The Dangerous Duke

by Arabella Sheraton

  A broad, almost lewd grin spread across Lady Penelope’s face as she jumped to her feet and strode around the room, kicking piles of clothing out of her path.

  “Yes! Yes!” she crowed in triumph. “Now tell me, Marcus, how could anyone want to be associated with a woman whose background betokens such low and disgusting elements? He will never have anything to do with her once he finds out. I don’t care if her mother was the Queen of Spain!”

  Sir Marcus picked up his sherry glass. “But do you need to tell him or anyone else? After all, if you get what you want, you don’t need to use the information.”

  Lady Penelope spun lightly round on her heel, her face radiant. “Regret telling me already? If you didn’t want me to use the information, Marcus, then you shouldn’t have told me.”

  She looked him up and down, and then shrugged her white shoulders nonchalantly.

  “If I get what I want, I don’t care a fig about her and neither will anyone else, so…no, I won’t tell anyone.” She tossed her gleaming curls in an affectation of indifference.

  Sir Marcus eased back into the cushions and took another cautious sip.

  “But just you make sure I get what I want!” she screeched, startling him into spilling sherry down his waistcoat. Cursing under his breath, he mopped the sticky liquid with a handkerchief. “Anyway, why should you care about what people think? You always loved to gossip. Getting soft in your old age? Why are you trying to protect a girl you’ve never met and whom you’re supposed to seduce?”

  “I don’t care,” he replied. “It just seems unnecessary.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She turned away from him and picked up a discarded robe.

  “Maria!” Her strident scream brought Maria running and earned her a box on the ears. “What do you think you’re doing, you stupid girl? Of course I want to take this with me.”

  Sir Marcus unfolded his length from the sofa, and made his bow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fenella felt a guilty pang as she peered through the library window, eager for a better view of the latest visitors. Molly stood on tiptoe behind her, also hoping for a glance. It was Wednesday; visitors had been arriving since Monday, keen to partake of the legendary Deverell hospitality. Fenella had kept to herself during the last few days and, for once, the Dowager did not press for her company.

  Thus far, Fenella had had a few select introductions to delightful acquaintances and friends of the Dowager and they had warmly accepted her. Fenella kept to her room or the library where she consoled a lonely Scheherazade, temporarily banished from any drawing room or dinner occasions. Although she longed to ride Butterball or escape to the garden, Fenella preferred to remain within reach if the Dowager should need her for anything. Cousin Eugenia was making the most of this unexpected opportunity to consolidate her place in the household. She met all Fenella’s repeated requests to assist with the preparations for the ball with firm refusals in an extremely lofty tone of voice. Since the Dowager was busy with guests, Fenella had to accept Cousin Eugenia’s word that her services were not required. Clearly, the spinster had designs upon Fenella’s position and imagined herself occupying that confidential role in the near future.

  “I wonder when Lady Vane will be arrivin’, Miss,” Molly whispered. Then she uttered an excited, muffled shriek as she craned her neck further over Fenella’s shoulder. “I think that’s ’er carriage now, Miss!”

  Fenella’s heart sank as she remarked in a voice of absolute calm, “I do believe you’re right, Molly. Have you seen to her room?”

  “Yes, Miss,” Molly bobbed a reply, while still peering out the window. “I’m ever so sorry ye’ve bin moved, Miss, but I think the new room is much nicer.”

  Fenella was inclined to agree. In order to accommodate the number of guests, the Dowager had moved Fenella briefly to a bedroom at the rear of the house. Fenella was not pleased to find that the Chinese Bedroom—the same bedroom occupied by Lady Vane on her last visit—was only two doors away from hers. However, her spirits rose when she saw her bedroom windows overlooked a delightful enclosed garden that no one ever visited. In a very short space of time, Fenella had come to consider it quite her own.

  Decorated in muted apple green and palest pink, the bedroom was more than adequate for her needs and was as attractively furnished as her old room. Fenella decided to ask the Dowager if she could remain there once the festivities were over. Fenella felt as if Deverell House was truly her home now; it was becoming more and more difficult to contemplate leaving everything and everyone.

  Fenella had considered sneaking away to the village on some pretext and then making her way back to London by coach. She still had the money given to her by her aunt, which she could use for the fare. However, the thought of deceiving the woman who had showed her such kindness and acceptance was more than she could contemplate.

  Then there was the Duke. Devlin had arrived very late the previous evening but Fenella had not yet seen him. Her heart began to beat in a furious and ridiculous manner whenever she thought of him. She firmly suppressed the tremors of excitement threatening to ruffle her iron self-control and turned away from the window, lost in her thoughts. A muffled squeal from Molly drew her back instantly.

  “Oh, Miss,” Molly squeaked. “It’s ’er, and there’s someone with ’er. Ever so dashin’ too!”

  Fenella could not resist the lure of feminine curiosity. She tweaked the curtain aside a fraction to see her enemy. It was as bad as she imagined. A tall, elegantly attired man got out the carriage first and extended his arm to the remaining occupant. Lady Penelope descended in a glorious cloud of rose and white muslin, so cunningly nipped, tucked and pleated that any young woman would find it difficult to tear her gaze from such a fetching garment.

  Fenella involuntarily smoothed down the folds of the pretty, but by no means ravishing, blue gown she was wearing. As she watched, Lady Penelope flung back her head and laughed at some quip her escort had made, clutching his arm as her golden curls cascaded around her shoulders. Perched on her head was the daintiest hat Fenella had ever seen—a flirtatious confection of netting and feathers with pink satin roses interspersed. As she craned her neck to scrutinize every detail of her rival’s clothing even further, Fenella felt she had been noticed.

  The tall man glanced up at the window and smiled. Fenella jumped back in fright, letting the curtain fall.

  * * * *

  Sir Marcus looked down at Lady Penelope’s laughing face and murmured, “I now see how the little milksop has put the cat amongst the pigeons—very fetching indeed. Quite delicious, in fact. You should be worried.”

  In an instant, Lady Penelope’s smile dropped and her eyes narrowed as she noticed his admiring expression. “So! You’ve seen her?”

  Sir Marcus inclined his head toward the library windows. “I fear we are being observed.”

  Lady Penelope composed her features once more into an expression of glittering serenity. “I am not afraid of competition, Marcus, since you are going to rid me of it as soon as possible.”

  “Whatever you say, m’dear.” He patted her arm consolingly. Before Lady Penelope could jerk from his grasp in an outburst of pique, he said in urgent tones, “I hope you’re up to dealing with your lover because here he comes now, and not very pleased to see me, I’ll wager.”

  Lady Penelope glanced behind him. The Duke came striding up to them; he was dressed for riding. His thunderous expression was evidence of extreme displeasure.

  “I cannot believe you have done this!” Devlin’s face was almost puce with rage as he battled to keep his anger from overpowering his courtesy. “Madam, you go too far.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” Lady Penelope’s voice quavered as she fiddled with her reticule. “Maria, hurry up with my dressing case. Get a move on, you lazy girl.”

  Devlin waited until Maria had scuttled out of earshot, clutching the dressing case to her scrawny bosom in terror.

  “You know exactly what I mean, m
y lady.” He almost spat the words. “Do not try my patience.”

  He waved the carriage on and the servants melted away with the baggage, having gleaned enough information to set tongues wagging in the kitchen. Although a fair and just employer, His Grace’s fury when crossed was legendary.

  “You have overstepped the mark, and well you know it.”

  “You told me I could invite my friends and I have done exactly that. In fact, was it not you who told me recently that I am free to associate with whomever I please?”

  She flicked her curls petulantly and stared at him, her lower lip thrust into a rosy pout that betokened hurt more than chagrin.

  Devlin still did not look at Sir Marcus or acknowledge him in any way, giving his enemy the cut direct. His stony expression was reserved for Lady Penelope.

  “Then I should have been more specific. I am at fault. However, this man is not and never will be welcome in my home, or in fact in any establishment that I grace with my presence. He knows this well.”

  Devlin’s eyes were cold and his tone scathing. “For this reason, I also cannot imagine Sir Marcus is a willing accomplice in your game—whatever it might be—and find myself inclined to believe you have coerced him into appearing here as a guest on some kind of pretext. I do not know what you are playing at, but I do not like it and will not tolerate any unpleasantness under my roof.”

  He gave Sir Marcus the briefest glance as he spoke. Sir Marcus stood still, his face almost expressionless except for a muscle that jumped fleetingly in his cheek. He folded his arms and stepped away from the angry couple, appearing to be admiring the magnificent view of the lake. Lady Penelope trembled but stood her ground.

  “Now, Devlin, there’s no need to cause a scene.” Her tone was placating, almost cajoling. “Whatever dispute there is between you both, I’m sure I know nothing of it, so how could I even guess you would fly into a temper like this? Whatever is the matter with the both of you? A disagreement I can understand, but a terrible enmity that prevents correct social intercourse is beyond understanding.”

  Sir Marcus swung round to stare at his enemy. There was not an iota of entreaty in his impassive expression.

  Devlin’s lips tightened as he clenched his jaw and locked stares with the man he despised and for once, there was no sneer or mocking laughter in Sir Marcus’ eyes as he waited for Devlin to make his choice.

  Devlin cleared his throat and his voice was suddenly hoarse. “I believe a lady would not understand when two gentlemen have a disagreement.” His emphasis was clear.

  “Well, if that’s all it is,” Lady Penelope snapped pettishly, “I think it monstrous unfair of both of you to revive your quarrel right now at this particular moment. I cannot think how you two will even have to cross paths very much since there will be such a crush of guests arriving shortly. This was to have been such a special occasion for your dear Mama and now your paltry fights and dislikes will spoil everything for her.”

  She gave a delicate sniff and even succeeded in manufacturing a pathetic throb in her voice. “I never thought you would begrudge me my closest friends, seeing as you have your own acquaintances and persons with whom you associate…even though I am sure I don’t know half of them.” She dropped her gaze and groped helplessly for a handkerchief.

  “Perhaps you are right, my dear,” Devlin replied in a gentler voice. “I was taken aback; even surprised at Sir Marcus’ presence, since it is true we are not friends. However, I see that a quarrel between your friend and me should have no bearing on the occasion at hand. I think you can rely on us to restrain ourselves and behave with civil courtesy to each other.” He glanced up at Sir Marcus, who responded with a dignified inclination of his head.

  Just then, another carriage came clattering up the driveway and, judging from the excited squeals floating toward the trio, clearly the occupants were acquaintances of Lady Penelope. The carriage stopped and disgorged a bevy of brightly clad ladies, who flocked around their friend and then fluttered to the front door like a cloud of beautiful butterflies. Devlin gave Sir Marcus a brief, extremely stiff bow and strode in the direction of the stables. Blenkins, ushering the damsels inside the house, glanced up and caught his master’s eye.

  Later he was to confide to Cook and an open-mouthed, admiring gaggle of parlour and scullery maids that he had never seen a man so unhappy at the prospect of a bride.

  * * * *

  Sir Marcus wandered slowly up to the house and found Lady Penelope in the Crimson Saloon, happily engaged in a round of introductions of her friends to the Dowager. He slipped past the doorway and walked into Blenkins, who regarded him with something akin to pity.

  “If Sir would care to partake of refreshment in the library, I will have your luggage directed to your room where your valet may take care of it. I believe His Grace will return within the hour. My name is Blenkins, should you require any further assistance.”

  Blenkins steered Sir Marcus to the library and ushered him inside. The cool serenity of the large, book-lined room hit his senses with a note of pleasure. A glance round soon located the cabinet promising alcoholic refreshment, and large worn leather sofas and armchairs inviting the visitor to recline, while hundreds of books begged for acquaintance with the discerning reader. Although possessed of a first-class education, it had been a long time since Sir Marcus had availed himself of the pleasures of a good library. He wandered around, admiring the excellent pictures and splendid pieces of furniture. Although essentially a masculine room, it offered comfort to both sexes.

  As Sir Marcus reached for a book, he caught sight of something light-coloured protruding from behind a rich brocade-and-velvet curtain. Whisking the drape aside, he was astonished and delighted to perceive a stunningly beautiful girl staring back at him.

  The milksop, although I think the name belies her true character.

  He never imagined that the fleeting figure he had seen at the window minutes ago could actually be this beauty before him now. Huge violet eyes, a tumble of dark curls with auburn lights glinting in the sunlight, a slim yet utterly feminine figure. Never usually at a loss for words, and rarely allowing anything to ruffle his urbane composure, Sir Marcus was so taken aback that for a moment he was speechless.

  No wonder Freddy is besotted…no wonder Devlin is confused.

  Sir Marcus became aware that they were staring at each other in a frozen attitude. He immediately made her a magnificent bow and said, “Pardon my intrusion, Miss…er…?”

  “Preston,” was the firm reply. “My name is Fenella Preston, and I am Her Grace’s companion.”

  “Quite so!” Sir Marcus replied. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Preston.” He bowed over her outstretched hand, touched her fingers with just the correct degree of courtesy and stepped back.

  “Sir Marcus Solesby, at your service. My apologies for intruding upon your…ahem…reverie.”

  Fenella blushed and Sir Marcus caught his breath in admiration as the faint delicate glow of pink suffused her rose petal skin.

  “Reverie is not quite the truth. Actually, I was spying on the guests to see who was arriving. I saw you arrive with Lady Vane, in her carriage. Are you a friend of hers?”

  Sir Marcus inclined his head with a small smile. “I saw you at the window. Yes, I am acquainted with Lady Vane. I do hope we did not disappoint you!”

  Fenella laughed. “No, you did not disappoint at all. It is just childish curiosity, and also I am quite overwhelmed by the number of people who have arrived for the ball.”

  “Yes,” Sir Marcus agreed, guiding her to a chair. “People can be extremely overwhelming, in my experience.”

  To his astonishment, Sir Marcus did not feel the slightest inclination to flirt with what he found to be a dazzlingly beautiful woman, with an intelligence to match her beauty. He was quite unaccustomed to this kind of female and found the experience not only novel but also extremely pleasant.

  “Do you ride?” he asked.

  It was a fortunate
question since Fenella immediately confessed how much she was missing her morning rides. Within minutes, they were chatting like old friends on the niceties of horseflesh. While to outward appearances he conversed eloquently on the topic, Sir Marcus’ head reeled in confusion. His entire plan of action was thrown into disarray. Although Sir Marcus had initially been intrigued by the engaging idea of having a novice, and possibly virgin, young lady to himself, somewhere in the deeper recesses of his soul a feeling of nobility had stirred. In his heart, he had felt that what Lady Penelope proposed was wrong, even evil. However, he had surmised, there was no harm in a little playful flirtation just to rouse Devlin’s ire. No harm done—just a look, perhaps a warm pressing of the hands, an arm slipped around her waist, and maybe a stolen kiss.

  Fenella had destroyed his intentions in a matter of minutes. Here was no shy, gawky country lass bowled over by a touch of town bronze and a few compliments. There would be no stolen kisses, blushful protestations and fumbling hands. Here was a woman worthy of adoration. As the minutes progressed and Fenella’s peals of laughter rang out at some clever comment he made, Sir Marcus knew he was doomed. He could not tarnish this woman’s reputation; he could not hold her up to public disapprobation. In truth, Sir Marcus found himself grappling with a confusing new set of emotions …admiration, respect, deep liking and perhaps even love.

  Lady Penelope’s voice sounded in Sir Marcus’ ears: “Riding and reading if I remember correctly; that’s what she likes doing, so talk about that. A real bluestocking as you can imagine.” This comment had been followed by cruel titters of derisive laughter.

  This was no bluestocking, but a fine mind encased in a superb form with beauty, charm, wit and exquisite breeding. He wondered about the Spanish connection. It seemed very possible there was noble blood in her lineage.

  When Fenella fell silent after laughing at one of his jokes, Sir Marcus felt her slight discomfort.

  “Miss Preston, I am perfectly harmless and beyond pestering you for good conversation, will not make a nuisance of myself in your company. I know we have not been properly introduced, as good manners dictate we should, but I shall try to find some willing person to perform the task as soon as humanly possible!”