How to Dance With a Duke

by Manda Collins

  “In truth, I cannot fathom Father showing the slightest bit of agreement with Will’s plan. He would not have taken kindly to having his own artifacts stolen out from under him. Especially when the political situation in Egypt is so unstable right now. The French have only been gone from Cairo for a few years.”

  “And there is certainly nothing your father detests more than his French rivals,” Lady Entwhistle said with a frown. “Still, I cannot imagine, even in righteous anger, your father behaving with violence toward someone with whom he had worked so closely. Nor can I believe he would put another family through the same hell of not knowing what happened to their loved one.”

  Cecily nodded. She had been so small when her mother died. She could remember little from the event itself, though she knew that Lady Hurston had disappeared from their country estate and no one had been able to find her. She’d been told about it later, of course. And there were flashes of memory, though she was often unsure if they were real or imagined, where she heard her father plead with her, Cecily, to tell him if she knew where her mama had gone. She recalled trying to make him happy again, to tell him something that would erase the stricken look from his face, but in the end all she could recall was that her mother had tucked her into the large trunk in her bedchamber and told Cecily to wait. That it was a game and that Papa would find her soon. She had waited and waited, growing more and more afraid, until finally her papa had come. Her mother had been found a week later, dead on the moors surrounding their Yorkshire estate.

  She couldn’t remember exactly what had happened, but the event had altered the course of her life just the same. And even now she feared enclosed spaces to such a degree that she sometimes had to leave a room if the walls began to feel too close.

  “I agree,” she said finally. “But if Papa was not responsible for Will Dalton’s disappearance, then what did happen to him? Papa is the one who stood to lose the most from Will’s attack of conscience. And now that Papa is unable to speak of it, I cannot help but wonder if whoever was responsible for Will’s disappearance also had something to do with provoking Papa’s apoplexy.”

  “It would make sense,” Juliet agreed. “Especially if whoever triggered it feared that your father would reveal something about what really happened to William.”

  “It is a puzzle, no question,” Cecily said, sitting back in her chair with a sigh. “I only wish there were something more I could do.”

  Lady Entwhistle reached out for Cecily’s hand. “My dear, you are doing quite as much as any person can do. You are trying to find your father’s journals, and you have joined forces with Winterson.

  “Now, tell me more about the Duke of Winterson,” she said, her gaze becoming far too knowing for Cecily’s comfort. “I believe he is quite handsome. And a war hero, besides. It must be a great hardship for you to spend so much of your free time with him.”

  “Yes, Cecily,” Madeline said, fixing her cousin with an innocent stare. “Do tell us more.”

  Cecily elbowed her cousin in the ribs, barely repressing a groan. For such an unconventional woman, Lady Entwhistle had a sad tendency for seeing possible romances for her dear friend’s daughter around every corner. She had explained it once to Cecily thus: “I do not have children of my own, you know, so I must look to you if I wish to have grandchildren. And because I know that beneath your bookish exterior there lurks a young lady who is, despite all outward appearances, a rather conventional sort, I must pray for you to marry sooner rather than later.”

  Now, Cecily tried to dispel her godmother’s hopes for her and Winterson by telling her about his agreement to assist her in choosing a possible suitor from among the Egyptian Club, a plan which Lady Entwhistle found sadly lacking in verve.

  “For I do know you, my dear. You will choose the dullest of the lot and won’t allow him to touch you above once a quarter at the most.”

  “But it is not so different,” Cecily said with a blush, “from what you yourself did in marrying Lord Entwhistle. And it is also a means for me to assure that I need not depend on Cousin Rufus should the worst happen to Papa.”

  “Yes, I know,” Lady Entwhistle said with a shake of her head. “But honestly, I do wish you would not condemn yourself to such a dismal life. Believe me, I know how tedious such a marriage can be. I wish I’d had someone to steer me away from such a match all those years ago.”

  She took Cecily’s hand. “Simply because that foolish Lawrence boy broke your heart all those years ago is no reason for you to deny yourself all that a marriage of true minds—and yes, I will say it, bodies—has to offer.”

  Cecily felt her spine stiffen at the mention of David. Though ever since meeting Lucas, she found herself thinking about David more and more. Not from any unrequited emotion she might feel for him—it was difficult to remember the man who had broken her heart by compromising another woman with any real fondness—but because the feelings Lucas evoked made it imperative that she not forget how dangerous it would be for her to give her heart away again. Ever.

  As a reminder, she thought back to that day again. The day that David Lawrence, whom she’d thought was her very own knight in shining armor, had stood before her begging her pardon for betraying her. And then he was gone. Just as her mama had left her by dying. Just as her papa had left her by traipsing to Egypt without her. Just as everyone she’d ever loved had done eventually. And when the tears had begun to flow she couldn’t stop them. Not when her father found her on the floor. And not when Violet had chafed her wrists and called for a footman to carry her upstairs.

  She had never seen David again, though they mixed with many of the same people because of their shared interest in antiquities. And when she emerged from her bedchamber three days later she had been calm and cool and detached. And she had remained that way ever since. Never again would she allow a man to bring her to her knees with grief. Not even her father, and most especially not her husband should she ever have one.

  Aloud, to her godmother, she only said, “I do know you want what’s best for me, Lady Entwhistle, but in this case, give me leave to know what I want. I will make a comfortable marriage, you may be sure. The Duke of Winterson is a handsome man, I will admit it. But he is not for me. We will work together to discover what happened to his brother and then we will part friends.”

  She could not help the laugh that escaped her before saying, “Indeed, I suspect that gentleman would prefer a much more comfortable wife than I should make him. He strikes me as the sort of fellow who wishes to be the dominant partner in his household. We cannot go three minutes without grousing over something or other. Imagine the indigestion the poor man would have to endure if he faced a quarrel over his breakfast every morning.”

  Besides, she thought, she had agreed to let him investigate which bachelor members of the Egyptian Club would make her the best husband. Surely he wouldn’t have agreed to do so if he was interested in marrying her himself. The idea was absurd. No matter how her heart might beat faster when he entered a room. The subject passed, but having been reminded of her heartbreak over David, she made sure to remember the vow she’d made to herself all those years ago—to never let her heart become engaged by a gentleman again—and whenever Lucas’s face rose in her imagination she’d make sure to tuck the idea of him away, in a mental strongbox marked “Off Limits.”

  Seven

  After the uncomfortable trip back to Hurston House with Cecily, Lucas headed for White’s where he could think about what he’d learned from Neddy and avoid his mother’s questions about his progress in looking into Will’s disappearance. He knew she was anxious for news, but it was becoming more and more difficult to face her disappointment. And what he’d learned this afternoon had done nothing to raise his hopes.

  The situation was further complicated by his alliance with Cecily. What if her father was the one responsible for Will’s disappearance? Would he be able to continue their acquaintance? He thought back to the way he’d walked away from her outsid
e the Egyptian Club that day. At the time he had been more than ready to believe Lord Hurston capable of hurting Will. In his heart, he still did. In war he had seen men, good men, brought low by their baser instinct for survival. What if Lord Hurston and Will had been in the same sort of situation? He disliked the idea of seeing Cecily learn the truth about her father, but he disliked what the knowledge would do to his own family even more.

  And what the hell had he been thinking when he agreed to be a matchmaker for her? Two minutes of seeing her being courted by that group of nodcocks in Lady Hurston’s drawing room was enough to let him know that he’d sooner eat his boots than see her wed to one of them. He’d have to come up with some way to divert her attention from husband-hunting. Or find some other way to get the journals for her. A way that did not involve seeing her wed to some other man who wasn’t …

  He was saved from completing that disturbing thought when one of the nodcocks, the dandyish Lord Deveril, approached. Though he was slightly acquainted with the younger man, they had never run in the same circles, mostly because of their age difference, but also because Deveril, as heir to a viscountcy, was so far above Lucas socially. The fact that he now outranked Deveril amused him in some small way.

  “Winterson.” The viscount bowed slightly, his elaborately embellished bottle-green coat contrasting with the bright yellow of his waistcoat. “I wonder if I might have a word.”

  Lucas waved a casual hand toward the empty chair across from his, wondering what business the younger man might have with him.

  “Deveril,” he said when the other man was seated. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Nodding at the waiter who appeared as if by magic at his elbow, Deveril ordered a coffee, and turned to Lucas. “Your Grace, it has not escaped my notice that you have been seen of late showing a … partiality for a certain young lady.”

  Years of military discipline kept Lucas from reacting in any perceptible way to Deveril’s statement, but every part of him went on alert. “I’m not sure I understand what business it is of yours what young ladies I do or do not pay attention to,” he said in a deceptively languid tone. “Pray, explain it to me.”

  If he had expected Deveril to be intimidated by the underlying threat of his words, Lucas would have been disappointed. Instead the blond man simply shrugged. “You’ve hardly been at pains to hide it,” he said. “At every social event the two of you attend you spend at least part of the evening in a tête-a-tête. Surely you are not unaware that there is talk.

  “But,” Deveril continued, “that is neither here nor there. I do wish to talk to you about Miss Hurston, but not about your … ahem—”

  “Careful, man,” Lucas warned with a raised brow, unable to stop himself from enjoying Deveril’s discomfort. “You’re nearing dangerous territory.”

  In an unexpected burst of nervousness, Deveril thrust a hand through his carefully coiffed blond curls. “Dammit, I am not trying to insult you. Either of you. I’m trying to warn you.”

  All amusement at the viscount’s predicament fled. “Warn me about what?”

  Moving his chair closer to the table, Deveril spoke in a low voice, as if afraid they’d be overheard. “You are aware, I think, that I am a member of the Egyptian Club.”

  When Lucas nodded, Deveril continued. “Your investigation into the disappearance of your brother has gotten the attention of the club.”

  “Has it indeed?” Lucas took a thoughtful sip of his brandy. “I should think they might have been interested when news of my brother’s disappearance first broke, but then I suppose I am ignorant to the ways of the Egyptian Club.” He made no attempt to soften the acidity of his words.

  “Oh, there has been interest,” Deveril assured him.

  “Well, that is good news,” Lucas returned, his voice sticky with false cheer.

  “Your Grace,” Deveril said, ignoring Lucas’s sarcasm. “Though there are those in the club who have sought to discredit your brother as a thief and a liar, I am not one of them. I had some dealings with Will from Lord Hurston’s previous expedition, and I believe that I can say with truthfulness that he and I were friends.”

  “But…?”

  “But there are those in the club, who, I am sure you suspect, have decided that it would be in the club’s best interest to discredit both Will and Lord Hurston.”

  “Why?” Lucas demanded. “What possible motive could the club have for wanting to discredit the two men who have been almost single-handedly responsible for building the bulk of the club’s current collection?”

  Deveril shook his head slightly. “I know not,” he said regretfully. “But what I can say is that after Lord Hurston’s return to England, the powers that be within the society made it abundantly clear that unless we wished to have our membership revoked, we should avoid any conversation regarding Hurston’s last expedition. And though it was not ordered, it was strongly suggested that we do our part to see that Miss Hurston was married off by the end of the season. To someone who would…” His eyes grew hard. “Well, let’s just say, someone who would keep her busy.”

  Only too aware of what the younger man must have sanitized for his benefit, Lucas tucked his anger over that tidbit away to mull over later. Telling himself that his concern for Cecily was merely that of a friend, since her father’s possible involvement with Will’s disappearance would make anything else between them impossible, he seized upon the other part of Deveril’s revelation.

  “So you are saying that the upper echelons of the Egyptian Club have no interest in determining what happened to my brother—a member in good standing of your blasted club, and someone who has overseen the excavation of countless artifacts, documents, and treasures for your damned club. Moreover, that in order to keep Miss Hurston quiet, they have ordered the entire club to work together in order to ensure that she marries the sort of man who will keep so tight a rein over her that she will have no opportunity to bother with her silly investigations and inquiries into the club, which her father founded. Do I have that right?”

  “In a nutshell,” Deveril responded, “yes. Though there is not nearly the level of compliance to these orders from on high as the powers that be would hope for.”

  “Why tell me all this?” Lucas wondered. “Why take the chance that I might leave here and shout this news from the nearest clock tower?”

  “In part because of your … ahem … closeness to Miss Hurston,” Deveril admitted. “It stands to reason that if you care for the girl at all, and one would suspect at least some remote affection for you to have spent so much time with her of late, that you would wish to either protect her from these machinations, or warn her against the plot. Either way, I imagine that you will do your part to counteract the attempts by the Egyptian Club members to see her bound to some man who will do his damnedest to snuff out the curiosity that makes her who she is.”

  “Oh, indeed, how noble of you, my good fellow.” Lucas leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out before him.

  “Well.” The fair-haired man actually blushed and ran a nervous finger beneath his collar. “I have an interest in one of Miss Hurston’s cousins.”

  * * *

  Cecily was pensive when she returned to Hurston House some time later. Her conversation with Lady Entwhistle had given her much food for thought. Why had her father never written about his disagreement with William Dalton? And more importantly, who was putting it about that the members of the expedition were the victims of some silly curse?

  She had done extensive research into the various warnings etched into the stones of the tombs that had been uncovered in Egypt thus far in the quest for knowledge about that ancient civilization, and the warnings ranged from the unsettling to the ridiculous. One in particular she’d always found amusing warned that whoever disturbed the eternal slumber of the pharaoh inside should have his face spat upon. So, it was clear to Cecily that whoever perpetuated the story that the tomb her father had unearthed on this latest expedition
was dangerous had no notion of how these curses worked. They were intended to frighten would-be grave robbers, who were in all likelihood the superstitious and uneducated thieves of their own culture. She doubted that the ancient men who considered themselves gods had had any notion that their resting places would be disturbed hundreds of years later by men who viewed their beliefs with skepticism at best.

  Seating herself behind her tidy writing desk, Cecily took out her personal journal and began to record her thoughts about the happenings of the past few days. Writing in her journal was an activity that never failed to calm her, and seeing the emotions she so often had to suppress in company written out on the page had a cathartic effect.

  She was lost in her recounting when she heard a brisk knock on the door.

  Violet, her luminous beauty framed perfectly in the doorway, stepped firmly into the room.

  “I see you have returned,” she said, an unaccustomed diffidence in her expression.

  Wondering what could make her usually confident stepmother falter so, Cecily gestured for Violet to enter the room. Cecily was still grateful for Violet’s help in transforming her appearance, but she knew that their relationship was still not as easy as that which her cousins enjoyed with their own mothers. For all that Violet had been a part of her life for nearly twenty years, the beauty had never quite understood how to handle her bookish stepdaughter.

  “Yes,” Cecily replied calmly, stepping out from behind her desk, thinking with some amusement of how their interactions now—she, behind the desk, Violet coming in with some petition or other—were the mirror image of the child entering the father’s study in expectation of a set-down. “I went to see Lady Entwhistle not long after Winterson brought me home. You still had visitors and I did not wish to disturb you.”

  This seemed to placate Violet, but once they were both seated before the fire she spoke out.