Scoundrel (2 page)

“Remmington and Margaret Granger,” Sophie mused. “The gossips will be in the boughs. Everyone was beginning to think he would never remarry.”

“Oh, don’t look so melancholy,” Lily chided. “The day I admitted my infatuation with Remmington was the same day we decided to find out what brandy tasted like. I didn’t mean half of what I said. Besides, what duke would want to marry a woman who gets tipsy and admits to her friend that she finds him appealing? Margaret Granger would never make such silly confessions under the influence of spirits. The perfectly proper Lady Margaret will make him an excellent duchess.”

“She will probably make a better wife than his first,” Sophie agreed. “His first duchess was legendary for her secret lovers, although they were hardly a secret. They say she died giving birth to a child that could not possibly have been fathered by her husband, he being in the
West Indies
for too many months prior to the event. He did happen to be on hand when she passed away. There are some unsavory rumors about exactly how she died.”

“Remmington had nothing at all to do with his wife’s death,” Lily snapped. “By all accounts, he turned a blind eye to her infidelities. He is not the sort of man whose passions can be stirred by jealousy or revenge, at least, not the way you imply. Although what business it is of ours, I’m sure I don’t know.”

“I didn’t realize you knew him so well.”

“You know very well that I do not.”

“I know you like the man,” Sophie insisted.

“Like him?” Lily made an annoyed click with her tongue. “We’ve never actually met. How could I like him when I don’t even know him? Most people think he’s cold and arrogant, and it’s no secret that he’s a shocking libertine. Last year he flaunted his affair with Lady Penton so openly that Lord Penton finally took his wife on an extended journey to the
East Indies
. Then there was Lady Saint James, Lady Farnsworth, and many others, I’m sure.”

“Good Lord!”

“Shocking, is it not? How could I think him attractive? Really, I’m quite over that silly infatuation. In fact—”

“Yes, of course!” Sophie smiled brightly, her gaze directed over Lily’s left shoulder. “We shall visit Madame Justine’s shop first thing in the morning. Those silks sound positively heavenly.”

It took only a moment for Lily to realize that someone stood behind her. Even without Sophie’s bizarre behavior, she knew she was being watched. From behind her, a deep voice made her breath catch in her throat.

“Good evening, ladies.”

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Sophie murmured.

Sophie’s response and curtsy were properly respectful. Lily turned and stared up in rude silence until Sophie’s elbow nudged her into an awkward curtsy.

One dark brow rose as The Duke of Remmington watched her curtsy before him, otherwise his features remained impassive. Lily hoped her expression reflected the same degree of polite boredom. It was an unlikely hope. She was far too unsettled by his sudden appearance.

She’d caught an occasional glimpse of the darkly handsome duke at balls and parties over the past few years, yet whenever he happened to look her way, his gaze quickly skimmed past her, a silent dismissal of a woman who failed to stir his interest. Yet she’d always hoped. Hoped that one day he wouldn’t look beyond her, hoped his depthless gray eyes would linger for just a moment. Perhaps then he would feel some spark of the same attraction that made her remain for hours at the dullest ball just to catch another glimpse of him. It seemed some strange manifestation of her own longings and imagination that he stood before her now.

How many times had she dreamed of meeting him? How many times had she rehearsed the clever things she would say to impress him? She couldn’t think of a single word to say, much less anything clever.

As Lily gazed up at him, she realized he was taller than she’d thought. The top of her head came only to the middle of his chest, and she had to tilt her head back to study the strong line of his jaw. A hint of dark stubble shadowed his face, the resulting impression both dangerous and masculine. Her gaze lingered on his mouth. The full, perfectly shaped lips managed to look hard and soft at the same time. Disturbed by thoughts of what it would be like to touch those lips, she forced her gaze to travel higher. His eyes weren’t exactly gray. They were a silvery shade of blue, the color of rare Damascus steel. Fascinating.

“I wonder if I might have an introduction, Miss Stanhope?”

Lily’s gaze flew from Remmington to Sophie. “You
know
each other?”

Sophie’s brows drew together in a slight gesture that spoke volumes. Lily knew her blurted question sounded rude, but at the moment she didn’t care.

“We met at Lady Barton’s a few weeks ago,” Sophie replied. She turned again to Remmington. “It would be my pleasure, Your Grace. This is my friend, Lady Lillian Walters, the Earl of Crofford’s daughter. Lily, the Duke of Remmington.”

“Your Grace,” Lily murmured. She remembered to extend her hand, although the gesture looked hurried and clumsy.

Remmington lifted her fingers in a deft movement and bowed over her hand. Even though she expected the kiss against the back of her hand, the pressure of his lips against her lace gloves startled her. Was it just her imagination that made her think he lingered over the kiss?

She stared at the spot where his lips had touched her and watched as he released her hand, watched in amazement as her hand remained extended in midair. It took a conscious effort to force the errant limb to her side.

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Lillian. I wasn’t sure if you ladies would appreciate my interruption. The two of you looked quite engrossed in your discussion.” One brow rose again, as if he’d asked a question. Or perhaps it was a sardonic gesture that said he knew they wouldn’t mind his intrusion.

Lily smiled weakly and wondered if he knew just how much she appreciated his decision to interrupt them. She found his deep, rough-edged voice as fascinating as his face. The sound mesmerized her as she continued to study his features. His size and dark coloring broke all the rules of what society deemed fashionable, but there was a natural masculine grace about him that had nothing to do with fashion or manners. She suspected he could make himself as much at home in a taproom as he could in a ballroom. He regarded her with a combination of wordliness and intelligence that made her breath hard to catch. He looked at her as if he knew everything about her—hopes, dreams, secrets. She wondered if any were safe from that penetrating gaze.

“You are not disturbing us in the least.” This at last from Sophie, after another awkwardly long silence. She pushed her elbow into Lily’s side again, but Lily remained helplessly silent.

Why couldn’t she open her mouth and say something?

“I almost didn’t see you behind all this greenery,” he remarked. One hand swept out to indicate the palms. Lily’s gaze followed the gesture, distracted for the moment by the unstudied ease of his movements. “But I felt certain you, Miss Stanhope, would be the only woman daring enough to wear such a remarkable shade. That color is quite… stunning.”

Sophie glanced down at her dress and said hesitantly, “Why, thank you, Your Grace.”

Lily wondered if he’d just complimented or insulted her friend. She suspected it was his intent to leave them guessing, the glimmer of a cynical side to his personality disturbing, but not surprising. This was the Duke of Remmington. He could do or say almost anything he pleased, and did both with great frequency.

“Are you ladies enjoying
Ashland
‘s little do?” He tilted his head toward the dance floor. “It seems the world is in attendance.”

“The Ashlands always have a crush,” Sophie answered. “It’s been quite pleasant so far. Lord Poundstone and I had a rousing discussion about the artifacts that arrived from
Cairo
last week. Are you interested in Egyptian antiquities, Your Grace?”

“I know very little of the subject, Miss Stanhope.” Remmington’s glance flickered Sophie’s way, then returned to Lily. “How about you, Lady Lillian?”

Lily remained hopelessly silent. What had he and Sophie been talking about? Something about
Egypt
? She’d stared so intently at his eyes that she forgot to pay attention to the conversation. Surely it only seemed like an hour of silence before he explained the question.

“Do you share Miss Stanhope’s interest in Egyptian antiquities, Lady Lillian?”

“No.”

“Lily and I were just on our way to find a glass of punch,” Sophie said, taking control of the conversation. Lily silently blessed her. “Would you care to join us?”

“Actually, I would much rather join one of you ladies in a dance.” He executed another bow while his gaze held Lily’s captive. “Would you do me the honor, Lady Lillian?”

Lily didn’t remember if she answered the question, but he extended his arm to escort her onto the ballroom floor. The spell he wove around her seemed to lose its potency the moment she stepped forward, probably because she had to concentrate on where she placed her feet so she wouldn’t trip over them. It occurred to her that Miles Garrett Montague, the twelfth Duke of Remmington and holder of many lesser titles, was the last man on earth she should dance with that evening. He was very likely engaged to Margaret Granger. She had no right to feel so giddy over the attentions of another woman’s fiancé. And she had no business feeling any sort of interest in a man as clever as Remmington.

That didn’t change the fact that she felt as if she walked on air as he led her onto the dance floor. What harm could there be in one dance? What harm could there be in pretending, just for a few moments, that they were a couple? No one would ever know how aware she was of even the smallest details of her first encounter with Remmington, how she couldn’t stop staring at him. She studied the pattern of a small scar that marred his chin, then closed her eyes for a moment to savor the slight scent of tobacco, brandy, and some other indefinable male scent that drifted across her senses.

Beneath her hand and the smooth silk fabric of his sleeve, she could feel the impressive muscles that made her seem small and slight in comparison. She felt those same strong muscles along his shoulder when she placed her hand there to begin the dance. Male strength and virility surrounded her, his nearness a tangible sensation as potent as finely aged brandy. The first few strains of music drifted across the room and Lily’s eyes widened with delight as she realized the orchestra was beginning a waltz.

Because he was one of the few men who could smile down at a lady five and a half feet tall, it took her a moment to wonder why he was smiling at all. And why was there a hint of triumph in his eyes, as if he’d known all along that they would dance this intimate dance? She knew the Ashlands didn’t approve of the waltz, but they would make certain the orchestra played anything a duke wanted to hear. The vague suspicions about his long-awaited interest crystallized into a cold, hard lump of certainty. If her suspicions were right, she didn’t interest him in the least. She’d spent the last few minutes gazing cow-eyed at a man who intended to use her. His devastating smile made the butterflies in her stomach sink like lead weights.

She schooled her features to reveal none of her suspicions and to wipe every trace of her foolish infatuation from her face. Her gaze focused on his shoulder, and she made herself pretend that he was but another dandy who sought her hand for a dance, no more than a casual acquaintance. It was a difficult task and she didn’t quite succeed, but at least her thoughts were no longer scattered and she felt a little more in control of her emotions.

“You appear quite pleased about something, Your Grace.” She made the words flow like warm butter, pleased to note a new, wary edge to his smile. For a moment she dared to hope that he hadn’t noticed the way she’d stared at him when they met, or that he would simply think her empty-headed. If he’d thought to sweep her off her feet, he was about to find out that his ploy didn’t work. She lowered her lashes in a coy gesture that she’d watched many women practice on him when they flirted. “To what do I owe the favor of your smile?”

He looked puzzled by her remark, as if distracted by the fact that they were conversing at all. His smile faded. “What gentleman would not be pleased when a beautiful woman is in his arms for the waltz?”

“Indeed.” She inclined her head to acknowledge the compliment and studied his face unhurriedly, feature by feature. She didn’t really know what she was looking for. A trace of compassion? Or perhaps some hint of interest in his extraordinary eyes? Whatever it was, she didn’t find it. His true opinion of her remained his own. Though his compliment sounded genuine, hers rang cynical and insincere. “And what lady could help but be pleased, when she is dancing the waltz with a handsome gentleman?” She raised her brows in a superb imitation of a shrug and continued to glide gracefully through the dance. “Of course, the lady would also be contemplating the gentleman’s fiancée, who is surely devising any number of slow, painful tortures at this moment. Tortures applied best to the woman being danced with for the sole purpose of making a certain Lady Margaret jealous.”

The corners of his mouth tightened and she watched him nod to an acquaintance as they moved past another couple on the dance floor. At last his gaze returned to her face, his displeasure apparent. “How did you know?”

Her smile hid the sting of his words. She’d wanted so badly to be wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be this callous and unfeeling. He was supposed to be kind and courteous, the epitome of everything she might admire in a gentleman.