At The Duke's Pleasure

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “But we have kept to ourselves far too long,” he said. “Pray introduce me to your friend, since I have not yet had the pleasure of making her acquaintance.”

  “Of course. Forgive me. I am always so lax about the formalities.” Sliding her arm through Adam’s, she turned so they were both facing Claire. “Adam, allow me to make you known to Lady Claire Marsden. Claire, this devilish gentleman, as he falsely claims to be, is Lord Gresham, a very old and dear friend of the family.”

  “A pleasure, Lady Claire,” he said, executing another elegant bow, his teeth white against his swarthy complexion.

  Claire curtseyed, spreading the skirts of her ivory silk evening gown out to the sides. “The pleasure is mine as well, my lord.”

  “And there is nothing the least bit false in my claims,” he continued in a casual tone. “I know what I am and take no pains to conceal it. Although I must take umbrage at your description of me as a very ‘old’ friend, Lady Mallory. There is nothing old about a gentleman, who is scarcely a year into his third decade. Ask any of your older brothers and they will tell you the same. We are in the prime of our lives.”

  “Indisputably,” Mallory said. “Though should you find yourself in need of an ear trumpet, shout very loudly and I shall procure one for you,” she added in a teasing voice.

  Gresham gave a laugh, his dark eyes twinkling again. “Minx. That kind of sass should not be tolerated. I see I shall have to take you in hand.”

  Mallory grinned, her sea-coloured gaze alight with clear inspiration. “In that case, you must ask me to dance. I have been trying to decide on someone to partner me for the supper dance and you are the perfect choice.”

  “I find it hard to believe you have trouble locating partners, but I would be most happy to oblige. Lady Mallory, may I have the supper dance with you this evening?”

  “Of course, my lord. I would be absolutely delighted.” Mallory shared a contented look with him.

  Before she had time to say more, another gentleman arrived, his fair cheeks sporting ruddy flags of colour, as he stopped to bow to them all.

  “How d’ye do.” Pausing, he cleared his throat as though his cravat was a fraction too tight. “Th-The next set is about to form, Lady Mallory. I believe we are engaged for this dance.”

  Claire watched as Mallory gave the young man a gracious smile that had the immediate effect of easing his nervousness. “And so we are, Mr Molleson. I was but waiting for your arrival.”

  With a grin that displayed a great many crooked teeth, he offered his arm to Mallory, which she accepted with aplomb. “If you will excuse me, Lady Claire, Lord Gresham.”

  Claire and Gresham traded smiles with Mallory, watching together for a moment as she made her way toward the dance floor.

  Gresham turned, his gaze full of affable warmth. “Lady Claire, would you care to take a turn as well? Unless you are already promised.”

  “I have no such commitment, so yes, that would be lovely.”

  Laying her hand on his sleeve, he led her toward the others assembling for the set.

  “So how long have you and Lady Mallory been acquainted?” she ventured.

  “Literally ages, just as she said. I roomed with her brother Jack my first term at university, and he and I have been friends ever since. He invited me to Braebourne that first summer and that’s where I met Mallory. She was just a child then, nine or ten, I believe, and spent her time trailing after us.” He chuckled at the memory. “She made quite a nuisance of herself, as I recall. Ended up with a pair of skinned knees and a stained frock after she tumbled down a grassy hillock and landed nearly at our feet. She’d been spying on us, you see, and lost her balance.”

  His gaze strayed to where Mallory stood, his eyes softening. “You wouldn’t know to look at her now, but she was quite the tomboy in her youth. I suppose it’s what comes of having six brothers, most of whom are older.”

  “She sounds like my little sister Nan, although Nan hasn’t the excuse of brothers. She broke her leg this spring climbing a tree.”

  His gaze returned to Claire. “Did she indeed? I hope she is recovering well.”

  “Most admirably. If one doesn’t count boredom and grumpiness. Do you have siblings, my lord?” Claire inquired as they took their places for the set.

  “No, none,” he said, his expression sobering. “I had a sister but she died quite young.”

  “I am sorry.”

  He waved aside her regret. “No need. Many years have passed since then.” He paused before redirecting the conversation. “Forgive me for not conveying my good wishes to you sooner, but I understand that you and Edward are to be wed.”

  She nodded. “That’s right, though we have yet to make the announcement official. No date has been set or plans arranged for the…for the wedding.”

  He raised a brow. “Many couples have long engagements. There is nothing unusual in that. Although, if you will forgive me once more, I hear that yours is of an especially long duration. You were promised to each other as children, I believe?”

  “We were.”

  “Then the rumors are true? Leave it to the duke to say nothing about the particulars.”

  “Has he not?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise. She’d assumed everyone knew the circumstances of her engagement to Edward, but apparently he’d decided to leave the origin of their union a secret—or at least publicly unacknowledged.

  The music began then, and with it the start of the set. Moving to the familiar rhythms of a country dance, she and Gresham threaded their way in and around the other couples, continuing their conversation as the movements of the dance allowed.

  She turned to reform the line, when out of the corner of her eye she noticed Edward. As she did, she couldn’t help but see the woman standing at his side as well. Breath whooshed from her lungs in a sudden, dizzying gust.

  Five years fell away as she stared. Five years rushed upon her as she recognized Felicia, Lady Bettis, who was just as beautiful now as she had been while a guest during her parents’ country house party all those years ago.

  Gresham caught her hand as Claire swayed. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, managing somehow to take the steps required by the dance. “F-Fine. The warmth of the room was too much for a moment, but I am better now.”

  “You look a bit pale. Are you sure we shouldn’t withdraw and find you a seat?”

  “No. I am quite well. Let us continue.”

  Before he could question her further, the dance separated them once again.

  She tried not to look when Edward and Lady Bettis came into view again. But she couldn’t help it, her gaze locking on them with a kind of helpless fascination.

  What were they doing together?

  Was it just a matter of them both being in London for the Season or was it more?

  Surely they weren’t still involved after all this time?

  Surely she wasn’t still his mistress?

  Nausea churned in her stomach, willpower alone the only thing that kept her moving to the music.

  And then suddenly, gratefully, it was over. Ignoring Lord Gresham’s looks and murmurs of concern, she strode from the dance floor, wanting to put as much distance as possible between herself, and Edward and his mistress.

  Stomach roiling again, she continued toward the far corner of the ballroom.

  Lord Gresham followed. “Take a seat and let me get you a cool refreshment. You look most unwell.”

  “I am fine.”

  “Shall I find Mrs Byron or Edward instead? Perhaps you should go home.”

  “No!” she said in a fierce voice. “Not Edward.”

  Gresham stared.

  “There is no need to trouble him,” she dissembled in a far more modulated tone. “He will only worry, and for naught. Truly, it is only the warmth of the room. I am feeling recovered already.”

  Gresham frowned, appearing unconvinced. “If you are sure—”

&nb
sp; “Very sure. Though, as you so generously offered, a cool glass of punch would not go amiss.”

  Pausing, he took a moment to consider. “Stay here and rest. I will be back presently with your refreshment.”

  “Thank you. You are most kind.”

  Casting her a last concerned look, he bowed and departed.

  She slumped in her chair seconds after he left. As she did, her gaze fell on a man standing only a few feet distant. It was Lord Islington, she realized, and he was watching her, as he leaned in a negligent pose against a tall marble pillar.

  Without considering the ramifications of her actions, she stared back, meeting his gaze.

  He smiled and lifted an inquiring brow.

  She knew she should lower her eyes, even turn around in her chair to dismiss him. Instead, she kept gazing at him, thinking as she did how much Edward would disapprove. But why did she care what Edward thought? Didn’t she want to earn his displeasure? He’d certainly earned hers by being with Lady Bettis. Her hands tightening into fists in her lap, she continued to study Lord Islington.

  Should I or shouldn’t I? she wondered. Do I dare?

  Abruptly, she tossed aside her caution and smiled.

  Chapter 12

  Claire wondered precisely what she’d gotten herself into as she watched Lord Islington straighten away from the pillar and saunter toward her.

  A shiver raced along her spine, but not the delicious sort she always felt around Edward. This one was forbidding, almost menacing, as though she’d beckoned a cobra and it had decided to accept her invitation. But then he stopped in front of her and bowed, his manner both polished and easy. His smile was pleasant, his grey eyes alive with curiosity and a barely concealed amusement that seemed to belie her initial reaction.

  He most definitely did not look harmless, she decided, but neither did he alarm her. She was only letting Mallory’s earlier warnings against him colour her opinion. And even Mallory had admitted that she really didn’t know the man, only what Edward had said of him. Islington had a bad reputation. Well, most men had something about their pasts they wished to conceal. Anyway, how bad could he really be?

  “Good evening,” he said. “I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here alone. It doesn’t seem right to leave such a beautiful woman to her own devices.”

  “Lord Gresham is procuring a glass of punch for me and will return momentarily.”

  “Parched from all your dancing, are you? I must confess that I noticed you out on the floor. You’re very graceful.”

  “You flatter me, sir.”

  “Not at all,” he said, his gaze shining warmly. “I am Islington, by the way. Forgive my lack of decorum in introducing myself, but such formalities have always struck me as rather antiquated in our modern age. Particularly since you need not tell me your name.”

  “Do I not?”

  He shook his head. “Talk of Lady Claire Marsden is on everyone’s lips these days.”

  “Oh?” she asked in an arch voice. “And what is it they are saying?”

  “That you are either the luckiest young woman in the Ton or the cleverest to have wrung an engagement band out of the elusive Duke of Clybourne. Personally, I think it’s neither and you just haven’t had enough time to think the matter through.”

  She laughed, fully aware that he was being deliberately provocative. He was practically inviting her to rebel. “Perhaps I shall mention your opinion to His Grace when next I see him?”

  “If you were wise, you wouldn’t mention me to him at all. He doesn’t exactly approve of me, you see.”

  “Really? And why is that, my lord?”

  He shrugged. “An unfortunate misunderstanding is all, one for which he refuses to let me provide a proper explanation. I have tried, but his opinions tend to be rather rigidly held once they have been formed. What of your own, Lady Claire? Do you prefer to judge people on their merits or merely prejudge them based on the talk of others?”

  “I am of an independent mind. Were I not, I wouldn’t be conversing with you at all.”

  “Touché.” Smiling more widely, he dipped his head in approval.

  Casting a quick glance across the ballroom, she scanned the room for Lord Gresham. She didn’t see him yet, but knew her time must be growing short.

  “I…um…I believe the next set is about to form. Do you dance, my lord?”

  “I have been known to on occasion.”

  “Then perhaps you should make this one of them. I have yet to promise this set.”

  He paused, his gaze taking on a speculative gleam. “And you would like me to ask you? I must caution that you would be playing with fire to accept.”

  She cast another glance across the ballroom, locating Edward—and Lady Bettis, who was still standing at his side. She drew back her shoulders. “I like fire. I find it keeps things warm and lively.”

  He looked in the duke’s direction. “Hoping to spark a reaction, are you?”

  “Why no,” she denied. “I just want to dance.”

  Tossing back his head, Islington laughed and reached down a hand. “Lady Claire, may I have this next dance?”

  “You may.” Stomach somersaulting, she got to her feet.

  Seconds later, Lord Gresham returned, a glass of pink punch held in his gloved hand, a scowl on his face. “Lady Claire, how are you feeling?”

  “Much improved.” Reaching out, she accepted the beverage, grateful for the cool, sweet slide of the drink as she swallowed. She hadn’t realized how dry her mouth had become, or how much in need she was of the small distraction. “Delicious. My thanks,” she declared, handing the cup back to Gresham.

  He took it, then held out his arm. As he did, he tossed a look of ill-concealed disdain at Islington. “Allow me to return you to Mrs Byron.”

  So, Lord Gresham doesn’t approve of Islington either, she realized.

  Trepidation swam in her system, but she pushed it aside. After all, even if Islington was a bounder, he couldn’t do anything to her inside a crowded ballroom, other than cause a bit of scandal—and wasn’t that precisely what she wanted?

  “Thank you again, my lord,” she told Gresham, “but there is no need. Lord Islington has asked me to stand up with him for the next set, which, from the sound the musicians are making, is about to begin.”

  “Lady Claire, I really don’t think—” Gresham began.

  “Don’t concern yourself, Gresham. I’ll see she’s properly returned,” Islington drawled, offering his own arm to Claire.

  Drawing a resolute breath, she laid her hand on Islington’s black sleeve, not daring to glance at Lord Gresham for fear of what he might glimpse in her eyes.

  Then she and Islington were strolling across the ballroom, gazes turning their way as they went.

  Edward fought off a yawn, as Lady Bettis launched into yet another round of flirtatious chatter. He didn’t smile as he knew she was hoping, or laugh, weary of her poorly concealed attempts to amuse and beguile him.

  Years ago, they’d had a brief affair, one he’d ended without a moment of regret. She’d been less sanguine about the breakup, confiding that he was the best lover she’d ever had. Some men might have preened at the remark, since it was well-known even then that Felicia Bettis had had a great many lovers indeed. But Edward had merely wanted out of the relationship, sorry she desired him when he didn’t feel the same about her.

  Their encounters since had been friendly enough—at least on the surface. But she made it plain that her offer was still open and that he was free to return to her bed any time he wished. To her regret, he didn’t, enduring her occasional attempts to rekindle something between them with stoic patience.

  But tonight, she was not only boring him, she was irritating him as well. Before he could elude her, she’d snared him for a private coze. At first he’d thought she merely wanted to gossip. Soon he realized her true intentions, questions pouring off her lips about his engagement to that “Marsden chit” and her astonishment that he was going thr
ough with the marriage after all.

  But he didn’t want to talk to her about Claire. His rationale for the marriage, his feelings for Claire and hers for him were private and had nothing to do with the Felicia Bettises of the world. Claire wasn’t a topic for conjecture or discussion, and he revealed as little to Lady Bettis as possible.

  Yes, he was marrying Lady Claire.

  No, they hadn’t set a wedding date.

  No, he didn’t find her too much of a child anymore. In fact, she’d turned into a lovely, charming young woman whom any man would be pleased to wed.

  Felicia didn’t like that last at all, her mouth screwing tight with obvious displeasure. But then her expression suddenly cleared like the sun coming out from behind a bank of clouds. That was when she began to flirt, trying to put him in a better mood. Unfortunately for her, all she succeeded in doing was boring him to death.

  While she was chattering away, he scanned the room for Claire, wondering if she might like to join him for supper. He’d caught a glimpse of her dancing with Adam Gresham, but when he’d looked again, she was gone, lost somewhere in the milling crowd.

  Having had more than enough, he finally decided to extricate himself from Lady Bettis’s attentions.

  “Yes, how amusing,” he said in response to her latest remark. “But now, if you will excuse me, I must be going.”

  “Must you?” she replied with a pout that was undoubtedly meant to be alluring. “I was rather hoping you might ask me to dance.”

  “My apologies, but I cannot.” He refused to say more, or to make further excuses that both of them would know for lies.

  “Until later then,” she said on an audible sigh, her shoulders slumping in resignation and defeat.

  With a practiced bow, he departed, threading his way through the squeeze of guests in hopes of locating Claire. He hadn’t gone twenty feet, however, before another woman he could have done without seeing this evening stepped into his path.

  “Your Grace, what a pleasant surprise running into you tonight,” said Philipa, Lady Stockton, her blue eyes shrewd in her winsome face, her lips rouged as red and ripe as cherries.