The Black Duke's Prize

by Suzanne Enoch

  "The Duke of Sommesby?" Kate replied. "Never." She glanced back to make certain that Lady Alison and Lady Mary hadn't arrived yet. "That woman with him, was she the one who almost caused that duel before?"

  Louisa shook her head and leaned closer. "No. That was Josette Bettreaux. The duke sent her off to Paris. You would definitely know her if you saw her. She's . . . stunning. I don't know who Eloise LeMonde is. She must be a new one." She sighed. "She is beautiful, though."

  Kate tilted her head and looked out over the audience below to find that, as Lady Alison had predicted, several pairs of opera glasses were turned in her direction. "I don't think he likes her very much," she replied.

  Louisa blushed. "I don't suppose that matters," she whispered, then giggled.

  Kate smiled back, though surprisingly she didn't feel much amused. "I suppose not." She wondered how the Black Duke felt about Josette Bettreaux, and if he would ask her to come back from Paris.

  As the other ladies arrived, Louisa pointed out who held the other boxes around the theater. The one that lay two sections closer to the stage than the Dremonds' box was the Duke of Sommesby's. Katherine glanced over at it several times during the evening. It remained empty.

  * * *

  The Berresford ball was rumored to be the grandest assembly of the Season, and Louisa and Althaea had talked of little else for a week. Everyone was supposed to be there, and Kate wondered if that was true.

  "Miss Kate?"

  Katherine started and looked into the mirror to see Emmie's reflection gazing back at her. "Yes, Emmie?"

  "You're finished, milady," the maid said, her tone making it clear that this was not the first time she had spoken.

  ''Thank you," Katherine said, rising. "I must have been daydreaming."

  Smiling, she walked over to the full-length mirror and twirled around. Emmie had somehow managed to pull her hair up, arranging the tendrils that insisted on escaping into a soft frame around her face and neck. Her deep-rose silk gown with lighter-colored lace at her neck and frothing at the end of her half sleeves had rose beads sewn throughout the body, and she shimmered with every movement It wasn't as simple as she liked, but she had to admit that the effect was pleasing.

  Thomas's opinion was less restrained as the viscount met her and the Hamptons at the side of the ballroom. "You are a goddess, Kate," he breathed, and bowed low over her hand, his sandy hair falling into his eyes.

  She chuckled. "Thank you, Thomas."

  "It looks to be a sad crush," he noted happily as he led her over to where the rest of their group had already gathered. They exchanged greetings, and then the Viscount abruptly frowned.

  "What is it?" she murmured.

  ''Trouble, no doubt." Thomas grimaced, and Katherine turned to see Francis DuPres approaching. He was obviously still out of sorts over the events of the Albey ball, for though she had caught him looking at her several times over the past days, he hadn't yet approached. Until then.

  DuPres reached them, his eyes on her as he bowed.

  "Miss Ralston, will you do me the honor of dancing with me this evening?"

  Thomas shifted, and she knew that he was about to give DuPres a setdown. The dandy glanced at her companions, and she abruptly wondered if being accepted might be as important to him as it had been to her. "Yes, Mr. DuPres," she answered before Thomas could intervene, and held out her card and pencil so that he could choose the dance himself.

  A look she couldn't read briefly crossed his face and then was gone. He almost snatched the card out of her hand in his eagerness to have it. When he had written his name in, he gave it back to her and bowed again. "Until then, Miss Ralston," he said, and walked away.

  "Whatever were you thinking?" Thomas asked as she looked down at her card. He had chosen a waltz late in the evening.

  "Heavens, everyone's been ignoring him for a week. And perhaps I'll step on his toes, and he'll never ask me again," Kate answered, flashing him a smile.

  "More likely he'll be stepping on your toes," Reg suggested. The orchestra struck up a country dance, and he took Louisa's hand, while Thomas led Katherine out onto the floor and Althaea's partner stepped up to collect her.

  The viscount was right; it was a sad crush, and Katherine had never had such a wonderful time. She loved to dance, and did not lack for eager partners. As the evening progressed, though, it became increasingly warm and stuffy in the huge room, and her feet in their thin rose slippers began to ache.

  "I believe this is my dance?" a voice said right in her ear, and she jumped.

  Francis DuPres held out his hand, and with an apology to Lady Alison she stepped away from the chairs bordering the room and walked out onto the floor. He was only a tolerable dancer, and Reg's comment about whose toes would be stepped on came to mind. When halfway through the waltz he suggested they step out onto the balcony to get some air, Kate thankfully accepted. The night was dark and shadowy after the brightly lit ballroom, and it was blessedly cool. She breathed deeply and sighed, brushing her fingers over the petals of the summer bouquet that filled the blue vase beside her. A dozen more evenly spaced vases covered the length of the stonework railing.

  "You are lovely, Kate," DuPres murmured from her side, and he reached over to finger the frothy material at her wrist before he slid his hand down over hers, were it rested on the balcony.

  She removed it quickly. ''Thank you, Mr. DuPres," she said stiffly, abruptly realizing that she should not have left the room with him.

  "Francis," he corrected, moving over smoothly to block her path as she retreated. "Don't go; we haven't had a chance to become acquainted."

  They were already acquainted better than she would have liked. "Excuse me," she grated, and started to walk around him.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her up against him. "Come now, Kate, you should be more friendly," he murmured, leaning closer.

  She shoved at him, but he was stronger than she. "Let go," she commanded, angry.

  "Not until I claim my prize," he insisted, and yanked her closer still.

  His other hand reached up to grab the back of her neck and pull her head forward. His lips touched her cheek, seeking her mouth. Very angry and very frightened, Kate shut her eyes and at the same time lifted her knee. Hard.

  An explosion of hot breath blasted her face as DuPres doubled over. Before he could straighten again, something yanked him backward onto the hard stone. A figure clothed all in black hauled DuPres back to his feet, and then dragged him over to where Katherine stood.

  "Apologize to Miss Ralston," came the quiet voice of Nicholas Varon. Even in the dim light it was clear that the Black Duke was furious.

  "I'Il kill you for this, Sommesby," DuPres wheezed, still half doubled over.

  The duke shook him by the collar and shoved him away. "Apologize, or you can try it at dawn with pistols," Nicholas said, even more quietly than before.

  Nicholas Varon was not the only one who was angry. Now that she had gotten over the initial shock of the assault, Kate was furious. This was her battle, and she didn't need the Black Duke to fight it for her. As DuPres faced Sornmesby, she stepped sideways, grabbed one of the pretty blue vases, and raised it over her head. "Don't touch me again, you cad," she said with a growl, and dashed the vase against the side of his head. It shattered, water and . flowers and pieces of porcelain going everywhere, and with a grunt Francis DuPres collapsed among the debris.

  Sommesby took a step backward his eyes on DuPres. After a moment he looked up at her, his expression one of stunned surprise, then glanced down and flicked a piece of daisy off his lapel. When he raised his head again, his eyes were dancing. "Well done, Miss Ralston," he murmured.

  Breathing hard, Kate unclenched her hands and sagged back against the railing. DuPres remained slumped on the stone where he had fallen. "Oh, my," she whispered, beginning to realize exactly what she had done.

  The duke stepped over the mess to steady her with both hands on her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

>   "I'm trying to decide if I'm going to faint."

  He chuckled and pulled her closer. "I somehow don't think you're the fainting type," he noted.

  She wound her trembling hands into his jacket and rested her cheek on his shoulder while he held her. Perhaps he wasn't as dastardly as she had thought. Laughter sounded from inside the doorway, and she started and pulled away. He released her immediately, but putting distance between them left her little reassured. To be out here on the balcony with a man―or, worse, two men―was enough to ruin her. If anyone found out that she had knocked one of them unconscious, her godparents would probably have to ship her off to America and she'd never see Crestley again. "Your Grace, please don't tell," she begged, paling, and regretting every cutting remark she had made to him over the past weeks.

  "No worries," the duke replied immediately, his expression still amused. "This is a secret I shall very much enjoy keeping." He glanced back at DuPres. "And if our sleeping fool has any pride at all, I don't believe he'll be repeating the tale, either." His eyes met hers and slid to the doorway. "I do believe we should exit the battleground before we are discovered, however."

  She nodded, then glanced into the gloom of the balcony behind him. "You are out here alone?" she whispered.

  He gazed at her for a moment, then nodded. "You refer, of course, to Eloise LeMonde."

  Katherine shrugged, reluctant to anger him. "I wasn't―"

  "Her interests, if she has any, are her own," he replied, and pursed his lips ruefully. "How was Figaro?"

  She smiled. "Wonderful," she replied enthusiastically.

  Impulsively she touched his sleeve. "Thank you again for helping me, Your Grace," she said, looking up at him.

  "You're welcome, Miss Ralston," he answered.

  "Kate," she said.

  "Beg pardon?" he queried, raising an eyebrow.

  "Please call me Kate," she explained. They were conspirators of a sort now, and she owed him for keeping her secret.

  He looked down at her for a long moment, then shook his head. "Katherine suits you better," he said thoughtfully.

  DuPres groaned, and Sommesby took her hand and tucked it over his arm. "You shouldn't be here when he emerges. I think you should have another headache." His lips quirked. "You won't be the only one with a pounding skull tonight, I'll wager."

  She nodded, smiling uncertainly at him. He wasn't exactly whom she would have imagined as a chivalrous ally, but something in his eyes as he looked down at her made Katherine believe that he would keep his word. ''Thank you again."

  Just inside the ballroom he looked sideways at her. "By the way, my friends call me Nick," he murmured.

  Katherine took a breath, wondering what she was about to get herself into. ''Then I shall call you Nicholas," she returned, and was rewarded by a surprised look that quickly turned to one of appreciation and then was as swiftly gone.

  He started forward again and nodded. "Nicholas it is, then."

  7

  From a distance Nicholas watched Katherine explain to her godparents what had happened. Neville's already ruddy face went redder as the two women were forced to head him away from the balcony. After a moment of hushed argument they left the room. When they were well away Nicholas made his way over to where his mother sat with Lady Ann Sefton.

  "Mama," he drawled, "I believe it is time for us to depart."

  She looked up at him curiously, but when he said nothing else she took leave of her companion and accepted the arm he offered her. "What is going on?" she murmured.

  "Something rather interesting just happened, and I don't want you to pay for it," he returned, nodding as they passed the Hillarys.

  ''Oh, dear." She sighed. "What this time?"

  "Francis DuPres is, how shall I say, sleeping, out on the balcony. I imagine he'll be coming around any moment now," he said mildly, and her fingers tightened around his sleeve.

  "Mon dieu, what happened?"

  "He was pawing Katherine Ralston." As he remembered her frightened face he had to fight the temptation to return to the balcony and throw Francis DuPres off of it. "Quite vulgar of him, actually. He should have realized a true rake would never stoop to such methods for a kiss," he said, trying to make light of the incident. "Charming a lady out of her favors is a much more satisfying task."

  "Nicholas," his mother reproved with a reluctant smile. "Kate is all right?"

  "She's fine." He grinned as he signaled for her shawl and his greatcoat to be brought to them. "In fact, she did a rather excellent job of rescuing herself. I felt quite unneeded."

  "Oh, yes?" Julia Varon queried, eyeing him closely. He recognized the look. "Don't get any ideas, Mama.

  She's barely out of the schoolroom, for God's sake."

  "You're hardly in your dotage, Nicky," his mother replied with a smile. "She stands up to you; yes?"

  "She's hardheaded," he retorted, looking away from the amused curiosity on her face and hoping she wouldn't set Kate Ralston dangling after him. He wanted nothing to do with any schoolroom chits or their missish prattle. In all honesty, though, he couldn't picture Miss Ralston setting her cap at anyone. And woe to the man who attempted to obtain her favors without her permission.

  To his relief Julia dropped the subject, and he saw her to her coach with no more than a few commonplace exchanges about the weather and upcoming social events. When she was gone he signaled for his own coach and headed off to one of his clubs, though his thoughts turned often enough to an outspoken schoolroom chit armed with a vase of flowers that he lost a hundred and fifty pounds at hazard.

  The next morning his man of business met him in his study with news about the status of Crestley Hall. "Well, Gladstone, what have we gotten ourselves into?" he asked with a smile.

  "A great deal of trouble, if you ask me, Your Grace," Gladstone returned, fingering his graying moustache.

  "Details, please," he returned. "And you remembered my instructions?"

  "Yes, Your Grace, though I have told you that I do not like to work under these conditions. It is folly for you to invest any of your money in something that you seem determined to know so little about."

  "And?" Nicholas prompted after a moment.

  Gladstone shifted some papers about the desk. "The owner's representative is calling himself Jonathan Smith."

  Nicholas smiled at the distaste in Gladstone's voice. "I told you what kind of purchase this was likely to be."

  "Yes, Your Grace. I did not expect the man to be so obvious about it, however." He paused, and Nicholas could practically see the wheels turning in the older man's head. ''The story is that a youth has inherited the property but will not actually come into possession of it for another two years. This young man does not wish to keep Crestley Hall, but would be willing to entertain a cash offer for it."

  "So the problem is only that the boy is too young to inherit," Nicholas commented, disbelieving that to be the difficulty.

  Apparently Gladstone did as well. "I doubt it, Your Grace. Mr. Smith went to great lengths to keep the young man's name from me. It is more likely being sold out from under the boy."

  "So," Nicholas muttered darkly, briefly wondering how the Baron of Clarey had become involved in these shady dealings and what, exactly, the attraction of Crestley Hall might be. Gladstone opened his mouth, but Nicholas raised a hand. "And you are about to tell me that you could easily get to the bottom of all of this."

  "Yes, Your Grace."

  "Don't," Varon said shortly. He was damned curious himself, but Neville's instructions had been quite explicit, and he would honor them. To a point.

  "Well, you will be forced to find out eventually," Gladstone said morosely. ''The boy must sign the deed. If the names are false, the paper is worthless. At this point I'm not convinced that the document would be legal, anyway."

  Nicholas leaned forward. "You make certain it is legal, Gladstone. When that deed comes into my hand, I want no one in England to be able to contest it. Understand?"

 
"Your Grace, that may be close to impossible."

  "That's what I pay you for, isn't it?"

  Gladstone sighed. "Yes, Your Grace."

  "It's a shame you left the Berresfords' early," Thomas commented several hours later as the viscount rode beside him to Richmond Park.

  "Oh," Nicholas asked innocently, "why is that?"

  "Someone put a vase across Francis DuPres's skull."

  "Really? Whatever for?" Innocence was something he was bad at, Nicholas was finding, for he hadn't had much practice. Under any other circumstances he wouldn't have given a second thought about claiming responsibility for the deed himself. But Kate Ralston was right. There would be a scandal, and while he had little to fear, she might be ruined. That hardly seemed fair, when all she had done was show more spirit than any woman he had ever met. He would keep her secret.

  "He didn't say," Thomas answered slowly, looking at him closely. "In fact, he claimed that he stumbled in the dark and pulled the vase onto his own head."

  Nicholas was surprised that DuPres hadn't arisen demanding satisfaction. "Well, he's not the. most graceful man I've ever encountered," he drawled. "Perhaps he was telling the truth."

  "Yes, perhaps he was," Thomas agreed. The younger man fiddled with his reins for a moment. "I did think it interesting, though, that DuPres and Kate went out onto the balcony, and then you and she reemerged from there several moments later and left." He spoke to his bay's neck, but stiffened when Nicholas glanced over at him sharply.

  "Oh, you did, did you?" he muttered.

  "Yes."

  "If you saw him and Miss Ralston leave the ballroom, then why didn't you go after her?" he asked shortly. "You're the one who warned me about DuPres."

  "I was on my way over when you came back inside," Thomas answered, looking hurt.

  "You never should have let him near her in the first place," Nicholas went on, refusing to be appeased.

  "I could say the same about you," Thomas retorted, redfaced.

  Nicholas sneered. "Jealous, are we? Don't worry, Thomas. She's too innocent for me."

  Thomas flushed. "She asks about you, you know," he said abruptly, and kicked his horse into a canter as they reached the boundary of the park. "You're hard to compete with when you're not even around to show her your bad side," he said over his shoulder.