The Duke's Accidental Wife (Dukes of War Book 7) (2 page)

“Good to see you,” Ravenwood said gruffly. And so it was.

With them, there was no need to put on airs. Their company was a pleasure. Bartholomew Blackpool had been one of his bosom friends since they were children.

Much had happened since then. Ravenwood’s parents had died while he was a schoolboy at Eton. The French Revolution had been raging for years, and had taken a turn for the worse right around the time they’d all left Cambridge.

When Blackpool and a few others had joined the Army to fight Napoleon, Ravenwood had not been able to join them. Indeed, he had initially been jealous.

From the moment he’d inherited his title, every breath, every moment, had been dedicated to the dukedom. To being the sort of man his parents would have wanted him to be. To being a duke that would have made them proud.

And that meant rigid adherence to gentlemanly conduct. Protecting the title and the estate. Staying home. Leaving battles and regimentals to freer men.

But the reality of war had soon become clear.

Major Blackpool had returned home not in glory, but delirious with pain. He’d lost his leg and his brother on the battlefield. He wouldn’t be alive at all if another friend hadn’t risked his own life to drag the injured man to safety.

Ravenwood swallowed. If he had been present that day, might he have been able to save his friends from tragedy? Or might he have been the one never to return, leaving his lifeblood and his father’s cherished title to trickle into nothing upon the battlefield?

Now was not the time to dwell on dark thoughts. It was a happy surprise indeed to be able to spend the evening with close friends.

Before he could ask Daphne how she was faring or what plans they had for the baby, Ravenwood’s sister forcibly tugged him toward a third party, whom he hadn’t initially noticed due to his excitement to see the others.

His posture tightened at the sight of a pretty young lady with glossy blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a quick smile.

Miss Katherine Ross. Cousin to the infamous Duke of Lambley. Hoyden extraordinaire.

Ravenwood narrowed his eyes at his sister.      

It was a truth universally acknowledged that Lady Amelia loved her brother dearly. And that she was an unrepentant busybody of the first order.

He would not put any scheme past his sister. Including a misguided attempt to matchmake her brother with a long-legged, laughing-eyed woman that he could not possibly abide. Ravenwood frowned at Miss Ross in distaste.

Lady Amelia barreled on, as if the sudden return of Ravenwood’s icy public demeanor was of no consequence. “Katherine, it is my absolute pleasure to present His Grace, the Duke of Ravenwood. Ravenwood, please allow me to present Miss Katherine Ross. She is cousin to the Duke of Lambley.”

“We’ve met,” Ravenwood answered coldly. He detested being forced to converse with anyone who flouted propriety.

Miss Ross gazed back, unperturbed.

Ignoring society’s conventions no doubt had led directly to her still unwed state, despite her high ranked connections and sparkling blue eyes. Ravenwood frowned. It would take far more than a pretty face to turn his head.

He had nothing but respect for the other individuals at the table. Every one of them consistently put duty above all other concerns.

The beautiful and brazen Miss Ross, on the other hand, had apparently spent the prior evening courting the edge of impropriety at one of her cousin’s masquerade ball.

A few months ago, she had provided shelter during Daphne’s courtship with Blackpool, however, which was no doubt how she had earned everyone else’s blessing. Humph. Tolerable enough manners on that occasion, Ravenwood supposed, but hardly refined enough to tempt
him
. He preferred the company of people who could be expected to conform to society’s rules.

Indeed, he would have chosen to sit at the opposite end of the table from Miss Ross, except the only vacant seat belonged to Lord Sheffield. All other chairs were taken. He stiffened his spine. There was nothing to do but accept the only empty place.

With his habitual mask of formal hauteur firmly in place, Ravenwood took the seat beside Miss Ross. His long-practiced indifference to those beneath a duke’s notice allowed him to sip a much-needed glass of wine whilst cataloguing what could be made of the situation.

Familiar sweetness coated his tongue. He froze. Not just any wine—his favorite port. No doubt, then. His sister was absolutely up to her usual tricks.

He arched a brow at her.

She gave him a bland smile and blinked in wide-eyed innocence.

Dread soured Ravenwood’s wine.

He and Miss Ross were opposites in every way. Ravenwood took pride in his lineage, his title, his comportment. In being an exemplary peer of honor and good breeding.

Miss Ross, on the other hand, had no such compunctions about…anything at all. If the recent scandal sheets were any indication, she had no respect for her time, her reputation, or her standing in society. She delighted in disrupting the status quo.

Which was no doubt why his obvious disapproval of her antics had no effect on her sunny smile. She was perfectly happy living her life precisely how she pleased.

Ravenwood’s shoulders relaxed. He suspected that even Lady Amelia would have difficulty influencing a woman as infamously headstrong as Miss Ross.

Which, along with the Blackpools’ presence at the table, suggested this was perhaps not a matchmaking ambush after all.

Knowing his sister, however, it was still an ambush. The question was why.

“How may I be of service?” he asked without preamble. He addressed the question to Major Blackpool, as he was the least likely to prevaricate in his reply.

Blackpool gestured toward his wife.

Daphne immediately blushed. “I wish you wouldn’t assume even friends don’t dine with you unless they desire a favor. It makes it even worse on the occasions when you’re right.”

Ravenwood granted her a smile that he did not feel.

He liked Daphne. They
were
friends. But the truth of the matter was, since the moment he’d inherited the dukedom, virtually no one sought an audience with him unless they wished him to use his title for their benefit.

On most occasions, he was happy to use his influence to help others.

On other occasions, he simply wanted to enjoy a moment as a human being, not as someone else’s stepping-stone.

Footmen rushed forward bearing steaming trays of fragrant delicacies, as if Lady Amelia’s kitchen had synchronized their clocks with the timing of the parliamentary meeting.

From Amelia, he would expect nothing less. However, he had also expected her to uphold their childhood bargain of never forcing him into awkward social situations unawares.

Hours spent arguing with and wrangling the House of Lords were bad enough. He did not need a relaxing evening turned into more of the same.

“I have had a long day and a long night,” he said to Daphne. “I am hungry and out of sorts. I am aware my sister has been helping support your charities. If you require a financial donation for one of your causes, the answer is yes. May we eat now?”

Daphne’s gaze darted toward Miss Ross.
Not
Lady Amelia.

Ravenwood turned to Miss Ross in dismay. “Is this gathering
your
doing, Miss Ross?”

“Not this one,” she answered cheerfully as she picked up her spoon. “I try not to organize anything with less than a hundred attendees. But you’re right on the mark. While your financial contribution is always welcome, this time Daphne is aiming even bigger. She would like to auction art for charity. My antiquities museum is the perfect venue, both for displaying the objects as well as for hosting a large number of attendees. The date is Saturday next, at eight in the evening. It has the makings of a perfect crush.”

Ravenwood held back a grimace. It did sound like a perfect crush. Horrid. “Presumably Daphne will handle distributing the funds to the appropriate parties, and Lady Amelia will handle the invitations and the auction itself. I fail to see my role in the scheme.”

Miss Ross licked her rosy lips. “You are the bait.”

He recoiled. His tone was of the same frigid disdain that could silence the House of Lords in the space of a breath. “Explain.”

Miss Ross’s blue eyes twinkled at him from over her glass of wine. “You needn’t scowl so. I promise you’ll survive with your reputation intact. In fact, we’re counting on it.”

We. He turned his glare toward his sister.

Lady Amelia nodded enthusiastically. “Your presence at the soirée—”

“I thought it was an auction.”

“It must be both, if we’re to attract
everyone
. Most of the upper classes don’t care a button about auctions—and they care even less about donating their largess to charitable causes. They do, however, care very much about keeping up appearances, and would be loath to miss a gala with the reclusive Duke of Ravenwood himself in attendance.”

“My shadow will make the evening a success?” he asked sarcastically. Blast.

It was true, of course. And one of the many reasons he hated crowds. His mere presence always made them larger.

“Your attendance will attract…others.” Miss Ross leaned back in her chair, her pretty face free of worry. “Your large donation, delivered before all and sundry, will open their pocketbooks.”

“Why not Lambley?” Ravenwood suggested. There had to be an alternative. “Your cousin is a duke, financially sound,
and
popular. Is his schedule too full to fit another soiree?”

Miss Ross waved her hand. “Of course my cousin will be there. Lambley would never miss a party. Which is precisely why his presence is unlikely to cause a stir. Lambley’s notoriety is more likely to generate gossip than altruism. You, however, are someone the sheep affect to imitate.”

Ravenwood clenched his teeth. If Miss Ross’s goal was to sweeten him up, she was failing tremendously—and was undoubtedly enjoying every moment of it. The “sheep” she referred to were the upper classes. His peers.

She
might think eschewing decorum and proper respect made her a free spirit, some sort of modern woman.

In truth, it simply made her unpalatable.

He was not, however, an unfair or unfeeling man. Far from it. Daphne’s charitable causes always improved the lives of some underserved portion of the population, and Ravenwood would not allow his distaste for Miss Ross’s lack of restraint to deter him from doing his part. As a duke, his first responsibility was to England.

His second responsibility was to his own peace and happiness.

“I will attend the auction.” He looked down his nose at Miss Ross. “I will bid high, I will encourage others to do the same, and then I will take my leave. Once my duty is done, our paths will not cross again. Are my terms clear?”

Lady Amelia gasped. “
Ravenwood
—”

“Your delightful presence will be deeply missed from that day forward,” Miss Ross said drolly, neither chastened nor flustered by his disapproval. Her lips quirked as she lowered her gaze to her glass of wine.

Ravenwood’s jaw tightened. His cut had not insulted her. Displeasing Ravenwood was likely the highlight of her evening. Miss Ross reveled in walking the line between respectable and fast. He could not tear his gaze away.

One night
, he reminded himself. He would see her briefly from across the room—and then never see her again.

He couldn’t wait.

Chapter Two

Miss Katherine Ross grasped the thin, liver-spotted hands of her Great-Aunt Havens and gaily twirled the older woman about the salon of the antiquities museum. “Isn’t this
fun
, Aunt? Guests will arrive in less than an hour!”

Aunt Havens’ smile was as instant and as exuberant as a babe’s. Her eyes, however, did not light with understanding. “Are we having a party? Where are we?”

“This is my museum, Aunt. See all the glass displays atop those white columns? Those are the
objets d’art
Daphne will be auctioning for charity. She claims the cunning wooden animals inside them were carved by a
pirate
.”

“A pirate!” Aunt Havens gasped in delight.

The same reaction she’d had the three previous times Kate had relayed this same bit of information.