Jewel arched her right brow. “What if I could direct you to Norgrave? Once your business with him has concluded, you and the marquess would be most welcome in my private box.”
Her catlike grin let him know that the courtesan was not referring to the theater.
“You are very generous, Jewel.” If he gave her any encouragement, he could spend a very invigorating evening in her bed. “Once I find our friend, I will mention your invitation.”
She pouted at his polite rejection. Jewel had made several attempts to coax him back into her bed, but he had lost interest years ago when they had parted ways. “Very well. If you direct your gaze up one tier and to the right, you will see him.”
Tristan nodded, his gaze already searching the dimly lit theater boxes.
However, it wasn’t Norgrave who caught and held his gaze, it was Lady Imogene. Delight washed through him like a tropical breeze. It cooled when he recognized one of the women as the Duchess of Trevett. He was unfamiliar with the other ladies seated on either side of her.
The ladies were not alone.
Four male admirers had charmed their way into the private box. Although they were being respectful and engaging of the women, Tristan suspected that all of them were there for Imogene. He recognized them, but it was one gentleman in particular that had him gnashing his teeth.
Norgrave.
That lying bastard!
What was the point of setting ground rules if the man intended to ignore them?
“Is something amiss, Your Grace?” Jewel asked, using her gilt scissors-glasses to peer at the private theater box that he was glowering at. “Who is the owner of the box?”
Jewel only concerned herself with the gentlemen of the beau monde.
Unaware if Norgrave had confided in the courtesan about the wager, Tristan preferred to avoid mentioning Lady Imogene’s name. “The Duchess of Trevett is likely the owner,” he said carefully, watching for any signs of recognition.
He saw none.
“It appears our Norgrave aspires higher than his rank,” Jewel said, unconcerned how it might influence her relationship with the marquess.
“He always has,” Tristan replied, his gaze lingering on Norgrave. “I will give him your regards, Jewel.” He inclined his head, ignoring the look of disappointment that flashed in Eunice’s eyes. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”
Tristan left the courtesans’ box, and was not surprised that several gentlemen were waiting just beyond the closed curtains for admittance. His first inclination was to head directly to the duchess’s private theater box and separate Lady Imogene from the marquess. Norgrave was not to be trusted. It was a flaw he was intimately acquainted with, but the stakes seemed significantly higher.
He had no intention of letting his friend win this wager.
Indignation carried him halfway to the private theater box before logic overruled his anger. His steps slowed. He did not have to ruin Norgrave’s plans. The dragon—uh, Her Grace—would ensure no harm would come to her daughter. The duchess was too shrewd to be swayed by Norgrave’s considerable charm. Imogene was safe from his friend’s machinations for the moment.
The marquess had done him a favor. If he could break the rules, so would Tristan.
He smiled in anticipation.
* * *
The realization that her life was about to change began at breakfast when their butler, Sandwick, brought in a bouquet of roses from Lord Asher. Thirty minutes later, a bouquet of chrysanthemums from Mr. Scropes arrived, followed by a basket of fruit from Lord Coddington, and a single rose from Lord Barrentine.
“You carried yourself well last evening, daughter,” the duchess had told her as she read the notes sent with each token of affection. “Your father will be pleased when he learns that Lord Coddington has formally declared his interest in you.”
The earl was a distant cousin of the King, and his father was a friend of her mother’s family. Imogene had known the gentleman since she was a child, but he had always treated her as if she was an irritating younger sister. Until the basket arrived, she had assumed his brief visit to their private theater box had been based on nothing more than friendship.
Leaving her mother and sister to their morning repast, Imogene left the breakfast room so she could ponder these new developments in private. Sandwick managed to catch her before she reached the stairs.
“Another bouquet has arrived for you, my lady.”
Imogene was about to instruct the butler to give her mother the bouquet, when curiosity got the better of her. There had been one other gentleman who had lingered in their private box.
The Marquess of Norgrave.
He had flirted with all of the ladies, but she caught him staring at her numerous times. Had he also sent her flowers?
“Is there a note or card, Sandwick?” She glanced at the bouquet. Her admirer must have emptied one of the flower carts in Covent Garden. The butler’s arms were filled with gladiolus, rhododendrons, bleeding hearts, roses, freesia, and geraniums. “Never mind, you have enough to manage. I will get the card.”
A slow smile spread across her face as she glanced at the calling card. The bouquet was not from Lord Norgrave as she had assumed. It was from the Duke of Blackbern. He had scribbled something on the back of the card.
Have you taken a drive through Hyde Park?
I will come for you at one o’clock.
—B
“Presumptuous,” she muttered to herself, though she had half expected to see him at Lord Norgrave’s side.
“Is something wrong, my lady?” the butler inquired.
“No … it is nothing,” Imogene assured the servant. “It appears I have an engagement this afternoon.”
* * *
“Have I mentioned how much I appreciate a lady who is prompt?” Blackbern said three hours later as they entered the park.
“During our brief acquaintance, I do not believe the subject has come up,” Imogene said, still dwelling on the duke’s reaction when she descended the staircase. She was wearing her new carriage dress and bonnet, and the masculine focus in his eyes had warmed her blood and sent her heart racing.
“I tend to get distracted when a lady is wiggling on top of me,” he said dryly. The corners of his mouth curled as she huffed and sputtered over his outrageous remark. “Nevertheless, I would have eventually gotten to the finer points.”
“I wish you would stop referring to our accident as something wanton,” Imogene said. This time the warmth creeping up her neck was embarrassment. “You make it sound as if I deliberately ambushed you.”
“It was a memorable encounter,” he said, the source of her discomfort sounding too pleased with himself. “I have never had a lady throw herself at me in such a manner.”
“Good grief,” she exclaimed. “What will it take to make you stop mentioning it? My mother—”
“A kiss.”
Imogene gaped at him. She could not have heard him correctly. “Your Grace—” she began.
“You asked my price,” Blackbern reminded her as he signaled the horses to halt. Still grasping the reins, he met her stunned gaze. “I must admit that I enjoy teasing you, but if you wish me to stop, you must silence me with a kiss.”
“No.”
“A simple kiss. What is the harm, Lady Imogene?” he asked, sounding as if he demanded kisses from every female who crossed his path.
The notion of kissing the duke made her tremble. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. She thought of his full, firm lips pressing against her mouth. Unconsciously, she licked her lips to moisten them. His eyelids narrowed as he watched her and waited for her to decide.
The choice was hers.
“I do not know. We should not,” she said, trying to think of a good reason why she should not kiss him.
“You know you want to … and we should,” he said, his eyes silently daring her to take the risk. “Just lean forward and kiss me. It is not overly complicated.”
Imogene was torn. She kn
ew she should tell him to go to the devil for tormenting her with his childish dare. However, the woman in her wanted to know how his lips felt against hers.
“Your word.”
He grinned at her. “I promise it will not hurt.”
Before she could choose the coward’s path, she leaned forward and kissed him. Hastily, she withdrew.
“I am not your cousin or father, Lady Imogene,” he teased. “You can do better.”
Imogene sighed. Naturally, he would not make this easy for her. She leaned forward again, her gaze resting on his mouth. He had a beautiful mouth. She closed her eyes and lightly brushed her lips against his.
Once. Twice. Thrice.
Soft featherlike kisses. On the fourth pass, she lingered a few seconds as if to test them both. When his lips parted, she pulled away.
“Are you satisfied, Your Grace?”
Blackbern shut his eyes as if he was struggling to find the right words. When he opened his eyes again, what she glimpsed had her stomach fluttering.
“You are full of surprises, Lady Imogene,” he murmured as he shook his head. “Your kiss has granted you a reprieve.” He gave her a long side-glance. “For a few days.”
Imogene stifled a groan as he urged the horses forward. She should have expected the duke’s reprieve would only be temporary.
Chapter Eight
Almost five days had passed before she encountered the Duke of Blackbern and Lord Norgrave again. She might have believed the gentlemen had lost interest in her as her father had predicted. There had even been moments when she was so distracted by her growing circle of admirers that she forgot to search the other theater boxes or the ballrooms for them.
A part of her would have relished tossing her betrothal to another gentleman in their faces. She could just imagine Blackbern’s reaction to the news. He and Norgrave might not be in love with her, but they were too arrogant to accept that she preferred someone else’s company.
She glanced at her dance card and noted the name written down. Before she could move away from the marble column, an arm came around her waist and lifted her slightly off her feet to gain her compliance. Her backside was pressed against a warm, muscled wall that was unquestionably male.
“Miss me?”
“Ugh, no, I did not!” Imogene turned her face away, but she could not avoid Norgrave’s quick kiss on her cheek. “Release me at once,” she said, prying his arm away from her waist. “Do you lurk behind pillars to waylay unsuspecting ladies?”
She had missed him, but he did not deserve to know the truth.
“A desperate man resorts to unsavory measures when he has neglected his lady.” Satisfied that he had her attention, he freed her and stepped back to admire her. “Why, Lady Imogene, you look positively scrumptious. If you would like to take a stroll with me in the gardens, I am certain we could find a quiet spot for me to test my theory.”
He waggled his eyebrows at her.
“I believe I will reject your generous offer, my lord,” Imogene said haughtily. “And let me be clear. I am decidedly not your lady, so practice your unsavory measures elsewhere. Now if you will excuse me, I have promised Mr. Edgecomb my next dance.”
Her chin high, she started to leave, but he grasped her hand and halted her escape.
“Edgecomb is a dilettante and his hand is as limp as his—”
“Not another word,” Imogene ordered. She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes gleaming with mirth. “You are a very wicked man, Norgrave.”
“Coming from you, my dear, I take that as a high compliment.” Before she could protest, he hooked his arm through hers and escorted her to the middle of the ballroom. “You can do much better than Edgecomb, my dear Imogene.”
“I never said that he was courting me,” she said mildly. “I merely accepted his invitation to dance the minuet.”
“Dancing with the wrong gentleman would hurt your reputation.” Norgrave’s expression darkened as he noticed Mr. Edgecomb’s nimble approach. “My apologies, Edgecomb. Your tardiness has cost you dearly. If you hurry, you might find another dance partner.”
The marquess silenced the man’s objection with a cutting glance. He nodded to Imogene and headed in the opposite direction.
“Mr. Edgecomb was not late,” she whispered as they joined two other couples. “What you did was unkind.”
“I disagree,” Norgrave replied. He stood opposite her and bowed. “And I saw you first.”
Actually, Blackbern had met her first, but she refrained from mentioning it.
Imogene and the two other ladies curtsied to their partners. She placed her right hand within the marquess’s and they faced forward. With a spring in her step they took several steps forward, and then backward. The three couples pivoted to face each other. They stepped right and left, and circled in place. The ladies joined hands and the gentlemen mirrored their actions. In a line they stepped forward and retreated. In perfect formation, the men claimed their lady’s left hand and Imogene walked with Norgrave between the lines they had formed. He released her hand and she bowed her head to walk under the arch the two ladies had formed with their arms. The marquess did the same, and they took their new positions at the end of the line.
The couples repeated the dance steps, each pair alternating their positions. Imogene was pleased with her performance. Her skills had improved under the critical eye of her dancing master. Norgrave was a competent partner. More than one lady was watching him as they danced.
With a parting grin to her partner she bent her head to walk under the arch her female companions had formed. The sudden appearance of a new lady flustered Imogene. Without thinking, she accepted the woman’s hand and stepped forward as she was prepared to circle about to join Norgrave, but her hand was suddenly released and the unknown lady assumed her place in the line.
Her dancing master had neglected to mention this part of the dance. Before she could pout, the two ladies from a different set grasped her hands and stepped forward so they could greet their gentlemen.
Her mouth fell open when she realized the Duke of Blackbern was her new dance partner.
“Is that an invitation to kiss you, Lady Imogene?”
“Certainly not!” she said, ignoring the chuckles from her companions. Only her hours with the dancing master kept her from muddling the steps required. She offered the duke her hand and they promenaded and separated. “Did you conspire with that woman to get her to switch places?”
“Naturally,” he freely admitted. “You should have seen Norgrave’s thunderous expression when I had you plucked from right under his nose. I thought he might challenge me on the spot.”
She and Blackbern moved gracefully together. At a glance, they gave the impression of familiarity.
“You could have waited your turn.”
His eyes were brimming with appreciation as his gaze lingered south of her face. “I was growing impatient. Besides, I have a habit of taking what I want.”
Imogene rolled her eyes as she stepped away from the duke. She had not made up her mind what her dance partner desired more—her or baiting the marquess. “Does the rivalry between you and Norgrave ever get tiresome?”
She squared her shoulders and then slid into a graceful curtsy and he formally bowed, a signal that the dance had ended. Before she could walk away, he stalked toward her. He grasped her by the elbow and escorted her in the opposite direction from Norgrave.
“I need to apologize for your rudeness,” she said, although she allowed him to direct their course because her struggles would have drawn attention to them.
“Later,” he said, his face a rigid mask of determination.
She could hardly fathom that she had thought she missed these two scoundrels.
The duke abruptly spun her in a half circle and she felt a solid wall against her back. “Blackbern—”
“Hush!” he ordered before he sealed his mouth over hers.
Imogene did not try to avoid his mouth. He murmured his appro
val when she lifted her chin and parted her lips. Her tongue met his and she sagged against the wall where he had pinned her. The duke knew how to kiss a lady.
Blackbern seized her by the shoulders as he tore his mouth away. He was out of breath and there was something in his expression that made her want to flee from him. “Little fool, you are not supposed to encourage me,” he exclaimed, behaving as if she was tormenting him.
Imogene smiled. “I like encouraging you, Your Grace.”
His expression was incredulous, as if he could not believe she was daring him to kiss her again. “You have caused me enough trouble, Lady Imogene. Now run back to Norgrave and offer him an apology. You can thank me later for distracting him. He is too angry with me to consider any mischief with you.”
Her spirits plummeted at his explanation. “You kissed me to provoke your friend?”
“Of course,” he said carelessly, seemingly oblivious to her pained expression. “When I kiss a lady, I prefer to do it in private so I can take my time.”
Imogene’s lips betrayed her by trembling.
Blackbern noticed and took a hesitant step toward her. “Lady Imogene.”
“Thank you for the dance and the lesson in ballroom etiquette,” she said, slipping under his arm so she could put distance between them before she disgraced herself by crying.
“Imogene!”
She ignored his plea to return to him. He was a true scoundrel and she had to remind herself of that fact. Blinded by self-loathing and fury, she stepped right into Norgrave’s arms.
“Sweet lady, has someone upset you?”
Imogene was in no mood to indulge either gentleman this evening. “Not in the slightest,” she lied. “If you will excuse me, I intend to spend some time upstairs in the drawing room set aside for the female guests.”
Norgrave cast a speculative look over her shoulder. She refused to glance back to see if the duke was observing them. “Of course, my dear. We will talk later after you have recovered from your upset.”
Her gaze focused on the floor, she resisted the urge to run toward the nearest door. If she was fortunate, she might find something to purge the foul taste of Blackbern from her mouth.
A Duke but No Gentleman Page 8