A Duke’s Distraction: Devilish Lords

by Dallen, Maggie

  He bowed, she curtsied.

  “Thank you for the dance,” she said.

  “It was my pleasure.” He said the words automatically but then he realized with a start that they were true. He normally hated dancing because of the enforced intimacy, but she had kept him too entertained and consistently surprised to notice any awkward tension.

  He supposed making people feel comfortable was a special talent of hers. She seemed to put everyone at ease, even his mother.

  Between her beauty and her outgoing personality, it was a wonder she wasn’t surrounded by suitors. Add in the fact that she was now well-connected and had a large dowry, Georgie would surely be swatting away interested young men by the dozens.

  The thought had him scowling down at her once more, but she seemed unmoved by his sudden change in demeanor.

  She was already looking about, her gaze seeking out her next victim, no doubt. And he had a suspicion he knew exactly who it would be. That Lord Malcolm fellow. Really, of all the men she could have, what sort of bad judge of character chose that simpering fop?

  Apparently she’d spotted him because her face lit up with recognition and a pleasure that made him grow testy in turn. Turning her face up to his, she gave him another dazzling smile. “Wish me luck,” she said. “And best of luck to you as well, Your Grace.”

  Luck? Whatever did she mean by—

  But she was already walking away. Gracefully and swiftly making her way through the throngs toward a group of young gentlemen and ladies who had gathered near the refreshments.

  Lord Malcolm among them.

  Bloody hell. She aimed to woo him. Him. That ridiculous fellow with the easy smile and the peacock strut.

  It wasn’t jealousy that had him glaring at the other man. No, no. It was concern for his young guest. She needed his protection and he would provide it. It was the least he could do for Claire’s sister.

  He had to force himself to turn away as Georgie reached the group and Lord Malcolm seemed to greet her warmly.

  Too warmly for his liking.

  There was nothing to be done about it today. Not tonight, at least. But he would keep his eye on her. And Lord Malcolm.

  It wasn’t until someone jostled him that he noticed he was still standing on the dancefloor. He scanned the crowd again, but this time he was searching out a new partner. A better suited dance partner.

  Lady Regina, preferably, but really anyone would do at this moment. Anyone who did not have sparkling green eyes or a dreadfully bewitching laugh.

  Chapter Four

  Success! Georgie made a valiant effort to keep from gloating. Though one glance at Mary Beaucraft’s pinched lips and she suspected she’d failed.

  Mary couldn’t keep that sour expression for long, however, not when Lord Malcolm was standing beside them and watching them both.

  No, not really. He was watching Georgie. She knew he was watching her because she could feel his gaze on her. She’d seen him staring from the sidelines as the duke danced with her and his gaze had been snared, firmly and securely.

  That was how it was done, she wished she could say to Mary. But of course, she could not. That would be the height of rudeness, and while she might be competitive, she was never rude.

  Except perhaps to the duke, though that wasn’t entirely her fault. Roxborough seemed to bring it out in her. He was just so…stiff. Such a relentless bore.

  Surprisingly graceful, though. She’d been more shocked than anyone when he not only acceded to her wishes for a dance, but then led her in a waltz with a firm lead and a remarkable sense of rhythm.

  She’d been impressed, but then she supposed as a duke he’d been trained in all the social niceties, including dance.

  Too bad no one had taught him how to have a personality.

  Her smile grew as she watched Lord Malcolm move past two of his friends so he could join them. Nay, to join her. She flashed Mary a triumphant grin. Time to give up the battle, Mary, she wanted to say.

  But she wouldn’t. That would be crass.

  “I see the duke is kind to his guests,” Mary said with a sniff.

  Poor loser. “Indeed,” she said. She kept her chin high. She would not dignify that barely veiled insult with a proper response. Besides, Mary was right enough. The duke hadn’t even wanted to dance with her. She’d practically forced him.

  The thought made her uncomfortable so she shoved it aside and brightened her smile as Lord Malcolm reached her side.

  “Miss Cleveland,” he said. His smile was charming. So very charming. So very unlike the duke’s.

  Her smile faltered. Why on earth was she comparing this man to Roxborough? No two men could be more different. Of course his smile was unlike the duke’s. The duke didn’t own a smile.

  The memory of Roxborough’s lips tugging up almost against his will made her own lips twitch with amusement. Heavens, but it was fun to tease that man.

  Inappropriate, of course. Her mother would be turning in her grave if she could see the way she’d acted tonight. But of course, her mother wouldn’t have been watching Georgie’s behavior. She’d only ever cared about one daughter, and she supposed Claire’s actions of late would be keeping their mother’s ghost well and truly occupied.

  “You look beautiful tonight,” Lord Malcolm said when his friend, Lord Archer, struck up a conversation with Mary. As a baron, Lord Archer might have the better status, and perhaps even a bigger fortune, but she and Mary both knew that he couldn’t hold a candle to Lord Malcolm in terms of attractiveness or charm.

  She smiled prettily at the compliment, batting her eyelashes as she’d practiced in the mirror.

  Mary could have Lord Archer. She had very clearly gained the favor of Lord Malcolm, and that was what mattered.

  “Might I have the next dance?” Those were his words, but his tone said so much more.

  Heavens, his voice was very nearly seductive with its low overtones. She ought to be thrilled. Swooning, perhaps. But the fact of the matter was, she found herself feeling oddly chilled.

  His gaze was dark and filled with something…warm. Intimate. He took her hand and led her toward the dance floor, pulling her into his arms. “Your gown is splendid.”

  She smiled up at him. This was what she’d wanted. It was all happening.

  “The gold color makes your eyes shine like gems.”

  She blinked up at him. Shine like gems? Her eyes? Whatever did that mean? She might have asked but his look was so very intense. So serious it made her want to laugh.

  “Thank you, Lord Malcolm.” And the black of your waistcoat makes your eyes appear to smolder like coals.

  No, that wouldn’t do. She bit her tongue to stifle a laugh. She’d always had a tendency to laugh at the most absurd occasions. Like at their grandfather’s funeral, for example. Not that she’d found his passing humorous, yet the heavy gloom had made her instinctively seek out the lighthearted and the absurd.

  But funerals were not a place for laughter any more than this occasion was.

  Dancing with the duke was another matter entirely. It had been impossible not to laugh when he was silently chiding her with those judgmental looks and those disapproving glares. But Lord Malcolm…well, he was definitely not disapproving.

  If anything, he was too approving. His heated looks were becoming a bit too much to bear, to be honest. The more heated he became, the colder her insides grew. But she kept a smile firmly in place for the sake of appearances.

  She only hoped Mary was watching.

  But of course she would be. The poor girl wouldn’t be able to help herself. Last season they were both new to society and she supposed their close friendship was only natural. The competition between them even more so. Georgie was glad of it. She thrived on that sort of competition; it gave her boring life the thrill she needed.

  So she found herself smiling up at Lord Malcolm for Mary’s sake. Just as she’d admittedly strong-armed Roxborough into dancing with her to make her friend jealous.
/>   “Are you warm, Miss Cleveland?” Lord Malcolm’s smile was knowing. “Your pink cheeks are fetching.”

  Her smile faltered, but luckily they were circling one another in the dance and she was given a reprieve from that heated stare.

  To be clear, her cheeks were warm, but out of embarrassment at her earlier behavior. Oh, she did not regret dancing with the duke. For one, it had achieved its purpose of snaring Lord Malcolm’s attention while also making Mary green with envy. And two, the duke had proven to be a surprisingly capable dancer. And entertaining to boot. Not charming—heavens no—but his laugh was quite lovely. Its rarity made it that much more special. And while he did not speak much, she found herself listening eagerly to his words—yes, because she longed to tease him for whatever stodgy statements he might make, but also because his words were always so eloquent, in their own way.

  The remainder of the dance made conversation with Lord Malcolm nearly impossible and for that she was grateful. Not because she didn’t want to speak to him, but because his gaze was slightly unnerving, as though he were searching her for something. His words too seemed to hold hidden meanings. While he said one thing, his smirks and leering gazes inferred quite another.

  All in all, the dance was disconcerting. This was the most time she’d spent in close proximity with Lord Malcolm and he was nothing like she’d imagined. His charm seemed forced at this close range.

  When the dance came to an end, he took her hand and started to lead her to her friends. Or at least, she’d thought that was his intention. Instead he pulled her aside and murmured in her ear. His voice was low, his breath hot, his words…startling.

  “Meet me in the gardens at midnight.”

  That was it.

  Meet me in the gardens at midnight. Nothing poetic about that, really, just a command. An order. She blinked at him in surprise, but before she could respond he led her toward Mary, who had been joined by Claire and Nicholas. He gave her one last heavy look, one filled with some foreign meaning before turning to rejoin his party.

  Meet me in the gardens at midnight. Why ever would she do that? Presumably he’d meant alone, which was shocking in and of itself. But even more shocking was that he seemed to think she would comply.

  Claire leaned toward her to be heard over the chatter around them. “Are you all right, dear? You look stricken.”

  She forced a smile for her sister’s sake. If she were to tell Claire what he’d proposed, Claire would tell Nicholas and this situation would quickly escalate into something far more serious than it need be.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I suppose I’ve just overtired myself.”

  Claire did not look convinced but her sister let the matter drop as she turned her attention back to her husband. This was fine by Georgie as it gave her a moment to sort out what exactly had just happened.

  She might be young but she was not quite so naïve that she could not decipher Lord Malcolm’s intent. The more vexing question was why had he assumed she would be willing to risk her reputation for a garden rendezvous? They barely knew one another.

  Had she been too forward? Had she given him the wrong impression? She’d meant to convey interest, but not like that.

  She found him charming, certainly. Or at least she had before tonight’s odd behavior. But it was not as though they had formed some sort of connection. She’d felt nothing of the visceral bond her sisters were always going on about when they spoke lovingly of their husbands.

  She frowned at the dance floor as if by reliving that dance in her mind she might figure out what exactly she had missed. Was there a connection there that she had not noticed? Had she been looking in the wrong direction when said bond was formed?

  No, that didn’t sound right at all. She didn’t have to be a master of love to know that was not how it worked.

  She was so lost in thought she forgot she was frowning off into space until her gaze met the frowning, furrowed scowl of her host.

  Roxborough stood on the opposite side of the room but he might as well have been standing right before her. Their gazes met and held, his fierce glare still a glare, but a glare that held concern.

  He was asking if she was all right. How she knew that, she did not know. She gave a smile and a small nod. I’m fine, she tried to say with her smile.

  She was not fine but knowing that he saw her, that he was watching... It was somehow reassuring.

  Chapter Five

  Rhys would murder that little mite.

  He had no idea what had gone on between Georgie and that dandy during their dance but he did not like it. She’d been lighthearted and full of good spirits when she’d walked away from him a little while ago. But now she looked distressed.

  And that Lord Malcolm character… Well, he’d looked entirely too smug.

  “Dear, you are frightening the ladies,” his mother murmured beside him. She’d said it behind a fan so as to avoid anyone eavesdropping or lip reading, apparently.

  He forcibly eased his glower. Now he was merely frowning in his typical manner.

  Nicholas seemed to appear out of nowhere at his side, Claire with him. “Who are we glaring at, brother?”

  He turned said glare on Nicholas. “It is none of your concern.” The moment the words slipped out he realized how erroneous they were. If that poet fool had insulted Georgie, it was far more Nicholas’s concern than his. She was under Nicholas’s protection during her stay. She was merely his houseguest.

  Practically another brother.

  “Whoever they are, they ought to be frightened. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you so emotional,” Claire murmured.

  When he glanced over he saw that her sweet smile held a hint of mischief. Funny how he’d never noticed that before. Perhaps the Cleveland family held more scandal than their father’s philandering and their brother’s gambling. Perhaps they were the offspring of sprites and imps.

  Now that would give the ton something to talk about.

  He, however, had no interest in the Clevelands or their amusement. The whole bloody family with all their mischievous daughters could fend for themselves for all he cared, and he—Oh hell, he was working himself into a tizzy once again over the blasted Cleveland women. One in particular whose look of discontent had left him rattled.

  A new sense of alarm jangled his nerves.

  He stared at Claire in disbelief because she had been right. He may not have said it aloud but that internal tirade was the most emotional he could ever remember being over anything these past few years, aside from his father’s death, of course.

  But death was another matter entirely. An excess of emotions could be expected when one was mourning. It was normal. Suitable, even.

  Irrational anger over a man he hardly knew and little minx who was neither a relation nor a prospective bride, on the other hand? That was lunacy. Something which had unfortunately been in the air ever since that blonde witch had arrived on his doorstep.

  “My emotional state is none of your concern,” he said stiffly.

  Nicholas, for one, didn’t seem to be deterred by his comment. If anything, his curiosity seemed to heighten, along with Claire’s. “Come, Rhys, perhaps we can help. If someone here has offended you in some way—” Nicholas started.

  “Or perhaps it’s a lady,” Claire interjected.

  He looked to his mother in horror, waiting for her to intercede with some cold, cutting remark that would put his brother and his decidedly non-demure wife in their proper place.

  She appeared to be too distracted to notice that her daughter-in-law had overstepped her bounds. “Who was that fellow your sister was dancing with?” she asked, that cold gaze fixed on Lord Malcolm as he danced with another young woman.

  “I don’t like the look of him or his forward behavior toward your sister,” his mother said quietly. To Claire, she added, “I would keep an eye on them if I were you.”

  Concern flashed in Claire’s pretty blue eyes, but then she stiffened and lifted her chin. �
��With all due respect, Your Grace, do not be fooled by my sister’s antics. Georgie might seem irrepressible, but she is wiser than you think.”

  Ha! It required effort to stifle a scornful bark of laughter. Instead he adjusted his cravat and sniffed. “If you say so, Lady Nicholas.”

  She arched her brows slightly at his use of her honorific title, which he rarely used when they were speaking among family, but amusement still tinged her voice. “You may not believe me now, Your Grace, but I trust you will in time.” She stressed his title with an impish grin that shared such a resemblance to Georgie’s it nearly knocked him off his feet.

  Metaphorically, of course. He was hardly so clumsy as all that.

  She moved closer and lowered her voice. “I would even go so far as to say this bears as a warning.”

  Now it was his turn to arch his brows in surprise. “A warning?”

  She nodded, her lips pressed together in barely concealed amusement. “Some find her unique blend of whimsy and earnestness to be quite endearing. In fact, Georgie has a tendency to charm even the hardest of hearts.” Grinning, she patted his arm lightly as one might console a stubborn child. “I wouldn’t try to fight it if I were you.”

  He stared at her in stunned disbelief. Him, charmed by a superficial chatterbox like Georgie? She must have lost her senses when she married his brother. He was ready to say just that when her attention was caught by someone behind him.

  “Oh look,” she said to their party at large. “Jed has arrived.”

  Rhys glanced over to see Nicholas’s reaction. It was no secret that Nicholas’s relationship with his best friend had become strained since he’d married his sister. Sure enough, Nicholas’s smile seemed to wilt at the sight of his erstwhile friend.

  Claire turned to him. “Shall we go greet him?”

  Jed saw them and stopped, smiling at Claire but ignoring the rest of them, including Nicholas.