* * *
“Feeling better?”
Imogene had not expected to find Norgrave waiting for her when she reemerged from the ladies’ saloon. He unfolded his crossed arms and straightened from his slouched position against the wall as she approached.
“You did not have to wait for me, my lord,” she said, her emotions too close to the surface to fence words with the marquess.
He frowned at her. “You were upset. If I were to wager a guess, I suspect Blackbern had something to do with it.”
“I do not wish to speak of it,” she replied, her mouth thinning at the reminder that the duke had kissed her to bait the gentleman walking beside her.
“Of course,” Norgrave said solicitously. “It was not my intention to distress you further by mentioning a certain gentleman.”
He guided her along a passageway she had not explored earlier, and down the stairs. She was not quite ready to return to the ballroom. Nor was she ready to face the duke.
“What is it?” he asked, noticing that her pace had slowed with each step.
“I cannot—” She shook her head, unwilling to explain her feelings about his closest friend. The two gentlemen were behaving as if they were rivals for her affection, but she did not trust the marquess not to reveal their conversation to the duke. “You go ahead. I am not quite ready to return to the ballroom.”
Her admission pleased Norgrave.
“Perhaps I can offer you a compromise,” he said rather mysteriously, before he led her through a side door. Instead of opening into another room, the door opened into a narrow gallery above the ballroom. “This way, you can enjoy the ball and my company.”
Imogene returned his smile, knowing she should not encourage him. Between Norgrave and Blackbern, she could not decide which gentleman was more arrogant. She was certain if she asked her companion for his opinion, he would view her complaint as a compliment.
“Do you often spend your evenings observing people?”
“You would be amazed what some people will do when they think they are not being observed,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner.
Imogene laughed, and continued down the gallery that circled the ballroom. They were not the only spectators. She stopped from time to time, and took a moment to view the guests below. Norgrave was correct. It was amusing to watch the awkward introductions, the groups of matrons sharing gossip as they observed their daughters from a distance, the fortune hunters seeking out potential heiresses, and the young couples stealing a few minutes of privacy in the alcove.
“You are quite brilliant, my lord. This is more entertaining than the theater,” she declared.
“I have always thought so,” he said, staring at her with an indulgent expression on his handsome face.
They had moved away from the dancers, and were positioned above the open doors that led to the back terrace. Imogene glanced across the ballroom and casually noticed a man and woman. A potted tree obscured the couple, but they appeared to be engaged in an intimate conversation. She braced her gloved hands on the railing to see what would happen next.
Any amusement she was feeling slipped away when the gentleman turned his head to reveal that she was staring at the Duke of Blackbern. The marquess stepped closer until her body was caged by his.
“Ah, I had wondered where Blackbern had gone,” he said, tilting his head as if he was attempting to discern the identity of the duke’s companion. He did not seem particularly surprised that his friend had lured his female companion into one of the alcoves. “I had not realized—” He broke off as if he was reluctant to finish his thoughts.
“Realized what, Lord Norgrave?”
“Norgrave will suffice, my dear lady,” he said absently, his hand covering hers. The marquess nodded in the couple’s direction. “Blackbern and Lady Flosham. It appears our mutual friend is keeping secrets.”
“Secrets?” she echoed weakly. Imogene watched as the duke lowered his head. It was impossible to discern if he was kissing the lady or merely speaking to her.
“The Countess of Flosham,” Norgrave said, oblivious to Imogene’s growing disquiet. “She and Blackbern shared a very close friendship five years ago. Although their liaison lasted only a few months, our friend was quite smitten with her. She was the one to break their connection out of respect for her husband. There was some speculation a few years ago when her husband perished in an accident that the duke would renew his acquaintance with his former love. I suppose he was giving her time to mourn the loss of her husband.”
“I see,” Imogene said, not understanding the grief and disappointment welling up within her. She had no claim on the Duke of Blackbern. He had flirted and kissed her, but it had been her misfortune to assume he had been developing feelings for her. When he had kissed her earlier to make Norgrave envious, she had naively assumed his devotion had been genuine.
“It is quite admirable of the duke to take into account the countess’s feelings for her husband,” she said, striving not to reveal her own feelings on the matter. “She is a fortunate lady to find two good gentlemen in her life.”
The curious look Norgrave sent her hinted that he was not entirely convinced that she was as unmoved by Blackbern’s fickle affections as she appeared.
“You know, when I first saw you, I thought you superficially resembled Lady Flosham. You are both blondes and close in stature and looks,” he said, his keen perusal studying her from head to toe. “When Blackbern expressed an interest in meeting you, I had wondered if he was thinking of his countess.”
His countess.
The thought of their earlier kiss sickened her. Had he been thinking of Lady Flosham all along?
“I can see that I have been thoughtless,” Norgrave murmured, drawing her away from the railing and blocking her view of the couple. “Until I saw your face, I had no idea that you had developed feelings for Blackbern.”
“No,” Imogene denied, appalled that her affection for the duke was so apparent. “I do not love him.”
The marquess nodded at her fierce declaration. “Very wise of you. Blackbern is a decent fellow, but he is unable to resist a fair face. I do what I can to shield young ladies from my friend’s flawed nature, but there is little I can do for a bruised heart.”
“You are a good friend, Norgrave,” she said, her throat feeling scratchy and raw. “I appreciate the warning, but I see Blackbern for the scoundrel he is. I do not have a bruised heart,” she lied, desperately wanting to believe it.
Norgrave nodded with approval. “You are a sweet, clever girl, Imogene. I realize Blackbern saw you first, but it is my fondest wish that you might consider me a worthy substitute when it comes to matters of the heart.”
“My lord, I do not know what to say,” Imogene whispered, wondering if she might have felt differently if Norgrave had been the gentleman she had crashed into the night of the Kingabys’ ball. “I do not view you as any man’s substitute.”
His grin widened. “Then I am a fortunate man.”
Before she could guess his intentions, the marquess kissed her. With the image of Blackbern and his ladylove burned into her brain, Imogene eagerly tipped her chin up so their mouths met in hopes Norgrave could wipe away the lingering trace of the duke’s kisses.
For a few minutes, the marquess actually succeeded.
When Norgrave stepped away and her head cleared, Imogene realized how far she had fallen for Blackbern—and she did not know what she was going to do about it.
Chapter Nine
Days earlier, she had been disappointed by Lord Norgrave and the Duke of Blackbern’s absence. Now she wished they would find another lady to tease and play their wicked games. The marquess left his card two days in a row with Sandwick, when their butler had told him that Lady Imogene wasn’t receiving visitors. The duke had also left his card with the promise that he would call on her this afternoon. On the back of his card, he had scrawled in his distinctive handwriting:
You cannot avoi
d me forever.
—B
Blackbern would be astounded what she was capable of when she was annoyed. It was precisely the reason why she had accepted the invitation to join her friends on a picnic. No one with the Blackbern or Norgrave titles had been invited. She had made inquiries in advance. After being manipulated into kissing both men, she came to the realization that she lacked the sophistication to be much of a challenge for such jaded gentlemen.
Unless they coveted her because she was a daughter of a duke. An alliance with her family would be prized, she thought. However, her mother was convinced that marriage was not what interested the duke and his friend.
Imogene was determined to banish both gentlemen from her thoughts.
“Lady Imogene,” Lord Asher called out, distracting her from her dour musings. “I would be honored if you would walk with me.”
Her friend Cassia nudged her when she failed to immediately respond to his invitation. She had been sitting on a blanket with Cassia, Miss Faston, and two other ladies. Lord Asher had accompanied the recently married Mr. and Mrs. Hewitt. Cassia viewed the earl’s efforts as dreadfully romantic, and she predicted the gentleman would declare his intentions to Imogene’s father in the near future. Lord Asher was clumsy around her, but he was courteous, intelligent, and the consummate gentleman. The thought would never occur to him to drag her off in a scandalous manner and then kiss her senseless.
Imogene frowned. Some hours, she truly despised the Duke of Blackbern. When she reached the point that she could hold on to her hate for an entire day, she would finally be cured of him. And Lord Norgrave, too, she silently added. His kisses were not as devastating, but he was equally dangerous.
“Imogene,” Cassia whispered.
She shook her head and smiled at the earl. “Forgive me, Lord Asher. Of course I would love to join you. A stroll will shake off the lingering lethargy of our meal.” She offered her hand and he rushed forward to assist her. The toe of one of his shoes caught the edge of the blanket and the poor man lost his balance. Several ladies shrieked in dismay as he fell and landed on Miss Faston.
“Good heavens!” Imogene exclaimed as she and Cassia grabbed the humiliated earl and struggled to help him to his feet. Lord Asher and his unfortunate victim were not helping matters by flailing about. “Miss Faston, are you hurt?”
“No harm done,” the lady wheezed. “My lord, if you could just remove your elbow from my middle.”
Imogene watched in fascination as Lord Asher’s face deepened into a dark red hue.
“I do beg your pardon,” he rasped, struggling to free himself from the awkward tangle of limbs. “Lady Imogene and Miss Mead, if you could release my arms, I may actually be able to do more than flop about like a fish.”
She and Cassia dropped his arms as if they had been stung.
Masculine laughter drifted behind her. Imogene’s eyelids narrowed into slits. She recognized that voice.
Blackbern.
Imogene cocked her head to the side so she could glare at him. “Why do you not be useful for a change and help us, Your Grace?”
Everyone froze at her waspish tone. She supposed it was highly disrespectful for her to order the duke about like a footman, but he deserved it for chasing after her as if he was pursuing a fox on a hunt.
The duke greeted her anger with his usual aplomb. “Not sleeping well, darling, or is it your monthlies?”
“You fiend!” Imogene shouted, too vexed to be polite. She stepped away from the duke before she threw something at him.
“If I was a betting man, I would wager it was her monthlies.” Blackbern braced his hands on his knees as he crouched down. He sent an apologetic glance to Miss Faston. “I beg your pardon, dear lady. Your patience is about to be rewarded.” He seized the earl and effortlessly hauled him off the blanket. “Let me guess what happened. You were distracted by Lady Imogene’s smile.”
“Something like that,” Lord Asher muttered, refusing to look at anyone.
Imogene could sympathize with the gentleman. She was appalled that the duke had humiliated her in front of her friends and Lord Asher, not to mention the false intimacy he inferred discussing personal matters such as her monthlies.
As if he had the right to know!
Blackbern was kind enough to assist Miss Faston to her feet. She stiffened when he glanced in her direction. “Come along, Imogene. You have caused enough mischief for the afternoon.”
“Me?” Imogene took a step back. Everyone was watching her and the duke as if they were players on a stage. “I was attempting to help.”
“You might begin by scrubbing a little soot on your cheeks or perhaps consider wearing a sack over your head when you are strolling about in public. Your beauty is giving us mortal men heart failure, and casts other ladies in an unflattering light.”
“Hear, hear,” mumbled Miss Faston.
“Miss Faston,” Imogene exclaimed, dismayed that she had lost an ally. “Do not encourage him.”
Blackbern thinks I am beautiful?
The woman shook her head. “I have the right to complain since Lord Asher failed to see me until he actually fell on me like a mighty oak tree.”
“Permit me to apologize again for my clumsiness,” Lord Asher said, recovering some of his dignity when Miss Faston complimented his impressive physique.
“Bid your friends farewell, my goddess,” Blackbern said, capturing her wrist as if he expected her to cause him more trouble. “We have an appointment to keep.”
Cassia was the only one who appeared uncertain about leaving Imogene to the duke’s tender mercies. “What should I tell your mother?”
“Tell her nothing.” The distance between her and her companions was widening with each step. “I will explain everything.”
Blackbern had the audacity to laugh. “Not very skilled at lying, are you?” Without asking her permission, he lifted her into his carriage. “If you need a tutor, I am available. I am well versed in this particular art.”
“I will pass on your offer,” Imogene said, rearranging her skirt.
“You might be amazed what I can teach you,” was the duke’s enigmatic reply. The carriage dipped as he settled in beside her. “I know I am curious to see how brave you are.”
* * *
His challenge had managed to silence Imogene. She was still angry, her posture seemed to convey her defiance and contempt toward him for sins real and imaginary. Tristan had never found troublesome chits appealing, but there was something about Imogene that made him want to ruffle her sleek feathers. He wondered what would happen if he taught her to channel her outrage into passion. The results might be worth facing the dragon’s wrath.
It was obvious Imogene had inherited her fierce temper from her mother.
Their companionable quiet lasted ten minutes.
“I am not talking to you.”
He bit the inside of his cheek and offered no opinion.
She huffed and muttered under her breath. “I cannot believe you speculated on my monthlies.” Her lower lip quivered as if she was contemplating to sulk about it the entire drive.
To spare himself the grief, he said, “In my experience—”
“As far as I know, you do not have a mother, sister, or wife,” she said, tapping her fingers as if each one was important. “Do not presume to share your opinion on the subject because any knowledge you possess likely came from other gentlemen.”
Her uncharacteristic bluntness hit close enough to the mark for him to wince, but she had forgotten another sort of female—a mistress. Since there was no benefit to winning the argument, he held his tongue. However, there were other ways to bait his prickly companion. “So was I correct? Is that why you were so angry with me?”
“The subject is not open for discussion,” she said in forbidding tones. “As for the reason why I was angry … you embarrassed me in front of my friends. You spoke to me as if we were—we were—” She audibly swallowed and shook her head.
Her shy,
awkward manner disarmed him. His expression softened as he took pity on her. “I implied a certain intimacy.”
Instead of pouting, she nibbled on her lower lip. “That we are lovers? Yes. It was cruel of you and it was wrong to give them a false impression about our friendship.”
“Why do you assume it is false?” he softly countered, tugging on the reins to slow his horses. Securing the reins, he turned until his knees brushed against her skirt. “I am beguiled, my lady.” He allowed her a minute to ponder his declaration. “If given the slightest encouragement, I would seize it. I would tutor you in the carnal arts, and we would become intimate. Lovers. I could show you a side of your nature you have been forced to bind with whalebone and layers of linen and silk. I would show you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams, drugging your senses with my lips, my fingers, and my cock.”
Her cheeks turned pink at his frank language. “You are not supposed to speak to me like this.” She was only beginning to comprehend what he had sensed from their first meeting.
“Why? I am offering you a glimpse of the future. It is your choice.”
It won’t be if Norgrave has it his way.
She shook her head as if denying their attraction would quell it. He desired her. The damn wager might have spurred him into action, but she had unknowingly sealed her fate when she had accidentally collided into him. Each meeting whetted his appetite, leaving him yearning for a few more minutes with her, a flirtatious glance, and the sound of her laughter caressing him like a lover’s hand.
Lust nibbled at his restraint until he thought he might go mad if he did not bed her. He had seriously contemplated losing himself in another woman, but he had dismissed the notion the moment she had kissed him.
Imogene was unaware of the power she had over him. His virginal goddess had placed a spell on him, and a part of him resented her for it. He felt as if she had gelded him, because no other lady would do until he could break the enchantment.
Her sudden wariness made him realize that he had been staring at her lips. He retrieved the reins, and they continued the drive. This time, he was heartened by her silence. She was not screaming at him, demanding that he return her to her parents.
A Duke but No Gentleman Page 9