World of de Wolfe Pack: To Bedevil a Duke (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Lords of London Book 1)

by Tamara Gill

  “Your sarcasm is not lost on me, Lady de Wolfe,” the Duke said, glaring to the point his brows almost joined, and not caring who in the upper ten-thousand saw that he was.

  Darcy wanted him to be aware of her annoyance, and although she smiled sweetly at Lady Ainsworth, what the duke had said earlier was not to be borne. How dare he make her feel like she was the one who’d done something wrong. That her conduct was somehow worse than her husband’s whoring, and gambling, most of which was with her money. Another little prickle in her soul that she’d had to walk away from a house that she’d rightfully saved from being taken back by the banks upon his death. How could she not celebrate being rid of a complete fool? She would not pretend a broken heart or to be a sad little widow.

  “Well, that is absurd, and I can assure you, my dear,” Lady Ainsworth said, her jowls shaking a little in wrath, “I will be spending just as much time with you as I always have. Your mama was one of my closest friends, no matter the twenty-year difference between us. And I always promised her that I would care for you until the day I died, and I will not, no matter what my grandson has to say about it, deviate from the honor.”

  “Thank you, your ladyship.”

  “Grandmother, see sense. If I’m to find a wife of similar standards to my own, surely you can see that our family being associated with a renowned hellion, a woman who flaunts her freedom from the marriage state with little care for her reputation, would not show us in a favourable light.”

  Lady Ainsworth sighed, looking down her nose at her grandson. Not the easiest of feats considering his grace was standing, and both Darcy and her ladyship were sitting. “I will not hear of such stupidity again. Really, Cameron, do step off that high horse you seem so acquainted with these days and return to our level.”

  Darcy’s lips twitched, and she fought not to giggle at the reddening of his grace’s cheeks. Really, he was being so silly to look down on her so. “What if I promise that whenever I’m around her ladyship and yourself for that matter, that I’m on my best behaviour?” she said, taking pity on the man. If it meant she could continue socializing with Lady Ainsworth, she would take care. When she decided to enjoy her Season and all the opportunities this and others might bring, she never meant to inadvertently hurt others. If his association with her would hurt his chances of making a match, then she would while around him, behave herself.

  “You’re around us tonight, and yet you’re foxed. Not that my grandmother has noticed such a thing.”

  “Oh, for pity sake, it is a ball and one that is being hosted by me. I may drink if I wish and I’ll not have, even a duke, tell me what to do.”

  “That is enough, both of you,” her ladyship said, casting them both a dark glance. “Anyone listening would think you’re a bickering married couple already, like so many around us. Your grace, you do not have the right to be so opinionated about someone who has been a family friend for many years. You need to remember if you cannot say anything nice, you do not say anything at all.”

  “I think grandmother that is the first logical thing you’ve said this evening, and is my cue to leave.” His grace bowed. “Good evening ladies,” he said, heading in the direction of the ballroom doors.

  Darcy growled, throwing daggers at his back as he made his way through the ton. Argh, the man was infuriating and so high-and-mighty. She had just as good breeding as his grace, she was a de Wolfe. How dare he look down his nose at her.

  “Darcy, my dear. I know your mind is no doubt coming up with multiple ways of getting back at my grandson, but please let him be. I’m hoping that when he gets a wife that his emotional wall, his rather cutting opinions may abate a little.”

  “I doubt that they will, but I promise I shall not cause trouble for him. We differ in opinions, and no doubt will again. I will not stop inviting him to events or talking to him should our paths cross.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” Her ladyship paused, a small frown line between her brows the only indication that she was concerned about the duke. Otherwise Lady Ainsworth was a very attractive woman for her age, of course, she had smile lines, and her hair was grey, but otherwise, time had been very kind to her.

  “I think my grandson is lonely. And I do believe that is why he’s so angry at the world. As you know, he lost his only sibling, spent his informative years with no one to argue with, play and share secrets. He’s grown so used to his own company that I think he finds it hard to socialize. As was demonstrated this evening.”

  A pang of sadness tweaked inside Darcy at the memory of the duke’s elder brother’s carriage accident that had taken his life. But remembering his ungentlemanly words, she tried to push the emotion of feeling sorry for the duke aside. Not very successfully she might add. “I’m sure you’re right, Lady Ainsworth. A happy union is just what his grace needs and maybe this will be the Season that he finds a woman to warm his bed.”

  “Sometimes I think you’re the perfect person for Cameron. You both certainly have a wicked tongue,” her ladyship said, a calculating twinkle in her blue orbs.

  Darcy chuckled, waving a footman over to bring them champagne. “We would not suit, and I’m not looking to marry anyone. Marriage to Lord Terrance was quite enough for one lifetime.”

  Her ladyship sighed, taking a small sip of her wine. “Well, that is a shame, for I would love to have you as a granddaughter as well as my goddaughter. But,” she said, a sad tilt to her lips, “one cannot have everything that they wish. I often fret that I shall never see the two people I care for most happy and settled in the world.”

  Darcy took her ladyship’s hand and squeezed. She was not immune to her words that often sparked guilt within her. And knowing it was completely on purpose on her ladyship’s behalf made her smile. “Do behave godmother. I know what game you’re playing, and once again, his grace and myself do not suit. My only connection to the gentleman is through you, and that is where it shall stay. As stated previously tonight and many times at previous events. If you recall.”

  “One must try to make you understand, my dear. It never hurts to plant a suggestion into one’s mind for it to fester and possibly make them wonder if my suggestion had merit.”

  “You’re incorrigible,” Darcy said, laughing.

  “I know,” her ladyship replied, no remorse whatsoever in her tone.

  Darcy looked back at the duke and tried to imagine him in her bed. He was certainly one of the most striking, powerful men in London. In the throes of passion, wild and wicked, maybe he would look even more so. He turned and looked down at Miss Watson whom he was currently conversing with, frowning and what looked like chastising the poor woman. Darcy shook her head. No, he would never do.

  His Grace looked up and their gazes smashed together. The pit of her stomach clenched and her cheeks flushed from the inspection he bestowed on her. What a shame she disliked him so much. Or was he like his grandmother said, merely misunderstood.

  Chapter 2

  Cameron, Duke of Athelby strolled down Bond Street, his cane tapping a crescendo on the cobbled footpath as he went. People moved out of his way, a common occurrence for him and a helpful one. A few debutants that he’d seen the previous evening at Almacks tittered as their mama made her goodbyes and without stopping and only giving the slightest bow, Athelby continued. Weston’s, his tailor was not much further, and he didn’t have time to stop. The new cravats Cameron had ordered last week were not to his standard and became limp half way through events, and it was not to be borne. He would need to speak with the man himself, to have the situation amended. His clothes along with his reputation must always be the highest of standard.

  No one would ever term the Duke of Athelby as a man without respect for himself or his name. Never would he allow scandal to tarnish his title again. His late brother if he had taught Athelby anything, it was that the family name and what the ducal title meant to people must never be taken for granted, used or abused for a life of reckless follies.

  His step faltered, a
nd he almost dropped his cane when Lady Darcy de Wolfe, or so she was calling herself these days stepped out of a fabric emporium laughing at something her ladies’ maid said. He frowned. Who laughed with their servants. Really, the woman had no shame.

  He studied her as she continued her conversation. Darcy was a striking woman, ebony locks, and eyes with the darkest, longest lashes he’d ever seen on a woman. Her lips were full, but not overly so. On her coming out she’d been married before the season’s end, and his one regret was never having danced with her. They had been friends once, a long time ago but a lot had happened since then.

  She caught sight of him, and her features shuttered. He ignored the pang of regret that darted through him. It was such a pity to see the smile that had lit her beautiful face fall from view. Darcy curtsied, the shallowest he’d ever seen as he bowed.

  “Your grace,” she said. Or spat more like, as if the word was toxic on her tongue.

  “Lady de Wolfe. I see you’re quite recovered from your exertions last evening.”

  She stared at him a moment, and he had the oddest urge to shift on his feet. An absurd notion since he’d done nothing wrong. He’d merely pointed out that it was she who was foxed last evening and made a fool of herself. And after such inebriation, it was quite common for the person inflicted to be ill the following day. Or so he’d heard. He never partook in such pastimes. On top of being morally well behaved, he also did not drink. Just the thought of having to cast up his accounts was enough to halt any such thoughts if he had any. Which he had not.

  “I have and what wonderful exertions they were, your grace. But I’m sure, with your stoic way of life, you would not know what I’m talking about.”

  He clamped his jaw as annoyance tinged her tone. Athelby tried to curb his irritation that she’d made a total fool of herself the following evening. Women should not be foxed, it wasn’t becoming, and certainly not for an Earl’s daughter. She would never fit his mould of duchess. No wife of his would take indulge in excess and strife, gossiping or acting without decorum. Darcy de Wolfe no matter how beautiful she may be, even now looking up at him with eyes that could bewitch the strongest man, she would not do. Ever.

  “I do not, no.” He glanced towards the shop from which Darcy had exited and quickly looked away when he spied a woman inside twirling before mirrors and her family admirers. They really ought to put up curtains to stop the passing public from seeing such a thing.

  “What a shame, your grace,” she said, waving down a hackney cab like a commoner. “For if you tried a little fun, you might just have some. Good day.”

  Athelby gaped at her and shut his mouth with a snap when he realized Darcy and her maid were laughing at him.

  He walked on and didn’t bother to wait for her hackney to pull away. To think that his grandmother would like that piece of muslin to be his wife was an absurd notion. And she’d had many over the years when trying to match make him with some preening miss new to town.

  No one so far had met his exalting standards, and in all honesty, it was becoming a problem. He was no longer the young man he had been, within a few months he would turn nine and twenty and well due to settle down and beget some heirs.

  He didn’t want to lower his expectations, and yet…a wife was proving hard to acquire. His brother, God rest his soul never had trouble with women, and it was a carriage race over a woman, his betrothed no less that had taken his life. Although Athelby had only been young when his brother had passed away, the pain of his death had wrecked his mother and father which was something he’d never have inflicted on them.

  There were women who’d turned their gazes his way, but he’d simply directed his in the opposite direction. None of them had been suitable. The ones he had courted always proved eventually, that they would not suit. Their laughs were grating, they were too skittish around a duke or not skittish enough. Gossiped too much or hung about him with an air of desperation he could never abide.

  He wanted a woman similar to him. One who played by the rules, spoke only when required, and did not enter into the games of the ton. Surely such a woman was not impossible to find.

  The image of Darcy laughing at him, her mischievous nature that had once been the sole focus of his life, at least for the month-long house party they had attended as children taunted him. He’d thought her perfect, and fun, not something he thought a girl could be. She’d not lost that love of life, but instead of being admirable for such a view, all it did was vex him.

  Disregarding his cravats entirely, Athelby went to Whites and soon was ensconced in the first-floor sitting room. He accepted a copy of the Times from a footman and started to read the latest political dramas to keep his mind from wandering to the vexing brunette who aggravated him to no end.

  The leather chair across from him crunched as someone sat, and Athelby wanted to growl at the interruption. He was not of the mind to have another conversation that would probably be as annoying as the last one he’d had on Bond street.

  “Your Grace,” a deep, familiar voice said from behind his paper.

  Hunter or as the ton knew him by, the Marques of Aaron was probably the only gentleman in the ton Athelby called a friend. “Aaron, I did not think Thursday was your day for Whites.”

  “It is not, but there is a thousand pounds up for grabs due to a bet which I could not pass up.”

  Aaron loved gambling, and no matter how many times Athelby lectured his friend on the pitfalls, the stupidity and dangers of gambling, he chose not to listen and continued to squander his family’s fortune. Not that the man didn’t have more than enough to last him ten lifetimes, any such waste was really not appropriate.

  “Are you not going to ask me what the bet is about?”

  Athelby lowered his paper and gave his friend his full attention. “Even though I do not care, I’m sure you’re going to tell me in any case.”

  “I thought the bet would interest you since it involves your family.”

  “My family!” Athelby sat up, closed his paper and placed it on the table before him. “What on earth could a bet here at Whites have to do with us.” His mind raced as to what it could possibly be about.

  Aaron laughed, sitting back in his chair as if it was a lark to see him so addled.

  “Well, not really your family, but certainly a close friend of yours and your grandmother’s goddaughter,” he grinned.

  Darcy… “What are they betting on her ladyship this time?” Not that he wanted to know, but still, with the knowledge of what was happening here, he had reason to speak to Lady de Wolfe and try and correct her manners so these gentleman, not one of them would win such a sum. It was not to be borne.

  “They’re betting that sweet piece of muslin will be ruined before the end of the Season. Or have a lover. I should say there are two bets, five-hundred pounds apiece, one for ruination. One for a lover.”

  The notion of Darcy taking a lover made him want to be physically ill. He blinked to clear his vision of her enjoying a man using the carnal knowledge she gained from marriage. Not that he’d ever admit it anyone, but the day she’d announced her betrothal to the Earl of Terrance something had died within Athelby, curled up and rotted away. Not that she had ever been meant for him, no. It had never been that way between them. Friends yes, lovers never. It was simply irritation that she had managed to accomplish something that he had not.

  That was all it was. Nothing more.

  The little devil now sitting on his shoulder snickered and whispered liar in his ear, and he flicked a piece of lint from his coat.

  “And you’re going to add your name to this bet?” Athelby met his friend’s amused glance with a narrowed gaze.

  “I am and so should you. You know her better than most. I bet should you ask her she may even tell you her choice. For it is rumoured she’s looking for a lover, and it would be a fool indeed who turned down that little fox.”

  Athelby clenched his fists and reminded himself that Lord Aaron was his friend. “I
f she asks you to be her lover, I would hope you would turn her down.”

  Ire flashed in his eyes before he folded his long legs on the table before them. “Absolutely not! I’m not a simpleton.”

  The words hit Athelby, another blow to his gut or possibly a little higher. What was wrong with him? It was certainly not jealousy, although the emotion he was experiencing was eerily familiar to it… Whatever it was he would mention it to his doctor at his next appointment, which occurred weekly. One should not ignore their health, and being a duke without an heir, his health and keeping healthy was paramount.

  The thought of being jealous of who took Darcy de Wolfe to her bed was a ridiculous notion and not something any sane man would consider.

  “As she’s my grandmother’s goddaughter, I would hope because of our friendship you would indeed say no to an affair with the lady, and help prevent any trouble she could find herself in should she sleep with a man not her husband.”

  Aaron sighed, nodding slowly. “I see your predicament, and it’s to your credit that you’re worried about her. But men of our ilk know how to ensure no unexpected gift is bestowed and delivered several months later.”

  “You cannot guarantee that and she would be indeed ruined if that befell her. I ask again, as your friend, do not try and seduce Darcy. She is not for you.”

  “Who is she for then shall I ask?” his friend stated, steeping his fingers before his chin and watching him with eyes that could read a blank page, Athelby was certain. “You, by chance?”

  “Certainly not,” he protested with a laugh, but the sound came out hollow, and that little devil again whispered liar in his ear. “I cannot tolerate her wayward manners or flagrant disregard for rules and manners within our society. Sometimes I despair that she is even of noble blood.”