The Devil in Disguise: A Regency Rogues Novel

by Stefanie Sloane

  Shortening the time line is of no consequence, he assured himself, impatiently stopping to allow a whale of a woman to pass by. In fact, it will only mean I may return home that much sooner.

  His throat relaxed slowly as he absorbed the improved plan. The invisible iron band around his head eased and the pain slowly lessened. Yes, I’ll take the woman tomorrow and be done with this filthy country forever.

  He snaked, nimble and unnoticed, through the crowd as he made his way to the kitchens to refill his tray of champagne glasses.

  “May I have this dance?” Will asked, bowing before Lady Lucinda with every ounce of gentlemanly grace he could summon.

  She slowly extended a gloved hand, her eyes fixed firmly on his.

  “Lucinda, dear, I believe your dance card is completely full,” Lady Northrop began, the tension in her voice causing the entire party to turn.

  “Amelia …” Northrop wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her close. “Let Lucinda be. Surely one dance will not overset the entire evening?”

  “No, of course not,” Lady Northrop answered quickly. “One dance couldn’t possibly be of any consequence. I’ll hold back the tide of your suitors,” she said, looking directly at Lady Lucinda with an earnest glance, “but do hurry back.”

  Lucinda released Will’s hand and patted Lady Northrop on the arm. “One dance, then, and I’m certain there will be no need for a queue on my behalf. However, I trust you will ask Lady Mansfield to clear the front hall if the need arises, won’t you?” she teased, squeezing Lady Northrop’s arm with affectionate reassurance.

  Lady Northrop relaxed her grip on her husband’s arm and gave Lucinda a small private smile. “Of course.”

  Will turned Lucinda toward the dance floor, surprised by his determination to have her to himself surprising him.

  “Is there a reason we must make haste, Your Grace?” she asked.

  He stepped onto the marble floor and gently pulled Lady Lucinda with him. “Only that I cannot resist the waltz,” he said, glancing at the musicians as they readied for the next dance.

  She followed his gaze, taking note of their preparations before looking back at him. She arched an eyebrow. “Of course,” she answered.

  Will settled his free hand at her waist, vividly aware the gently rounded slope of her bottom curved just beyond his fingertips. Without conscious intent, his grip firmed and his fingers moved lightly over the soft silk of her gown, testing the heat and supple warmth beneath.

  A faint shiver rippled through the woman in his arms and Lady Lucinda eased away from his touch in one swift small step.

  Her gaze met his and in the brief moment before her lowered lashes shielded her expression from him, Will thought he glimpsed the same heat and surprise that raced through his veins.

  Had she too felt the attraction sparking between them? Did she want to explore the unknown feeling as much as he did?

  If she’d only raise her lashes, he could search for answers.

  “And you, Lady Lucinda, do you enjoy waltzing?” he asked, after a frustrating moment when she appeared enthralled by his cravat.

  His ploy worked. Lucinda’s thick lashes swept up and she met his gaze. “It depends upon my partner, I suppose.”

  Her poise was once more intact. But there was a glimmer of something, though Will could not be sure precisely what it was.

  The music began and she followed him gracefully as he swung her into the steps. “Yes, indeed, a skilled partner is truly a necessity,” he murmured, rewarded by the barely perceptible tensing of her slim fingers against his palm as he urged her slightly closer.

  Satisfied that she wasn’t immune to the strange spell he felt binding them together, Will easily led Lady Lucinda in the simple pattern of whirls and twirls.

  Will knew the loftier ladies of the ton had termed the waltz the “forbidden dance” due to the proximity required of partners. Privately, he could only wonder at the naïvety of anyone who considered something of such a tame nature “forbidden.”

  Though, he had to admit, he was finding it hard to focus on his duty with this particular woman in his arms.

  Lady Lucinda was the perfect partner—all lightness and grace as the two revolved around the room. The delicate scent of her perfume teased his nostrils with each movement. Although they only touched where her hand lay on his and his hand rested at her waist, the supple flex and sway of her body was pure temptation. Her diamond earbobs caught the candlelight, glittering as the dance pattern repeated and he swung her in smooth turns.

  He could have watched her all night. The swift turns and pure enjoyment of the dance heightened her color. Would she turn that same shade of pink in his bed, he wondered. His Groin tightened at the swift mental image of Lady Lucinda stripped of her evening wear and lying underneath him.

  “Your Grace?”

  He forced the picture from his head and looked down at Lady Lucinda. “Yes?”

  “You appear to be woolgathering. Am I that poor a conversationalist?”

  Her question made Will realize just how much valuable time he’d spent admiring her. The level of distraction was a startling testament to how unusual his reaction to her had been.

  Sparkling diamonds and pink-hued skin be damned. He had to introduce the courtship before the dance ended. Once back in Lady Northrop’s company, it was unlikely he would have a second chance.

  Will gave her a small smile, the one countless women had told him could melt the coldest of hearts, and deftly steered them around another couple. “On the contrary,” he said as they completed the turn. “I was just considering the necessity of having a suitable partner. Such a need goes beyond the dance floor, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Lady Lucinda stiffened slightly but completed the turn without consequence. “Exactly how far beyond the dance floor were you considering, Your Grace?”

  She was direct, he’d give her that. And though the time he’d spent with her was relatively short, he instinctively knew that all the pretty words in the whole of England would only serve to weaken his position.

  “The dining room, the library, Lady Lucinda,” he murmured, his gaze holding hers. “And, for that matter, every other room to be found under the ridiculously expansive roof of Clairemont Hall.”

  She followed his lead as they completed the final turn and the music ended. Then she sank into a low curtsy, rising gracefully to survey him.

  “Clairemont Hall—your family seat?”

  It was clearly a request for clarification. Will nodded abruptly.

  “Am I to understand that it is your intent to court me, Your Grace?” She sounded neither disdainful nor dismayed, only slightly puzzled.

  He set her hand on his bent arm and led her to the edge of the crowded room. “Yes,” he answered simply.

  She stopped abruptly, forcing Will to halt mid-stride.

  “Your Grace, though we—that is to say, while I may have given the impression this evening that we …” she began, her voice low, her tone apologetic but resolute. “I cannot allow you to court me. You know this as well as I.”

  The orchestra began another song, the music blending with the laughter and conversation of the throng that surrounded them.

  “Are you afraid of me, then, like all the others?” Will asked, looking at the crowd, then back at Lady Lucinda, surprised that her answer mattered.

  She stood a bit straighter, clearly relying on all five feet and four inches of her slender frame to underscore her words. “I am not afraid, but I am practical. You’ve no desire to live in my world, nor do I possess an interest in joining yours. Compatibility on the dance floor is hardly a foundation for a lifelong commitment, Your Grace.”

  Will realized that Lady Lucinda would not be wooed by his questionable charm alone. Dangling King Solomon’s Mine as a lure to entice her had to be done. He had to succeed, as he always did. Still, it took a moment to reconcile himself to the task.

  Surprisingly enough, he realized that reluctant as he w
as, the chance of losing his favorite horse, betraying a woman of Lady Lucinda’s substantial character was another matter entirely. It didn’t sit well.

  This bloody well better win me a medal of some sort, he thought, a sharp pang of regret appearing in his heart.

  He pushed open the set of French windows leading to the veranda and side garden before responding. “If I cannot convince you with our compatibility in the waltz, Lady Lucinda, then how might you feel about our mutual interest in a horse?”

  In truth, Lucinda was far more intrigued at the mention of a horse than she was worried about the duke’s having pulled her into the garden. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand, Your Grace,” she answered, allowing him to lead her to a stone bench neatly tucked between two flowering jasmine. “What could a horse possibly have to do with your need of a wife?”

  He seated her with inherent politeness before joining her. The bench may have been sufficiently wide for an ordinary man and a lady, but the duke was not an average-sized man. The muscular bulk of his body crowded the seat, his knee brushing hers as he stretched his long legs out in front of him. His shoulder nudged against hers, the powerful muscles of his thigh a scant inch, if that, from her own silk-covered flesh. She felt surrounded by him, the heat of his body enveloping her.

  “Do you recall a colt by the name of King Solomon’s Mine?”

  Shocked, Lucinda’s heart leapt, her breath catching on a silent gasp, but she endeavored to mask her surprise. “Yes, I believe so,” she managed to say with creditable nonchalance. “He was foaled some four years ago on the Whytham estate. I understood he was lost in a gambling wager, though I never heard to whom.”

  “To me, Lady Lucinda. I won King Solomon’s Mine from Whytham and have owned him ever since.” His Grace drew in his legs and turned toward her, the already questionable amount of space between them narrowing with his movement.

  A shimmer of sensation began in Lucinda’s toes, slowly working its way up through her calves and knees, then her thighs and belly, settling in her breasts, where the tattoo of her pounding heart accelerated ever so slightly. Whether it was caused by news of King Solomon’s Mine or her close proximity to the duke, Lucinda couldn’t quite discern. Nor could she bring herself to put more, safer distance between them.

  “How fortunate for you, Your Grace. He has grown to be a most singular horse, I am sure,” Lucinda said, hoping her ridiculously swift beating heart would not betray her. “But I still fail to see how your horse has anything to do with me.”

  The duke placed one hand on the bench, his fingertips nearly touching the silk gown covering her thigh. “I was led to believe King Solomon’s Mine held a special place in your heart. Perhaps I was misinformed?”

  “No, not entirely,” Lucinda said, distracted as she fought the unacceptable urge to close the distance separating her from His Grace. “That is to say, I was present at his birth and he truly is a remarkable horse—or so I assume, having not seen him for some time.”

  The bench where they sat was in full view of other couples strolling along the garden paths in search of respite from the ballroom’s crowds and heat. Nevertheless, Lucinda knew she mustn’t lose sight of the potential danger to her reputation by simply being seen with the notorious duke. Her need to appear disinterested in King Solomon’s Mine, however, was consuming all her attention. She would simply have to rely on her position in the ton to protect her, she decided. At the moment, it was far more important to deal with the duke’s unexpected and intriguing mention of King Solomon’s Mine into their conversation.

  Did he know about her and her aunts’ plans and the importance of the stallion to their success? How could he?

  He couldn’t, she told herself, because all four women had sworn a vow of secrecy.

  “Yes, he is a remarkable horse,” the duke agreed, his words interrupting her frantic thoughts. “And he could be yours.”

  “Am I to believe that you’re offering King Solomon’s Mine as inducement to allow you to court me?” she asked, with no attempt to disguise her disbelief. She stared at him, searching his eyes for a clue. Surely, this was a game he played, but to what end, she couldn’t discern.

  “A wager—a priceless horse for the honor of your company.” There was a gruffness to his voice that had not been present only a few moments before and his hazel eyes darkened with unnamed emotion. “If I can’t convince you to wed me after, say, three months of courtship, then King Solomon’s Mine is yours. And if you consent to be my wife …” He shrugged, a wry smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Then King Solomon’s Mine is yours on the day we make our vows. Either way, you win.”

  “You’re mad,” she whispered in response. And perhaps she was as well, she thought, for she was sorely tempted.

  He rose, inclining his head in a brief, polite bow just short of curt. “You’re not the first to make such a claim, nor will you be the last,” he said. “But I require an answer, one way or the other.”

  Lucinda stood, her legs unsteady as she stepped just beyond the duke’s reach and turned to face him.

  She couldn’t possibly allow him to court her. Could she?

  She narrowed her eyes at him, forcing her thoughts to move beyond his handsome face and the prized stallion he dangled before her.

  The Duke of Clairemont’s family possessed all the right connections. And he was wealthy enough.

  He was neither as old as Methuselah nor as young as Lord Thorp’s boy, whom her maid firmly believed to be next on Amelia’s list. No, he measured up in nearly every single category, save for his reputation.

  Black.

  No, blacker than black, Lucinda thought, eyeing him as he tapped his boot. His conquests were legendary and too numerous to count. From women to fights, drinking to—well, Lucinda could only imagine—the gossips proclaimed Iron Will’s appetite for life was voracious, terrifyingly so.

  “Have you come to a—” the duke pressed, shifting impatiently.

  “A moment more, if you please,” Lucinda temporized, plucking a flower from the jasmine before returning to her thoughts.

  Of course, she supposed it only made sense that a man of the duke’s experience would seek out the one woman in all of England whose reputation could counteract the effect of his own questionable choices.

  Really, it made perfect sense, as anyone who bothered to think on it for more than four seconds would see.

  And the horse. Well, her aunts could not object to three months spent in the man’s company in exchange for King Solomon’s Mine.

  Surely she would prevail—and her success would change their lives forever.

  All Lucinda had to do was allow the man into her presence.

  To court her.

  It couldn’t be too difficult.

  Resisting him wouldn’t be too difficult, she told herself firmly, absently brushing the velvety soft blossom across her lower lip.

  He watched her unblinkingly. In desperation, she looked at the heavens, concentrated, and accurately identified Orion, the Hunter. Ironic though it was, Lucinda congratulated herself for completing a task that required her wits. Given that Lord Clairemont’s presence appeared to elicit a physical response she’d never before experienced, she was relieved to learn that the duke held no power over her when held at arm’s length.

  Which is where he would remain for the entirety of their courtship, she vowed. If she agreed to his proposition. She needed more time to consider whether she should do so.

  “I will take your proposal under advisement,” Lucinda answered, pointing the jasmine at him to underline her decision.

  He reached for the flower and took hold of Lucinda’s hand. “Of course. Though you should know, I’m not a patient man.”

  “Patience is a virtue, Your Grace,” she said, tugging her hand from his. “And one you’d do well to practice should you wish to go forward with this … this …” She halted, unwilling to use the word that even now, seemed implausible when applied to herself and the man known a
s Iron Will.

  “Courtship, Lady Lucinda,” His Grace finished for her with amusement.

  Clearly, she thought with annoyance, the idea of such a connection held no trepidation for him.

  And God help me, Lucinda thought as she gave him a curt nod, tilted her chin, and turned toward the ballroom. God help us all.

  A gentle breeze stirred the crimson silk curtain concealing the half-open window in Lucinda’s bedroom. Her town house in Grosvener Square was an elegant, beautifully appointed home, and usually Lucinda found it wonderfully comfortable.

  Not so tonight.

  Unfortunately, the air did little to cool her. She stripped off her diamond earbobs, bracelet, and her long gloves, waiting impatiently as Mary freed the clasp of her glittering necklace. The maid deftly unfastened the pale pink gown, retrieving it when Lucinda stepped out of the crumpled silk. Minutes later, Lucinda was free of her undergarments and dressed in a favorite nightgown of pale blue silk, inset with matching lace.

  Mary swiftly plucked the pins from Lucinda’s coiffure Lucinda shook her hair free and took the brush, pulling it through the long strands herself as Mary left the room. Normally, she found the rhythmic strokes of brushing soothing, but tonight her nerves wouldn’t be calmed. Restless, she quickly braided the thick mane and paced across the room.

  Walking didn’t ease her.

  She still felt overly warm.

  She crawled onto her bed and drew up her legs, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on her bent knees.

  Thoughts of the duke’s proposal—and, frustratingly enough, of the duke himself—sent diminutive flames flickering across her too sensitive skin. One touch from him had done more to wreak havoc in her meticulously ordered life than the fumbling, bumbling, fervent pleadings of eligible bachelors from London to Scotland.