A Duke’s Distraction: Devilish Lords

by Dallen, Maggie

  He cleared his throat. It had been a while since he’d had to be charming or selfless, but as a man on a path to woo young ladies, he ought to practice. His voice came out harsh, he couldn’t quite find the proper tone for solicitousness. “And you?” he said. “Are you concerned about the rumors. If so…”

  If so, what? Would he walk away and leave her to her friend? Would he keep his distance, leaving her easy prey for an unworthy man like Lord Malcolm?

  His father had taught him one important lesson when it came to managing the estate and its finances—never make an offer you are not prepared to see through. And even if she hated this walk, he wouldn’t turn away, not now that he finally had this moment alone with her.

  He glanced around at the members of the ton who passed them, nodding and staring with unchecked curiosity.

  Well, relatively alone. Safely alone. This was a far safer place to have a private word than at home, of that he was certain. If his mother had not walked into his study when she had the other day, he wasn’t certain what would have happened.

  No, that was not true. He knew exactly what would have happened. He would have kissed her. It was no use trying to tell himself otherwise.

  With a start he realized she was still looking up at him, her expression one he could not read. Part amusement, obviously, but also curiosity…or something more. Her gaze was sharp. “If not, what?” she asked.

  Before he could answer, she gave her head a little shake. “It doesn’t matter. The rumors are already out there. Like you, I can see how there may be some benefits.”

  “Is there a gentleman in particular you hope to make jealous?” His gruff tone made it sound like an inquisition and not a question of idle curiosity, but more importantly—where the bloody hell had that come from?

  Luckily she brushed his question aside with a short laugh. “Unfortunately it would seem I am back to where I was last season. No prospects for marriage and no hopes for one.”

  She sounded so forlorn that his own inexplicable surge of satisfaction seemed cruel. He tried to think of an appropriate response to such an extraordinary statement. No young lady had ever spoken to him of her prospects or lack thereof before and he found himself stymied.

  Was he supposed to comfort her? Pat her shoulder or something? “Er—that is—I’m certain that’s not—”

  She mercifully cut off his blustering attempt at comfort. “But I am certain you didn’t come to the park to speak of my marriage prospects, now did you?”

  “No, not as such.”

  She gave him a smile in response to his honesty. “Then why have you come? Were you merely out for a stroll or were you looking for me, in particular?”

  “I was hoping to speak with you,” he said. “Or rather, I was looking for an opportunity to apologize.”

  She arched her brows. “Apologize? For what, exactly?”

  Oh bloody hell. Trust Georgie to make him spell it out. He cleared his throat. “I never properly apologized for my behavior at the ball.”

  “And you still haven’t now,” she said.

  He shot her a quick look, surprised by her lighthearted tone, though he shouldn’t have been. Trust Georgie to turn his apology into a joke. “No, you’re right.” He stopped and turned to face her. “I am sorry, Georgie. My actions were inexcusable and out of character. I dishonored us both with my—”

  “Please stop. That’s quite enough.”

  To his surprise, he saw that Georgie’s typical smile had faded, and she looked…pained. She recovered quickly and waved her hand as though brushing his words aside. “I did not mean to interrupt, it is just…”

  It was just…what? His curiosity was well beyond piqued. He waited anxiously for her next words.

  She turned to keep walking so he was forced to fall into step beside her. “I was there too, you know. It wasn’t as though I protested, now was it?”

  He honestly didn’t know what to say to that. What was she saying? That his advances had been…wanted? His devilish mind eagerly called up fragmented memories of that kiss—her eager response, the soft sounds she made in response.

  No, she had most certainly not protested.

  Hell, he should never have let his mind wander. Now he couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than how beautiful her hair looked in the sunlight and how gracefully she walked.

  Lord, he was losing his senses entirely. It was about time he found himself a wife and ended this whole courtship endeavor once and for all so he could go back to focusing on the things that mattered.

  “Besides,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve seen my brothers after they’ve imbibed too much whiskey.” She shrugged as though she didn’t know she was offending him completely. “It shouldn’t surprise me that it would cause you to act out of character.”

  “Are you implying that I was…” He stumbled for the words a bit, feeling every bit the stodgy blustering old duke. “I was not inebriated.”

  A small group walking past them shot them startled looks. He held his head up high and looked down his nose at them. This conversation was private. Georgie, he noticed, was gracing the curious group with a gracious smile as she made the proper pleasantries.

  He kept his mouth shut, not trusting himself to make idle chit-chat at a time like this. Hello…yes, quite the beautiful day…now mind your own bloody business.

  Best he leave the small talk to Georgie.

  After they passed, she turned to face him. “Were you not inebriated then?”

  He blinked at the sudden return to their conversation as though it had never been interrupted. “No!”

  Now it was her turn to blink rapidly in the face of what was admittedly a roar.

  “My word,” she said quietly. “I suppose now it is I who should be apologizing for offending your honor.”

  He let out an unseemly snort of disgust. The kind he typically reserved for his brother when they bickered. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am merely telling you that I do not overindulge. In anything.”

  She didn’t respond. That lack of response put him on edge. Sure enough, when he glanced down he saw her lips pressed together in what was very clearly an ill-disguised attempt at smothering a laugh.

  Oh bloody hell.

  “Say it,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Whatever silly comment is making you contort with amusement at my expense, just say it and be done with it.”

  The laugh escaped her with a burst of air. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. It’s just…I was thinking how nice it must be for you not to be hindered by the same follies that we mere mortals suffer.”

  He gaped at her for a moment, but her eyes were so wide. So guileless and filled with mirth. He found himself making a noise.

  What the bloody…

  The laugh started as a sort of grumble before tumbling out as an honest to God laugh. He shook his head, ignoring the stares of passersby, noticing only the way Georgie was beaming up at him like a proud mama.

  “You are exasperating, Georgie. You do know that, don’t you?”

  “I’ve been told often,” she said.

  He laughed again at the pride in her tone.

  A silence passed between them that was neither stilted nor thick with tension. They walked for a moment in a quiet that was really quite pleasurable.

  But of course, that could not last. Not with Georgie around. He felt her hesitation as she looked up at him and then away quickly, her hands clasping and unclasping in front of her as she very clearly battled within herself over what she was about to say.

  “What is it?”

  She cleared her throat. “I have been meaning to apologize to you as well, Your Grace.”

  He looked down in surprise. “For what?”

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and he looked away quickly.

  Bloody hell.

  “I was angry that night,” she started. It went without saying what night she referred to, he supposed. “But I should not have said what I did about your family. I should not have men
tioned the scandal. That was low and—”

  “You were right,” he said, surprising himself as much as her. “That is, I offended your family as well—a fact that I regret, I assure you. But you were right to put me in my place.”

  “I—I—”

  Her stammering made him smile, his cheek muscles feeling the strain of such an unusual expression. “Are you at a loss for words, Miss Cleveland?” he asked mildly.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you teasing me, Your Grace?”

  He very nearly laughed again. Yes, he supposed he was.

  She didn’t wait for him to answer. “And yes, I was temporarily speechless. It is not every day one hears the Duke of Roxborough say that he was wrong.”

  He scowled down at her, but his anger was feigned, as she well knew. “I did not say I was wrong. I said you were right.”

  “Ah,” she said with a laugh. “My mistake.”

  “Besides,” he said, looking straight ahead. “Your comment about my family’s past scandal caught me off guard, but you only spoke the truth.”

  “Still,” she said with a sigh. “As one whose family deals with scandal on a surprisingly regular basis, I should have known well enough to hold my tongue.”

  Her sigh did something funny to him. He understood it. In that moment he understood her—or at least, he knew where she was coming from. It was not easy growing up in the midst of gossip and accusations. He had the most alarming urge to reach out to her, right here in public.

  That would not do.

  She glanced up at him. “Do you know the nice thing about having a scandalous father?”

  He gaped at her. Who on earth uttered something like that?

  Georgie, he supposed. Only Georgie.

  She didn’t wait for an answer. “You really know who your friends are, don’t you?” She looked up at him, her brows arched in question.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” he murmured. There was no arguing the truth of that and for some odd reason he felt he needed to add to it. To offer something in return for her brave candor. “In my case, I suppose I learned who I could trust, outside of my immediate family, of course.”

  She looked up at him. “And who is that?”

  His smile held no amusement. “No one.”

  She widened her eyes. “Well,” she said, her breathless voice a giveaway that he’d surprised her with that cold, hard fact. “That’s a rather dreary outlook.”

  He shrugged. “Dreary, perhaps, but it’s helped to keep from any further scandal.”

  “Mmm.” Her murmur of agreement sounded thoughtful, if such a thing was possible. “Still, it’s a bleak way to view your fellow man, is it not?” Before he could respond, she continued. “Now it’s becoming abundantly clear why you’re so keen on screening your ladies of the list.”

  She gave the term a ridiculous French accent that time. He sighed. “Do stop calling them that.”

  She ignored him, turning to face him with an expression so hopeful, he found himself growing distinctly uneasy. “Perhaps I can help you.”

  Yes, he was definitely right to be uneasy. “Help me how? With what?” Then, “I don’t require any help, thank you.”

  She wasn’t listening. “I can help you narrow down your list so you find the perfect duchess.”

  “What? No. Why? Whatever for?” Good Lord, five minutes alone with this insufferable woman and he was a tongue-tied baboon.

  She was already walking away and he had to hurry to catch up. “I don’t not trust people like you, but I am a good judge of character.”

  He let out a huff of amusement. “You?”

  She looked up with arched brows. “Yes, me. I saw through Lord Malcolm quickly enough, did I not?”

  “Yes, you definitely did.” He had to give her credit on that score, particularly since he’d been so quick to doubt her that night. “I still don’t see how you could be of assistance, though.” And quite frankly the very thought of it was making him uneasy.

  In fact, every time Georgie so blithely mentioned that blasted list he felt a surge of something alarmingly akin to outrage. Or maybe it was a specific type of jealousy. Whatever it was, it reminded him of how he’d felt when she’d said he was like a brother.

  Brother, my arse.

  He was not her brother and she was not his sister, nor any other close relation whom he should be confiding in about his marital prospects.

  He was so caught up in his own inner rebellion, he nearly missed the fact that she was still talking, so rapidly it was nearly impossible to catch up.

  “…I think I would be quite good at it, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Uh,” he started. He needn’t have worried, she did not seem to require a response.

  “Yes, I think I’d make a fine spy on your behalf.”

  Oh Lord, what on earth was she on about now? “I have no need of a spy, Georgie. But if I should have such a need in the future, I will be sure to keep you in mind.”

  “First teasing and now sarcasm?” She laughed, briefly resting a hand on his arm as though it were the most natural thing in the world to touch him so intimately.

  No, not intimately, it was merely…friendly.

  He scowled down at her. Damn, there was that blasted sensation again. Outrage didn’t begin to cover it.

  He had the most ludicrous desire to kiss her again. Right here, even though they were surrounded by the ton. Precisely because they were surrounded by the ton. There was no denying it. Some primitive part of him wanted to kiss her right here and now and brand her as his for all the world to see.

  It was a ridiculous urge, obviously. One born out of this irrational anger that rose up in him every time she relegated him to some harmless, platonic role such as friend.

  He had to clench his hands into fists to keep from reaching out and showing her just how much of a friend he was not. He was a man, dammit. Made of flesh and blood, like everyone else.

  Oh hell, what had come over him? A duke’s temper was even-keeled. He was rational above all else. He had to be when so many others were depending on him.

  It was his father’s voice he heard, but it was still the truth.

  Georgie had moved on. It seemed she’d recently read a novel that involved a female spy and now she was recounting the sordid tale as though it were the most natural thing in the world to talk so freely to a gentleman. To a duke. To him.

  He found his hands relaxing. Then he was laughing at the utter ridiculousness of the drivel she read.

  When he called it that to her, she’d recoiled in mock horror before starting in on a diatribe about the moral benefits of reading “drivel.”

  He found himself laughing more in those few minutes than he had in years. When her steady stream of chatter turned to talk of gossip and preparations for the upcoming soiree at his home, he found himself reluctant to interrupt, though he had a veritable mountain of work awaiting him at home.

  The sound of her voice was so pleasant, her laughter so infectious, he hardly realized that another half hour passed without so much as a thought to the obligations he’d been ignoring.

  As they found themselves back in front of his home once more, the poor forgotten Mary once again rejoining their ranks, he found he’d lost track of time all together.

  He watched Georgie disappear into a drawing room with Mary, the light seeming to fade straight out of his life as she left.

  Staring at the closed door that separated them, he took one last moment to ponder what in the bloody hell had just happened.

  Chapter Eleven

  Georgie muttered an unladylike oath as she smudged the ink on Lady Regina Phelpott’s name card for the supper which would be the final event of the much-anticipated soiree.

  “Georgie!” Claire scolded, but her chiding held no heat. Claire had long since given up the role of impossibly perfect prig in public, and she’d never held those kinds of airs in private.

  Claire shot a warning look toward the duchess, who’d strode in to oversee
their last-minute preparations with all the authority of an army general. Or a duchess. She supposed both would scare the dickens out of an enemy.

  Fortunately the duchess hadn’t heard her unladylike word.

  “Frustrated, are we?” the duchess drawled as she reached Georgie’s side.

  Or perhaps she had heard.

  Georgie scowled down at the work she would now need to recreate. Blasted Lady Regina Phelpott. Why must she have only one L in her name? To the duchess, she said, “My apologies, Your Grace.”

  To her surprise, the great Duchess of Roxborough laughed. Oh not a loud laugh, but a soft one—one that spoke of understanding. “I think I know what has you so distressed, Miss Cleveland.”

  Georgie shot Claire a look, but Claire just shrugged, her expression echoing Georgie’s surprise.

  “You do, Your Grace?”

  “Certainly.”

  Well, in that case—at least one of them did. Georgie focused on pulling out a new sheet of paper to start over again, avoiding the duchess’s probing look. It was true that she’d been feeling rather…out of sorts these past few days as the soiree rapidly approached. But she was hard-pressed to explain why.

  She typically loved these events and everything having to do with them. The coordinating, the menu planning, the decorating. She scowled down at the name card in her hand. She typically even enjoyed employing her excellent calligraphy skills for such occasions. But for this particular gathering, each task had rubbed at her nerves, every question or conversation on the matter had her bristling with irritation, until now—one day before the event—she felt ready to snap at the next person who mentioned it.

  The duchess was watching her carefully. “I sense that perhaps your discontent with this particular soiree has to do with certain attendees.” She gestured toward Lady Regina’s name card. “Certain attendees who are also being considered for another, far more exclusive event.”

  Something ugly twisted inside Georgie and for the first time since she was a small child, she couldn’t force a laugh to fill an awkward silence. She’d learned at a young age that laughter was the best way to cheer a melancholy, tension-filled household. It was also the best response in the face of those who’d whisper her name or try to injure one with words. But now? Well, now her well-worn defense for a moment like this proved useless.