The Perfect Duke

by Ireland, Dawn

  The duke ran his thumb along the base of his chin. “Did you think I would not guess you were the one who wanted to take my boat out in the storm?”

  “But I didn’t—”

  “I cannot be sure how you encouraged your brother to join in your scheme, but because of you, he is dead.” The duke straightened to his full height. “You will take on Edward’s responsibilities as soon as you are well. After all, what else is there for you to do?”

  What else, indeed? All his hopes had died with the people he loved: Caroline, his parents, Edward. Did it really matter what he did with the rest of his life? All that remained were his younger siblings, and the Kendal estates. “What if I refuse?”

  “Then I will implicate you in your brother’s death and you will be hanged for murder. You would not be the first younger brother to kill for a title.” The duke’s trace of a smile settled into a smirk. “After your death, I will train Evan to be a proper duke. He’s young enough to be malleable.”

  “They’ll never credit your claim.” Garret’s wheezing voice turned into a coughing fit.

  His grandfather shook his head and waited for Garret to quiet. “Whose word do you think the magistrate will believe? A young hellion, or a duke?”

  The irony of the situation made Garret want to laugh. The old man didn’t truly believe he’d killed Edward, but he was willing to see him hang for it. Perhaps he should let him make good his threat. What difference would it make?

  He shifted, trying to ease the tightness in his chest. Fatigue washed over him. His eyelids felt like lead, dragging downward and shutting out the light. If only he could go back in time. One simple mistake. He could have sworn he’d lashed the boom properly. He deserved death.

  But wanting to die was the coward’s way out. Besides, Evan would never be able to stand up to Grandfather. Garret opened his eyes and schooled his features to match those of the duke’s. “I have no choice but to accept your generous offer.” A life for a life.

  He’d done so well until now. Not that it had been easy, but Cara was never supposed—

  Someone pounded on the door. Damn. Couldn’t they leave him in peace, just today?

  He unlocked to door and opened it with more force than necessary. “What is it?”

  Timmons stood in the doorway, his normally impassive face showed traces of anxiety. “Your Grace, I’m sorry to intrude, but there’s something I thought you needed to know right away.”

  “Well, out with it.”

  “Mallory’s returned.”

  Bloody hell, couldn’t his sister do anything she was told? “Tell her I need to see her directly. I’ll wait here.”

  He closed the door in Timmons’ face and took a deep breath. Now what was to be done with Cara?

  Cara stood in the hallway, unable to turn away from the voices that drifted to her through the crack in the study doors.

  “Mallory, I asked you to stay at Aunt Liza’s for a month.” Garret sounded annoyed.

  His sister had returned? He should be happy. If she had a sister, she’d always be glad to see her.

  “I hurried back as soon as I heard the news.” Mallory’s tone made Cara think of a mother reprimanding a young child. “Did you believe I wouldn’t find out? I had to endure endless balls where every female I encountered had pointed questions about my brother, the ‘Marble Duke’.” Exasperation tinged her voice and Cara could picture the admonishing look she gave her brother. “You really should do something to discourage that name.”

  “I can not do any more about it than you can. Last I remember there was a bet in White’s book as to who would win the ‘Queen of Hearts’.”

  “That’s not fair. I don’t ask men to fall in love with me and I certainly don’t encourage them, whereas, you do everything you can to make people think you’re heartless.”

  “Perhaps I am.”

  “I don’t believe that. I remember a time when you enjoyed life. A time before Grandfather . . . and Edward.”

  “Do not bring up the accident.”

  “Why not?” A dull thud filled the air, as if someone had slapped their hand on the desk. “I’m not going to let you marry that woman. You’ve only chosen her because she has all the criteria Grandfather expected in a wife. She’s more bloodless than you’re pretending to be—if that’s possible.”

  “Lady Regina Stanton will make a respectable duchess.” Garret’s voice held a note of warning. “The final papers have not been signed, so I expect you to be courteous to her when she and her family attend the ball tomorrow.”

  Garret was getting married? Cara wanted to sit down. Even better, she wanted to lie down and not have to face the duke ever again. With leaden limbs, she moved forward, not caring where she headed.

  She remembered seeing the Stantons on the guest list. How could she face this Regina, knowing the woman would someday become Garret’s wife?

  Cara stumbled down the hall of portraits. The old duke’s picture graced the wall at one end, and the disdain in his cold eyes emphasized her unworthiness. It’s not that she’d ever had any claim on Garret.

  But she’d allowed herself to dream.

  How could she have been such a fool? Unwittingly, she’d convinced herself that they’d find a way past their differences, just like the characters in her stories. Fairy tales were just that. Make believe.

  They had nothing to do with reality.

  The footman announced Cara. Garret didn’t feel ready to face her, but it needed to be done.

  She entered the library at a subdued gait. It seemed as if the sparkle had left her eyes. Had she already learned of his sister’s return? He waited until the footman had given a slight bow and left. “I wanted to tell you in person that you will not be attending the ball tomorrow.” He’d expected hurt or anger, but she simply stared at him with those big, sherry-colored eyes. “My sister has returned unexpectedly, therefore she will be acting as my hostess.”

  “I understand, Your Grace. It’s only fitting that she return to her rightful place.” Her tone was flat, lacking the spirit he’d come to expect from her. Yet he couldn’t fault her response.

  Leave it to Cara to try and be gracious, but her calm acceptance caused his jaw to clench. He wished she would throw something, the way Mallory did when she was in a temper. Then he’d know how to respond, but this . . .? “Perhaps Rachel would like to watch from the upper balcony.”

  “I’ll advise her, Your Grace.”

  “Cara.” He wanted to ask her why he’d gone back to being “Your Grace” and he desperately wanted her to understand that he had to do this. “Thank you for arranging the ball. I doubt many women of the Ton would be able to do what you have done in a week.”

  “My pleasure. Is there anything else, Your Grace?”

  “No.”

  “Then, with your permission, I’ll retire.”

  “As you wish.” He watched her leave with that proud bearing he so admired. Disappointment dug at him. Surprised, he realized he’d been looking forward to this ball, but without Cara present, it would simply be another amusement he needed to attend.

  “If you asks me, I think it’s disgraceful. You planned the ball. At least he ought to let you attend this evening.” Esther collapsed another petticoat and shoved it in the trunk.

  “It doesn’t matter. The duke doesn’t owe me anything.” In truth, Cara was somewhat relived that she wouldn’t be forced to meet Lady Regina Stanton. “I have to admit, it’s too bad I won’t get a chance to wear Lady Mallory’s dress. Your alterations were perfect.” Esther had turned into quite a seamstress.

  Cara held up the gown in question. She knew the deep blue silk did wonderful things for her complexion. The lace trim on the three-quarter sleeves and low-cut bodice were of the finest quality. Gossamer roses, set against a background of leaves and pearls gave the dress a decidedly feminine appearance. It was beautiful . . . but she’d only wanted to wear it for him. Now that would never happen.

  At a tap on the door, Esther mov
ed forward to let in the most exquisite woman Cara had ever seen. She reminded her of a fairy tale princess come to life, with her delicate features, golden curls and deep blue eyes.

  The princess came to a stop in front of Cara, an expression of genuine warmth on her face. “Miss McClure, I’m Lady Mallory. I wanted to thank you for taking care of the household so efficiently in my absence.”

  “You’re welcome, My Lady.” Cara couldn’t be sure she’d accomplished much. Timmons and Mrs. Shaw had barely spoken to her this last week, yet the household had gone on as before.

  Garret’s sister gave Esther a genuine smile. “Esther, would you tell Mrs. Shaw that I’d like to take tea in the garden?”

  “Right away, Lady Mallory.” Esther retrieved the ball gown from Cara and left.

  She’d remembered Esther’s name. That alone would have caused Cara to like her. How could brother and sister be so different?

  Lady Mallory glanced around the room, then gave Cara an assessing look. “I understand my brother is holding a ball this evening.”

  “Yes. It was decided just under a week ago.”

  “Odd, my brother rarely holds balls. But then, he seems to be full of surprises lately.” With a slight shrug, she crossed the room, sat on one of the wooden clothing chests, and leaned forward with her fingers curled around the edge of the lid. She didn’t appear to be the least concerned that she crushed the pink silk of her gown under her hands. “Please, sit down.”

  Cara sat on the bench under the window. It seemed impossible that this less-than-formal lady was Garret’s sister.

  Her visitor tilted her head and arched a perfectly shaped brow. “And you’re also Rachel’s governess?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad. I worried about her staying here.”

  “Why?”

  “My oldest brother isn’t very fond of children.” She gave Cara a wry grin. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”

  “You’re mistaken. He loves Rachel.” Perhaps he didn’t show it, but she knew his family was important to him.

  “Does he? I thought perhaps he’d scared her into behaving by now.”

  “She isn’t afraid of him.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. He has enough people who stand in awe of him.” She sat upright and rubbed the fingertips of one hand lightly along the base of her neck. A speculative glimmer entered her eyes. "You’re not one of those people though, are you?” Her voice held surprise.

  Cara bit the skin on the inside of her mouth. How should she answer that? “I respect what he’s done here.”

  “But?”

  “He can be difficult.” She rushed to add, “However, I don’t think he means to be.”

  “Difficult. What an apt word.” Mallory rose and joined her, then smiled, mischief lurking in her eyes. “Well, the next time he’s difficult, I want you to let me know. Perhaps I can help.”

  Cara rose. “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t think it’s necessary. He can be very reasonable when he wants to be. The other day in the conservatory—”

  “Where?”

  “The conservatory.”

  “He didn’t ask you to leave?”

  “No.” Though he had been reluctant at first. But why would that be so unusual?

  Mallory mouth dropped open, then a knowing grin spread across her face. She gave Cara a quick hug, nearly forcing all the air out of her. “Perhaps you won’t need my help after all. You see, you’re the only other person he’s ever allowed in that garden paradise of his.”

  Mallory turned and left the room, a bounce in her step.

  Cara crossed to the bed and sank onto the mattress, clutching the ornate bedpost. The wing of a cherub pressed into her cheek, so she ran her tongue back and forth over the resulting bulge in her mouth. What was going on here?

  Garret’s sister appeared pleased that her brother had befriended his governess, but why? Did she think that Cara would stand in the way of Garret’s union to Regina? If that was what Mallory believed, she was going to be sorely disappointed.

  Cara leaned against the balcony rail and watched the fashionable guests arrive, feeling like the little cinder girl from one of her stories. Of course, in the end, the girl in the story had attended the ball and found her prince. Cara raised her chin and took a deep breath. Well, that wasn’t likely in her case.

  “She’s not nearly as pretty as you.” Rachel placed her arms along the banister and rested her chin on the tops of her hands.

  “Who?”

  “Lady Stanton. Aunt Mallory told me Uncle wants to marry her.”

  “Where is she?” The question popped out before she thought about it. She shouldn’t want to know. But she did.

  “Over there, next to Uncle.”

  Cara found Garret with ease. He commanded attention. Tonight he wore blue velvet, with lace at his throat and cuffs. The cut of his waistcoat emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and narrowness of his waist. She longed to be by his side, to give him the opportunity to touch her.

  Instead, a tall brunette graced his arm. Her classical features appeared flawless. Although, her neck might be just a trifle too long . . . That wasn’t fair. She shouldn’t be uncharitable.

  She stepped forward and grasped the railing as Lord Worthington and his wife were announced. The earl stood tall and dark, a perfect foil to his petite, redheaded wife. Even from here, she could see the loving glance he exchanged with her before they disappeared into the press of guests.

  What she wouldn’t give to be loved like that.

  If only Garret could truly have been that man from her dream. There was no hope of that now.

  “Uncle’s looking at you.”

  Cara found him on the edge of the swaying dancers, Regina in his arms. In spite of his companion, he kept staring at her. He appeared as still and composed as normal, yet he emanated a longing that stole into her soul, causing her heart to beat faster.

  Why me? She wanted to fling the question at him. He danced with one of the most beautiful women of the Ton and yet he acted as if he wished she were in his arms. It didn’t make sense. Perhaps he simply wanted what he couldn’t have.

  Just as she did.

  She turned to her charge. “Rachel, how do you know Lady Stanton?”

  “She visited Eberston House with Uncle. We went sailing. Although Uncle didn’t go with us, he hates the water.” Rachel turned back to Cara and scrunched up her nose. “Lady Stanton doesn’t like me. She didn’t want to be in my boat.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” Cara smiled and brushed back a stray tendril from the girl’s forehead. “Who wouldn’t like you?” She took her charge by the shoulders and bent down until they were face-to-face. “I have an idea. Why don’t we see if Mrs. Shaw will send up some biscuits from the ball? Would you like that?” Rachel bobbed her head up and down, then started back through the entrance.

  Cara allowed herself one more look at the plumed dancers below. They resembled gaily-colored birds with their feathers tossing in time to the music.

  Once more she found Garret near the refreshment table. He still watched her and she gave him a slight smile. He raised his glass in a subtle salute.

  The motion must have caught Regina’s attention, for she glanced upward with a curious expression. Garret’s intended smiled at her, a friendly, open smile that you couldn’t help but like.

  Cara felt the blood rush from her face as she hastened to follow Rachel. Why did they have to appear so perfect together?

  The mattress felt as hard as one of London’s cobblestone streets. Cara tossed for the twentieth time that night. Maybe she shouldn’t have had the tea and biscuits with Rachel. With a sigh, she sat up and swung her feet to the cool floor.

  She scurried to find her slippers and wrap, then checked the time. Four in the morning, hardly the hour to start her day. The ball would only have finished up a short time ago. Everyone would have gone to bed and the ballroom would be . . . empty.

  Feeling a bit like a chi
ld stealing out of bed, she grasped her candle, opened the door, then listened. The only sound was the sputtering of her taper’s flame in the draft.

  She didn’t encounter anyone on her way to the ballroom. Gutted torches left a slight smell of pitch in the air as she came to the steps leading down to the grand room.

  Moonlight streamed though the banks of windows lining one wall, providing every chair and table with a silver sheen. The servants had cleaned up the food, but her flower and fruit garlands still festooned the room. The polished wood floor glowed in the pale light, beckoning to her.

  What did it matter that she hadn’t attended the ball? She could still imagine what it would be like. She set her candle on a delicate side table and removed her straight cut wrapper, then draped it over a chair.

  Her ‘Maid in the Tower’ nightgown billowed around her legs as she moved out onto the center of the floor. After a deep curtsey to her imaginary partner, she grasped the edges of her chiffon skirt and started to twirl around the floor, humming a tune Tess had sung in one of her productions.

  She closed her eyes and could almost feel Garret’s presence. He’d be a good dancer, no doubt. All the twirling made her a little dizzy, so she opened her eyes.

  Garret stood in the doorway.

  She stopped dancing, feeling suddenly self-conscious. As his eyes traveled over her attire, she crossed her arms. She should dart for her wrapper, but something in his gaze stopped her. Admiration? Desire? Warmth stole over her at the duke’s regard, and whether it was the lateness of the hour or the dream-like quality of the moment, she suddenly felt reckless.

  Garret didn’t want to move, afraid that Cara wasn’t real and would disappear. If she was real, then she shouldn’t be here.

  Hell, no woman was supposed to dance alone, at night, in a ballroom, and he wouldn’t exactly call what she wore a ball gown. The filmy white material seemed to drape her, bound to her body by thin bands of ribbon.