The Most Dangerous Duke in London

by Madeline Hunter

  “Indeed.”

  Untold levels quaked beneath the surface gratitude of that one-word response. Clara heard disapproval of her boldness, and pending threats. Emilia, however, only beamed with delight that she would not be left out of absolutely everything.

  Her sister looked beautiful today, but then she always did. The sun filtering in the windows made her blond hair all but spark with lights and also flattered her dewy complexion. Langford kept looking her way. Not that Langford would do for Emilia, any more than the other duke here might. Langford was known for a wildness that more than matched that of his rakish hair. Charming as sin, he would surely break the heart of any woman he married.

  Clara tried not to see Stratton, but he sat just to the right of his friend and managed to invade her vision anyway. He barely looked at Emilia at all, something Grandmamma was sure to notice. Clara hoped that Grandmamma did not realize whom he looked at instead.

  It was not as if he stared at her. Just often that dark gaze settled on her, to the point of making her self-conscious. She understood what Emilia meant about finding him frightening, only that word did not really fit the response he evoked. Rather, she found his attention forcing memories on her, of his standing too close, and almost kissing her, and saying things too intimate.

  “The day is fair,” her grandmother announced. “Clara, why don’t you take your sister and the gentlemen to the garden, to enjoy the breeze and sun? Your brother and I will join you soon.”

  So it was that she led the way out the French windows to the terrace.

  * * *

  Adam arranged it that by the time they stepped onto the terrace, he stood beside Lady Clara and Langford accompanied Lady Emilia.

  Langford could charm any woman of any age without trying. It was simply his nature. Some kings were born to rule, and Langford had been born to seduce.

  He restrained himself to the extent he could because Lady Emilia was a young girl, but those blue eyes still pierced and that smile still cajoled. Lady Emilia became a flustered mess of giggles and blushes by the time they reached the gardens.

  Lady Clara missed none of it. “Shrewd of you to bring him,” she said to Adam. “Otherwise my grandmother might have interpreted your call as courting, and indicative of your agreement to her idea about a marriage.”

  “She would have been correct, of course, but only in error as to the lady. We will not explain that yet, however. It will be our secret for a while.”

  “I wish you would stop speaking like that, when you know it will be a secret forever because I will never accept. There is no reason for me to.”

  “There is good reason. Many reasons. It will be our secret while I show you what they are.”

  Up ahead, Langford must have told some joke because Emilia’s laughter pealed through the air.

  “I hope he does not get any ideas about her,” Clara said, narrowing her eyes. “He will never do.”

  “He has never shown interest in young girls, so I would not worry.”

  “Are the two of you good friends?”

  “We have been close friends since we were schoolboys.” He laughed, quietly. “I forget how little you know about me sometimes.”

  “Your family did not exist in my family’s view, so I never noticed you or with whom you were friends.”

  “Never noticed me? How wounding. Never? Not once?” He gave her a direct, teasing look.

  She felt her face flush, because of course she had noticed him before he left for France, during her first seasons. Who could not? His handsome face and smoldering aura made him stand out. Once, at a ball, she sensed an odd calm in the ballroom, a spot of stillness. It had been him, acting like the center of a vortex around which the chaos of the assembly swirled.

  He had seen her watching him, she suddenly remembered now. He had noticed her noticing. He had guessed, she suspected, that she did not look upon him entirely as an enemy in that unexpected moment.

  He now dipped his head closer to hers. “I do not think we did not exist for your family. I think we were much discussed. Not with you or by you, but your father and his mother. Am I correct?”

  His voice, breath, and closer proximity made her nervous. She checked to see that her sister had not gotten so far ahead as to offer no sanctuary. “At times.”

  “Around Waterloo?” His voice softened. “Or in the months after?”

  Her mind swept back to that time, years ago, as if sent there by a spell he cast. Conversations crowded her memory all at once, like so many voices chattering in layered unison. She heard her father, so clearly that it pained her, but his words were obscured by other voices talking over and around him. Then she glimpsed him, sharply, slamming his hand down on a writing table in the library.

  “No,” she lied. “Not around then. Not that I remember, at least.” She did not know why she refused to tell him. Perhaps because of the way he watched her expression. As if it mattered to him how she responded. Mattered too much.

  Up ahead, Langford stopped his stroll with Emilia. He waited for them to catch up. Emilia appeared heady with delight. She kept looking up at Langford like he mesmerized her.

  “Oh, dear,” Clara murmured.

  “Do not worry. I will throw more appropriate men at her,” Stratton said. “Safe ones, who are not dangerous in any way. She will quickly forget an afternoon’s infatuation.”

  * * *

  “Now, that was an odd call.” Langford offered the opinion as he and Adam turned their horses onto Bond Street.

  “How so?”

  “How so, he asks innocently. You know how so. If I did not know better, I would say that you brought me so that you could throw me at that girl, despite your assurances. Well, I won’t have it. And if the dowager is foolish enough to risk her granddaughter’s virtue with me, she will have to put the girl in line behind the other girls whose mothers are also so careless.”

  “The intention was not to throw you at the girl but to avoid having me thrown at her. I had never met her before and did not want her family thinking a mere social call meant more than that.”

  “I am so happy that you found me convenient to your purpose. The next time, please give the honor to Brentworth.”

  “He would have frightened her to where she could not speak a word. Nor would he have been so careless as to allow me to risk his name being connected to hers.”

  “You are saying you chose me because I am an accommodating idiot. I do not want my name linked either. If it is, if Marwood starts rumors, I swear I will—”

  “Here is what you should do. Call on them again in several days—”

  “Do I look mad to you? We are talking about the Countess of Marwood. She who ruins women for fun and humiliates men as a game. I may survive this Season if I do battle only with the mothers now armed against me. I will surely fall if I must also watch my flank from this woman.”

  “I had forgotten how dramatic you are. Hear me out. Call again in several days, but do as I did. Bring another with you. Your brother, for example.”

  “Harry? He will bore the girl to death.”

  “She is very young. Calm, studious Harry will not overwhelm her, and she will have a friend in town. With time, who knows what might happen. He will have a clear field, after all.”

  Langford thought that over. “It might work. Did you take lessons in France in matchmaking?”

  “I had lessons in all kinds of things. Now, I must stop here for a spell.” He swung off his horse. “You are welcome to go on your way.”

  Langford looked down at the shop where Adam tied up his horse. “You are buying jewelry?”

  “A small bauble.”

  Langford dismounted. “For whom?”

  “For my lady fair. I will see her a few more times before gifting her with it, but it is time to choose something.” He entered the shop, with Langford on his heels.

  “Now I am confused, Stratton. You just advised that I throw my brother at her, and you all but ignored her today—” He sto
pped in his tracks. “Oh, hell. It isn’t the girl at all, but the older one, isn’t it? Tell me I am wrong, because it would be the worst match ever devised by hell.”

  Adam asked the clerk to bring out the pearl earbobs. Langford elbowed next to him at the counter. “If I am correct, pearls are the wrong choice. Pearls are modest, discreet, and conventional. That harridan begs for something bright and unexpected. Something that declares she bows to no man. Something that—”

  “I am beginning to think you do not like her.”

  “No man does much, Stratton. The way she thumbs her nose at every suitor hardly encourages generosity in return.” He gestured to the clerk to take away the tray of pearls. “Bring out your rubies instead, my good man. The bigger and more outré, the better.”

  Chapter Six

  “I have decided that I have to move here.” Clara shared the thought with Althea after they finished proofing the journal. It waited, all wrapped, for Althea to deliver it to the printer and arrange final printing.

  “Are your relatives being a trial?”

  “My grandmother thinks she can dictate my movements and command me to join her on any calls she chooses to make. My freedom in coming and going is over. I am reduced to sneaking away as I did today to meet you here. I half expect her to open my mail.”

  She gazed around the library of her house on Bedford Square where they talked. The house was not nearly as large as Gifford House, of course, but it would suit her. If she lived here she could more quickly finish her other plans for this abode.

  Women lacked places to meet and relax, other than each other’s homes. Men had their clubs, taverns, and coffee shops for that purpose. Why shouldn’t women have refuges too? This house, with its dining room and library and drawing room, might serve as one, to a select group of friends. She would not even have to make many changes.

  How nice it would be if a woman could leave her home and venture out, knowing that at her destination there would be friends and acquaintances with whom she could spend an hour or so, taking some coffee and cakes, or even, heaven forbid, a bit of sherry or wine. Clara thought she would love to have a women’s club like that, so others probably would too.

  “When do you plan to effect this move? It is a big step,” Althea said.

  “Tomorrow next. I have already informed my maid to start packing my trunks.”

  “Have you informed your brother and sister and, lest we leave her out, your grandmother?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Do you intend to slip away at night and leave a note?”

  “Of course not.” It had crossed her mind. “Let us not dwell on the row that will ensue, but speak of other things. Have you learned anything regarding Stratton?”

  Althea smiled smugly. “Perhaps.”

  “Are you going to tell me, or tease me?”

  “I thought a little of the latter would be fair. It is very provocative news, and considering the guilt I suffered to get it, I ought to make you pay.”

  “Provocative, you say. I am all ears.”

  “I learned that there was a very vague rumor that the last duke did not perish in a hunting accident as was commonly believed. Rather, he turned his pistol on himself.”

  Clara stared at Althea. “Who told you this? It is a shocking thing to say if it is not true.”

  “I wormed it out of my great-aunt.”

  “The great-aunt who needs watching?”

  “I tell myself I did not take advantage, but I think I did. She was visiting my brother, and we were left alone. I had just asked my brother what he knew about Stratton, when he was called away by his secretary. My aunt began sharing what she knew of Stratton, as if I had posed the question to her.” She bit her lower lip. “I suppose I should have stopped her.”

  “Perhaps she confused him with someone else. Someone from many years ago.”

  “I do not think so, considering what else she said.”

  Clara leaned in, so she would not miss a word.

  “She said Of course, his loyalty had been impugned. What else could he do?”

  “No.”

  Althea nodded. “Then my brother returned, and with one glare silenced her.”

  “I don’t remember any rumors about his loyalty. Of course, no one would dare sharing such a thing openly if no official accusations had been made.”

  “She could also be wrong. Or, as you said, confused him with someone else.”

  Not for the first time, discussions of Stratton’s family pulled memories out of Clara, deep ones about things to which she had never attached significance. Now, while she pondered this revelation, snips of images came to her from that time. She saw her father in his study, bent over the Times on his desk, squinting at a notice bound in a black border. She had only glanced to see what absorbed him because of his expression. It had not been one of sorrow or curiosity. Rather, a steely resolve had masked his face, which she thought odd considering he read a death notice of another peer.

  “She also said it happened on a family property,” Althea said. “She spoke like he had shown bad form in killing himself like that.”

  “How horrible.” Clara felt sympathy for the duke now. It had been bad enough experiencing the passing of her own father. How much worse to go through that under these circumstances. “Small wonder that he left England so soon after. The current duke, I mean. If your aunt believed this, others did, I am sure. The whispers would have been unbearable during such grief.”

  “I think it just as likely he left due to that business about impugned loyalty, don’t you? That sort of thing stains a family name, sometimes forever.”

  “Even if they are enemies to my family, I would prefer not to believe that part. However, it might explain those duels in France. Still, let us not assume your aunt was correct until we have similar information from others.”

  Althea stood and picked up the wrapped proof. “I should go now if I am to give this to the printer this afternoon. We need to plan how we will distribute the finished journal to the bookshops. Should I write to our ladies and arrange a meeting on that?”

  “If you would. Monday would be a good time. I have a few family matters to address before then.” Clara walked Althea to the door. “As for what you told me today, we must keep this to ourselves.”

  “Do you no longer want to learn all of it and publish an article?”

  “If we do learn all of it, we will publish. Until then, however, this must be between the two of us alone. I do not want to do unintended harm by stirring up old tales.”

  Althea placed a little kiss on her cheek. “You have a good heart, Clara. You are being most sympathetic. Perhaps that old war no longer has the meaning it once did.”

  What a silly thing to say. Of course it did. She was not being sympathetic either. She was being responsible. Let the broadsides and gossip sheets smear a person’s name with no evidence. Her journal was better than that.

  * * *

  Two days later, Adam and Brentworth spent the afternoon boxing. Their efforts completed, they washed and dressed. Adam was tying his cravat when Langford entered the chamber so the three of them could partake of some ale in a tavern before riding home.

  “Did you tell him?” Langford asked while he lounged against a wall, watching.

  Adam ignored him.

  “Tell me what?” Brentworth asked.

  “He has already fixed his sights on a woman. He bought her jewels.”

  Brentworth turned his head to look at Adam. One of his eyebrows shot up. “The Season is still young. I doubt you have yet seen all the possibilities.”

  “This one is not at the balls and parties,” Langford said. “This one is not among the young possibilities you speak of.”

  “Now you intrigue me,” Brentworth said. “Who is it, Stratton?”

  Adam donned his waistcoat and pulled on his frock coat.

  “If you will not tell him, I will,” Langford said. “For reasons only hell knows, he has decided to court Lady Clara C
heswick.”

  “Marwood’s sister? Or, to be precise, Marwood’s older sister? Did your brain take a blow while you were in France, Stratton? The younger one I hear is exquisite, but Lady Clara, even in her prime, had little to recommend her besides spirit.”

  “Too much spirit,” Langford said.

  “I like spirit,” Adam said. “Men who fear it in women are sheep.”

  “Well, I suppose she is also pretty enough too,” Brentworth conceded.

  “Whatever that means,” Langford said.

  “And I hear she did inherit a nice fortune from her father,” Brentworth added offhandedly.

  “Stratton is the last man to need a fortune, nice or otherwise,” Langford said. “Furthermore, don’t you find his interest in a woman of that family, even one who is pretty enough and who possesses spirit and a nice fortune, highly suspicious?”

  “I do indeed. What are you up to, Stratton?”

  Finished with his coats, Adam faced them. “What do you think I am up to?”

  “We are going to play that game, are we? Langford and I will put our minds to that question on the way to the tavern. I daresay we will know all within five minutes of making the effort.”

  Ten minutes later, seated in the tavern, Brentworth spoke again. “I have concluded there are three possible reasons for this peculiar courtship.”

  “As many as three? You do think fast.”

  “Stop it,” Langford said sharply. “All that mystery may impress women and stupid men, but we know you. Remember that.”

  Adam drank his ale.

  “Reason one,” Brentworth announced. “Her nice fortune is nicer than we know and in some way enhances your own in ways we do not know.”

  Adam let him talk.

  “Reason two—she is pretty enough in her own way. It is possible, I suppose, that her own way happens to appeal to you more than it does to me.”

  “Is that it, Stratton?” Langford asked, incredulous. “I don’t know . . . her eyes are bright and provocative, true, but her mouth is too large and . . . I suppose some men might find her . . .” His words drifted away.

  “Reason three.” Brentworth leaned toward Adam, across the table. “Pursuing her in some way helps your reason for returning. She is a means to an end.”