what the duke's reaction would be if she threw herself at him in one of the dimly lit corridors like some vulgar streetwalker. Somehow she didn't think he was the shy and retiring type. The memory of how he had advanced upon her with single-minded intent during their bout still sent a shiver down her spine.

‘Alethea. Look, over there,' whispered her sister.

Alethea looked in the direction Charlotte was indicating, as inconspicuously as she could. It still took her a few moments to spot the man on whom her thoughts had been centred; there were so many guests about. Tonight Trent was again attired entirely in black as he had been the first time she met him. His appearance was strikingly stark amid the kaleidoscope of bright colours around him. He was standing with a small group of men, some of whom Alethea recognised as members of the Whigs. As if he could sense her eyes on him, he turned to look straight at her.

Their eyes met across the sea of wigs and powdered hair.

And, just as before, she felt a tingling in her nerve endings at the intensity in his dark eyes, even from that distance. She held her breath when she saw him say something to his companions and walk away, another man also separating from the group and following in his wake.

‘Sinclair,' hissed the duchess. ‘Trent is on his way over. Do make yourself presentable.'

‘Victoria, I am not a two-year-old with gravy on his shirt, for God's sake.' Alethea's father turned to the approaching man. ‘Trent.'

Alethea observed the two dukes exchange nods. ‘Alton.' Trent turned to her mother and bowed. ‘Your Grace, Lady Alethea, Lady Charlotte.'

The duchess inclined her head while Alethea and her sister curtsied. ‘Your Grace,' they replied in unison.

‘Your Graces, Lady Alethea, Lady Charlotte, I would like to introduce a friend of mine from Eton, Dr Thaddeus Cole.'

‘Dr Cole,' murmured Alethea politely. The doctor was tall and thin, with angular features. Warm brown eyes shone intelligently from behind wire-rimmed spectacles. While the doctor exchanged greetings with the other members of her family, she considered him with some curiosity. It was extremely unusual for a peer of the realm to be seen consorting with someone from the gentry, much less openly acknowledge a friendship with one. Of course, Trent had the advantage of being a duke. He could get away with much more than a lesser peer could.

‘Dr Cole?' The duchess's tone was haughty and Alethea and Charlotte exchanged looks. They were more than used to their mother's opinion and attitude towards those she deemed below their social standing. Today, though, Alethea wished her mother were a different person. She knew that she was wondering how it was the doctor had even received an invitation to the charity ball. She saw the awkward look on Dr Cole's face and gave him a reassuring smile.

‘Trent, did I see you speaking to Rockingham a moment ago?' Alethea looked across to see her father speak.

‘Yes, you did. We were discussing the current situation in the Americas. There appears to be interest in enacting a bill of rights there. Of course they will be looking at our Bill of Rights as a starting point for their drafting.'

‘Interesting.' The older man looked thoughtful. ‘I presume, though, that if that is ever enacted, it would only extend to the landowners there.'

‘I would say that would be more than likely,' commented Trent.

As the two dukes continued their conversation, Alethea turned to the doctor. ‘Dr Cole, I hear from Lady Martindale that you were successful in treating her megrims. May I ask how it was that you cured her?'

The young man with the angular features and gangly build looked surprised. Alethea guessed he wasn't so much surprised at the question as the fact that someone had spoken to him. ‘O-of course. I spoke with the lady about her condition and noticed that she seemed to have some difficulty with her sight. After further tests, I ascertained that it was actually her eyesight which was causing her pain. From then on, I had her fitted with a set of spectacles so that she could continue embroidering without the constant pain of headaches.'

‘That is a most impressive diagnosis, Dr Cole. It is not just Lady Martindale who sings your praises. I have heard from a number of other friends that you have a great talent for healing.'

The doctor blushed. ‘You are most kind, Lady Alethea. I cannot take any credit; I am merely fortunate to be gifted with the skill.'

‘Well, I know that if I ever fall ill I will most certainly send for your services, Dr Cole.' Alethea looked up to see that her mother had turned away to speak to one of the other guests. ‘No matter what my mother says,' she added in a low voice.

Dr Cole must have seen the twinkle in her eye. ‘It would be my pleasure to treat you, Lady Alethea. Though I do hope those occasions are few and far between.'

She smiled. ‘As do I.'

‘Lady Alethea.' She turned to find that the duke was now standing next to her; her father had joined the small party of guests directly behind them.

‘Your Grace.' Her eyes met his and, just like that, she felt breathless yet again. Perhaps Martha had laced her corset more tightly than usual this evening. Next to her, she heard Charlotte reply to a question the doctor had put to her.

‘I was hoping that I could have the dinner dance. That is, if it has not already been taken.' The duke's voice was low, almost intimate.

Alethea swallowed. ‘I could play the coquette and tease, but it is not in my nature to do so.' She smiled somewhat ruefully. ‘Besides, as I am well and truly on the shelf, my dance card always looks rather forlorn.'

His answer was direct. ‘I can't understand why.'

She felt her cheeks warm at the intensity of his gaze. ‘The answer is yes, I would be pleased to be your partner for the dinner dance.'

‘Good.' He smiled. She felt her breath catch in her throat at the predatory look in his eyes that he did not bother to hide. ‘You haven't forgotten our wager, I see.'

She looked down at her arms, which were covered by a pair of long evening gloves that reached above her elbows, the pristine whiteness contrasting sharply with the dark azure silk of her evening gown. ‘No, I have not. Although you will need to assist me, Your Grace.' At his arched eyebrow, she raised a hand in the pretence of smoothing a curl into place. In the process she exposed a very long row of small buttons on the underside of the glove.

‘Good Lord,' muttered the duke. Alethea hid a smile at the astonishment in his eyes. He shook his head in admiration. ‘Even in defeat you manage to take the upper hand. I shall take it as a personal challenge.'

‘Your Grace,' Alethea felt compelled to say, ‘I can only give the glove to you at the end of the night.' She heard the trace of anxiety in her voice.

‘Calm yourself, my lady. I have no wish to cause any scandal, or you any embarrassment.' Trent looked at her, a serious expression on his face. ‘In fact, just say the word, and we can forget that we ever had the wager.'

Alethea shook her head. ‘Oh no. I may not be a man, but I too have a sense of honour. I will abide by the outcome of our wager.'

‘I am unspeakably pleased,' he replied in a low voice. ‘I promise not to claim my prize till later in the evening.'

‘Thank you.'

‘If I had my way, I would stand here and speak to you all evening, but I believe the tongues are already wagging, so Cole and I will take our leave. I shall come to you when it is time for our dance.'

Alethea had just bid the duke adieu when she heard her name being called. Turning around, a smile broke out on her face as she spied her beloved friend.

‘Ruth!' The two women embraced.

‘Oh Alethea, I have missed you so.' Ruth turned to Charlotte. ‘How are you, dear?'

‘I am very well, Ruth,' replied Charlotte, before turning to her sister. ‘I do not mean to be rude, but I have just seen Alexandra and her mama. May I go and speak to her, Alethea?'

‘Of course.' Once her sister had left, Alethea turned back to her friend. ‘You look extremely well; the country air must have been invigorating.'

The blonde woman beamed at her. ‘It was a lovely break from town, I must admit. But enough about me, what has happened while I have been away?'

‘Nothing much.' At her friend's doubtful look, Alethea sighed. ‘Oh fine, you already know about our last ride. Something unexpected happened after Trent returned.' She quickly told Ruth about the duel. However, she left out the part about the wager. It was strange, as she never kept secrets from her best friend, but the wager was a detail that was precious to her. Precious enough that she wanted to keep it all to herself.

‘The duke was not scandalised when he found out that it was you?' Ruth's eyes were wide. Alethea grinned. Despite being a married woman, Ruth still managed to retain a certain innocence and naivety which was adorable. Doubtless it was also one of the qualities that her husband loved about her.

‘No, he wasn't. I was as surprised at his reaction as you are now.'

‘And you were wearing breeches? Oh Thea,' said her friend, shaking her head. ‘Your mother will have an apoplectic fit if she were ever to find out.'

‘Which she never will, Ruth. Promise me you won't speak a word of this to anyone.'

‘You know you needn't worry. My lips are sealed.' Ruth's face brightened as her eyes focused on a point beyond Alethea. ‘Henry is on his way over.'

‘Good evening, Alethea,' said Pembroke.

‘Henry,' Alethea curtsied to his bow. ‘It has been an age since I last saw you. You look well.'

The fair-haired man gave her an easy smile, making his boyish countenance look extraordinarily charming. It didn't surprise her at all that her friend had fallen for him. ‘I am feeling better than I have for a long time. That last bout of influenza was extremely draining. It is only thanks to Dr Cole that I am still among the living.'

‘Henry, don't say that,' chided Ruth.

‘All right, my love, I shan't. I am sorry. Now Alethea, what's this I hear about you consorting with Trent?' He gave her a questioning look.

Alethea forced herself not to shift her feet. Despite his easy-going appearance, Henry was perceptive. ‘The duke has shown some interest in me.'

‘Ruth did tell you about what happened to his wife, did she not?'

‘Yes, she did. But I don't believe it happened the way the gossip says it did.'

The earl inclined his head in agreement. ‘That may very well be true, Alethea, but be warned, Trent is a much harder man that you believe him to be. I am a member of his club and I have seen him in his business dealings. He is not a man to cross. Don't be fooled by his charming exterior. There are many men in London who rue the day they met him.'

Alethea felt her heart beat faster at the utter seriousness in Henry's eyes. Was it true? Was the duke really as ruthless as Henry was suggesting? Surely not. ‘I will keep that in mind, Henry. Thank you.'

He smiled again and she felt the tension ease out of her shoulders. ‘Now, shall we have the next dance before my wife orders us to? You must tell me about that new thoroughbred your father recently purchased.'

Alethea nodded, smiling as he led her towards the other dancers.

‘You are an accomplished dancer,' commented Trent as they walked into the dining room.

‘Thank you. I must pay you the same compliment, Your Grace. You have an excellent sense of timing.'

‘Timing. Yes. A notion that is as important on the dance floor as it is in more intimate matters.'

Alethea almost stumbled, stunned into silence at the suggestiveness of the statement.

The duke chuckled. ‘At last I gain the upper hand. I was on the verge of thinking that the effect you have on my hapless brain and wits was irreversible. I am relieved to find that untrue.'

They took their place in the long queue of guests for the dining table. She flashed him a sideways glance, frowning. ‘That was most unkind of you, speaking of matters which you are well aware should not be spoken of in polite company. Especially when you know I cannot respond in kind, as I know nothing of that subject.'

His voice was low as he replied, ‘A situation which I hope I will be able to rectify in the future.'