The Duke of Seduction

by Burke, Darcy

  After seeing the poem that morning—Beck had truly outdone himself—Lavinia had rushed to visit Sarah, along with Fanny. Sarah had been so happy that Lavinia knew she’d done the right thing in asking Beck to write it for her. And Lady Colton was ecstatic. In fact, their visit had been cut short so they could go shopping for something special for tonight’s rout. Which was exactly what Lavinia’s mother had done.

  Leaving her mother’s side, Lavinia made her way to Sarah, who stood beside her mother. As Lavinia cut her way across the large drawing room, she heard a snippet of conversation that made her stop and listen.

  “I just can’t see that it will help the poor gel. She has the personality of a mouse, regardless of what the Duke of Seduction says.”

  Lavinia gritted her teeth as she recognized the speaker—Lady Nixon, one of the ton’s most malignant gossips. She was talking to her closest friend, who was equally toxic, Mrs. Law.

  Mrs. Law sniffed. “I must agree. It doesn’t seem the Duke has been able to help Miss Pemberton or Lady Lavinia land husbands. Perhaps his magic has worn off.”

  “Pity. I’ve so enjoyed his poetry. Today’s ode was simply magnificent.” Lady Nixon let out a sigh.

  Lavinia thought of a few things she might like to say to the old biddies, but took herself off before she created a scene that would mortify her mother. Unfortunately, Sarah was no longer where she’d been. Lavinia squinted in search of her and saw her speaking with a gentleman. Ah, well, she’d find her later.

  Instead of returning to her mother, Lavinia went in search of Fanny before recalling that she wasn’t coming tonight. Lavinia did, however, see Miss Pemberton, who was just finishing a promenade with a gentleman. After he departed, Lavinia swooped in.

  “Good evening, Miss Pemberton.”

  The other woman’s sherry-colored eyes lit with recognition. “Lady Lavinia, how lovely to find you here. I see your friend Miss Colton is the latest recipient of the Duke of Seduction’s…kindness.”

  “Yes, she’s quite thrilled.”

  “Unlike us,” Miss Pemberton said drily.

  “I don’t hate it,” Lavinia said, immediately wondering why she had. Now that she knew Beck was behind it all, she felt a bit less annoyed. “But it will be nice to be forgotten.”

  “Hopefully soon. Things have begun to settle down, for which I’m grateful.”

  “I just overheard Lady Nixon and Mrs. Law discussing the Duke’s failure since you and I are not betrothed.”

  Miss Pemberton let out a sharp laugh. “Clearly it hasn’t deterred him from continuing his ridiculous campaign. Have you had any luck with determining his identity?”

  Lavinia didn’t hesitate to answer. “No. I don’t think we’ll ever know.”

  “Unless the editor of the Morning Chronicle is susceptible to bribery.” Miss Pemberton appeared quite serious. “Do you suppose he is?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.” Lavinia laughed, hoping Miss Pemberton was jesting, and was rewarded with a grin. Relaxing, she asked, “What would you do if you learned his identity?”

  “Besides demand he stop? Part of me would like for him to suffer some sort of public discomfort, but I am not a vindictive person. I should just feel better if I could unburden myself on him.” Her lips widened in another smile.

  “I can understand that.” Lavinia had done that.

  They stood somewhat near the door, and Lavinia saw the subject of their conversation enter the drawing room. Beck was accompanied by another gentleman. He was a bit shorter than the marquess, with ink-dark hair and a stocky build. His gaze darted about the room, making him appear a trifle nervous.

  Lavinia had never seen the man before and wondered if that was Beck’s friend from Oxford. She kept an eye on them while she spoke with Miss Pemberton a little while longer. Beck and the man exchanged pleasantries with their hosts, and then Lady Reeves came toward Lavinia.

  Lady Reeves smiled warmly at them. “Lady Lavinia, I’d like to introduce you to a new arrival if you have a moment.”

  “Certainly.” Lavinia looked to Miss Pemberton, who inclined her head and with her gaze encouraged her to go.

  Lavinia followed Lady Reeves to where Beck stood with the other gentleman.

  “Lady Lavinia, may I present Mr. Horace Jeffries?” Lady Reeves said. “I believe you know Lord Northam.”

  “Indeed I do.” Lavinia curtsied to Beck and then to Mr. Jeffries. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jeffries.”

  “The delight is all mine, I’m sure.” Mr. Jeffries slid a glance toward Beck, who tipped his head an infinitesimal degree. Turning his attention to Lady Reeves, Mr. Jeffries thanked her for the introduction, then asked Lavinia if she wanted to take a turn.

  “I’d be honored,” Lavinia said, feeling a bit strange to be leaving on the arm of someone who wasn’t Beck. Her gaze lingered on his before she turned to walk away with Mr. Jeffries.

  “I understand you live in Oxford,” Lavinia said.

  “Yes. Lord Northam invited me to town for a few days. I do like to get to London now and again, especially to visit the museum.”

  “I love the museum. How do you know Lord Northam?”

  “We attended Oxford together. I was already there when he arrived. I helped him with scientific subjects and arithmetic. He often sacrificed his studies in those areas to play music and read.”

  Beck had told her he played a bit. It sounded as though he’d misled her about how much he played. “You’ve heard him play?” she asked.

  “Oh yes, he’s wonderful.” He sent her a pained glance. “But I don’t know that he still does. He was always rather bashful about it. He only plays for his friends. And not even all of those.”

  Mr. Jeffries must be a special friend to Beck, then. Lavinia wondered if she was. Would he play for her if she asked?

  Are you daft?

  Apparently. Just when and how would the Marquess of Northam play guitar for Lady Lavinia without doing so in a public setting? And it didn’t sound as though he did that. She’d have heard of it if he did. A charming, rakish marquess who played guitar beautifully would be the talk of the ton.

  “How nice,” she said, imagining a young Beck sitting idly beneath a tree with an open book as he strummed his guitar. “I’m not musical in the slightest.”

  “Neither am I. I much prefer research and academia.” He glanced at her with curiosity. “Northam did tell me of your passion for in geology. What an extraordinary interest for a young woman.”

  She couldn’t quite tell if he approved or not. Many gentlemen looked down their noses at her. “I found a fossil when I was nine, and I became a bit obsessed with the history of the earth.”

  He grinned. “Brilliant! I grew up with an extensive garden, and from a very young age, I was always curious about the plants—how they grew, how they were the same and different, why they flourished in some environments and failed in others. How remarkable that your childhood curiosity has remained. No doubt because you’ve nurtured it as I have.”

  “As much as I can. It’s not terribly popular for a young woman to have a passion for geology.”

  His brow creased. “Yes, yes, I can imagine. Pity you couldn’t attend Oxford.”

  “Someday, women will be admitted there, I’m sure. Just as women will one day be fellows of the Royal Society.”

  “I believe they will, Lady Lavinia. Northam was always advocating for women at Oxford, but I daresay for a different reason.” Mr. Jeffries laughed, seemingly unaware that he’d said something slightly untoward. “If memory serves, Northam fell rather deeply in love with a woman during his first year there. Her father was head of house at some college, can’t remember which, but not ours. When she wed someone else, he was devastated. I recall he wrote a copious amount of exceedingly lovelorn songs and poems.” He waved his hand. “That was a bit redundant. What is a song except a poem put to music?”

  Lavinia wondered if Beck would mind that Mr. Jeffries was sharing this information. He seemed a rather private pe
rson. In fact, he seemed nothing like the carefree rake he presented to the world.

  And yet, she was fascinated to learn these things about him. “It sounds as though you and Lord Northam were quite close.”

  “Oh, indeed. He and Ware endeavored to include me in their mischief, but I was never quite as boisterous as they were.”

  They’d completed their circuit of the drawing room, and Lavinia saw that Sarah was now free. Their gazes met, and Sarah inclined her head for Lavinia to join her.

  “Here we are back where we started,” Mr. Jeffries said.

  Lavinia withdrew her arm from his. “Thank you for the promenade, Mr. Jeffries.”

  “As I said, I’m only in London for a few days, but perhaps we’ll meet again.”

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  He smiled and offered her a bow before departing. She watched him walk right out the door and suspected he wasn’t coming back.

  Lavinia went to join Sarah whose eyes were sparkling. “You look as if you’re having a splendid evening,” Lavinia said.

  “Oh yes. But you were right that it’s strange. I find myself wanting to ask people if they never noticed me before. I don’t, however, in fear of their answer.” She grinned.

  Lavinia laughed softly. “Best not to ask.”

  “Who were you with just then?” Sarah asked. “I didn’t recognize him.”

  “Mr. Horace Jeffries from Oxford. He’s a botanist.”

  “A scientist? However did you manage to meet him?”

  Lavinia couldn’t actually say without revealing her association with Beck. “Lady Reeves introduced him.”

  Sarah blinked with interest. “And did you like him?”

  “I did, actually.” She thought back over their conversation and realized most of it had been about Beck. Had she liked him because of that? She glanced around to see if Beck was still there but didn’t see him. That didn’t mean he’d gone, just that her eyesight at a distance was as terrible as ever. She focused on Sarah. “So you’re enjoying yourself overall?”

  “Yes, it’s very busy. In fact, here comes another gentleman. But perhaps he’s here for you.”

  “I doubt that,” Lavinia said with a smile. She hoped not. She wasn’t in the mood for another spin around the drawing room. Not unless it was with Beck.

  Was that true?

  She took her leave of Sarah and went in search of him. It did seem that he’d gone already. And since Mr. Jeffries hadn’t come back to the drawing room, she wondered if they’d left together. Where had they gone? Probably to a club or wherever Beck went to do rakish things. Although she couldn’t imagine Mr. Jeffries joining him in such activities. Or maybe she just didn’t want to think of them doing that.

  Disappointment curdled in her gut. It had been five days since she’d walked with Beck in the park, and they hadn’t needed to correspond. She realized she missed him and that she had nothing to look forward to with him. It wasn’t as if he could meet her in the library.

  Lavinia left the drawing room and nosed around until she found the library. Beck wasn’t there, of course. In fact, it was open to the rout and there were several people inside, mostly older men, conversing. Which meant she couldn’t peruse Lord Reeves’s bookshelves.

  There was nothing for it. She’d have to return to the drawing room and suffer the rest of her evening. Alone. No, not alone. Thanks to Beck’s pen, she was rarely ever that anymore. And damn if she didn’t miss that.

  * * *

  Shortly after Beck entered his study the following day, Gage came in with his the day’s post. “There’s a package here, my lord,” the butler informed him as he set it and a small stack of letters on Beck’s desk.

  Beck picked up the parcel and found it to be a bit heavy. “I asked my stepmother to send some things from Waverly Court.” He was keen to open it, but he was also eager to play. His gaze drifted to his guitars in the corner.

  “I’m sure the household would enjoy it if you played. Of late, your music has taken on a livelier tone. I caught one of the maids dancing as she worked yesterday.” Gage said this with humor, his eyes twinkling.

  Beck hadn’t realized it, but what Gage said was true. His writing was also lighter and…easier. The poem for Miss Colton had flown from his fingertips.

  “Whoever she is, I hope you’re able to continue the association for quite some time.” Gage was well aware of Beck’s preference for short-term love affairs and disinclination to marry.

  “There isn’t anyone,” Beck said even while his mind drifted to Lavinia. Her brazenly witty smile and her sharp, intelligent eyes formed an image in his mind.

  “I’m surprised to hear it. Changes in your music are almost always accompanied by a new affair.”

  Beck glanced up at him. “There is certainly no affair.”

  “No affair isn’t the same as no woman. Which is it?”

  “Can’t it be both?” Beck didn’t want to discuss it for fear he’d mention Lavinia. He didn’t want to talk about her to Gage. He didn’t even want to talk about her to himself. “My friend Horace Jeffries will be by later. We’re to take a ride in the park.”

  Horace was staying with his aunt while he was in town. Beck had offered his hospitality, but Horace said his aunt would be disappointed if he lodged elsewhere. Which was fine with Beck. Visitors in his home put him a bit on edge because he didn’t play with others about. Though he might have made an exception for an old friend such as Horace.

  Gage took the hint and didn’t pursue the topic of women. “Very good, sir.” He turned and left, closing the door behind him since he knew Beck would likely play.

  First, however, Beck opened the package from Waverly Court. Inside, he found his fossil collection, or most of it, anyway. A few larger pieces sat in his study in a case, while he’d deposited these smaller ones in this box of childhood memories.

  Some were quite small, barely spanning his fingertip. Many were beautiful spirals of a shelled creature from who knew how long ago. His favorite was the largest in the box, a rock with the partial skeletal outline of a fish. He smiled, eager to share them with Lavinia.

  There were other items in the box he’d forgotten about—a handful of toy soldiers, a bent stick he’d used as a pistol, a few drawings he’d made, and a small stack of letters. He flipped through them, recognizing his mother’s and father’s handwriting. Then his heart froze for a moment as he saw one in a different hand—Helen’s. He recalled that his mother had given him one of her letters as a keepsake after she’d died. He’d wanted something she’d written.

  Opening the foolscap, he blew out a breath as he began to read. The missive was addressed to his mother, and in it, his half sister detailed her activities during the Season. Beck remembered his mother would spend half the Season with her in London and half at home with him in Devon. This must have been written during the part of the Season when Mother had been with him.

  The letter was heartbreaking as Helen wrote about her feelings of loneliness and inadequacy. Beck had thought her beautiful and gentle—she was petite and dark-haired with a rather shy and quiet demeanor. In hindsight, he could see how she would be overlooked. Because he saw it happen to young women like her today. Which was why he’d become the Duke of Seduction, and he’d be damned if he’d regret it.

  He continued reading, and his breath caught when he reached a certain passage:

  Just yesterday, a pair of particularly horrid young women (SW and DC) told me I’d likely be better off if I were dead, for then I wouldn’t be a burden to my family. Am I a burden? Father says no, but if I don’t marry this Season, I will be a spinster, and then I shall be a burden for all the days to come. I am trying my best. I do think it might be working. There is one gentleman who has asked me to dance twice now—at Almack’s the other night and again last night at the Wendover ball. He’s charming and handsome and so kind. I am trying not to have high hopes, but it is nice to have a small beacon of encouragement.

  The letter finishe
d shortly thereafter, and Beck found himself rereading that section three more times. Anger roiled through him, and he was careful not to crumple the foolscap. He gently folded it and returned the letter to the box.

  Beck sat back in his chair and stared, unseeing, across the room. Who were SW and DC? Two young women. Who were not so young anymore, since that was sixteen years ago. They’d be older than Beck. But they were likely still in Society. He’d find someone who was on the scene in 1802, and he’d hunt down SW and DC.

  And then what?

  He clenched his jaw. He wanted to rail at them, to make sure they knew that those thoughtless words had changed—nay, ended—a life. No one knew what had really happened to Helen, but oh, how he wanted them to. He wanted them to know and to fester in guilt and regret.

  But he couldn’t do that. Not without disclosing what Helen had done. And no one could know that.

  Gradually, his eyes focused on his guitars. He stood and crossed the room, his insides churning with fury and despair. He picked up an instrument and began to play. It wasn’t the cheery music Gage had requested. This was dark and wrapped in emotion—a tangle he wasn’t sure he could work out.

  Beck completely lost himself, surfacing only when Gage opened the door. The butler had that slightly uncomfortable look he reserved for when he had to interrupt. “I beg your pardon, my lord. Mr. Jeffries is here.”

  Damn, it was that late already? Beck really had submerged himself. “Thank you. Show him into the drawing room. I’ll run upstairs to change.”

  After setting his guitar down, Beck raced up the back stairs to his chambers on the second floor and quickly changed with the assistance of his part-time valet, whom Gage had clearly sent up directly from the lower level where he served as a part-time footman.

  A short time later, Beck strolled into the drawing room and smiled at his friend. “My apologies, Horace, I was caught up.”

  Horace chuckled, his dark brows waggling. “I’m familiar with how that happens. How many times did you keep us waiting at school because you weren’t quite finished playing?”