A Devil of a Duke

by Madeline Hunter

  “Oh, tosh on the accounts. My concern is for you, not our accounts. Do you have what you need to travel to your mother? Can I help you in any way?”

  The lady’s thoughtfulness moved Amanda. “I have what I need, thank you.”

  “Well, there it is. I would not try to convince you to stay under the circumstances. When must you leave?”

  “Three days hence. Thursday must be my last day here with you.”

  “Then tomorrow night we will go to the theater. You will be my guest. We will dine here, then make use of my box.”

  “You are too kind but I—”

  “Not one word of objection, Miss Waverly. I insist on seeing you off with some style, to express your great value to me.” She turned back to her pages. “I will of course write a letter of reference that makes both your skills and your character explicit. You can take it with you when you leave Thursday.”

  Amanda excused herself. She doubted Lady Farnsworth even heard her go. Already that pen moved across the paper as if hell chased it.

  * * *

  Late June lent the festivities of the Season a bittersweet quality. The end of one set of activities drew to an end, and very different ones would soon take their place. Some people looked forward to the change, having had their fill of summer’s business.

  Gabriel sensed the pending nostalgia and relief while he strolled through the theater’s salon beside Brentworth. People mingled less, having mingled so much in recent weeks. A subdued mood pervaded the large chamber.

  “I thought you said Stratton would join us,” he said to Brentworth. “The play is half over and he is yet to be seen.”

  “He wrote me a note saying he would be late. The duchess decided to join him.”

  “So soon?”

  “It is early, but Clara has never been one to bow to society’s expectations. If the ladies gossip about it, she will no more care about that than any of the other gossip about her.”

  That was Brentworth’s discreet way of saying that Stratton’s wife had never in her life been anything but independent minded. If she wanted to attend the theater tonight, she would do so, with or without Stratton’s approval.

  Even as they aimed for the boxes, she arrived on her husband’s arm. Conversation in the salon noticeably paused when she entered. She appeared lovely, fresh, and very healthy while she greeted a few women who descended on her to congratulate her on her son.

  “It appears there will be little gossip,” Gabriel said. “That she has produced an heir will garner her much approval by the harpies.”

  “As well it should.”

  “Do you envy him that heir, Brentworth?”

  “The heir, yes. The rest, not so much.” He sighed. “It is time, however. For both of us.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “You know I am right. We have both shunned matrimony too long. You should not mind succumbing to the call of duty. It will fit right in with your other reformations of behavior.”

  “At least with me the woman will know what she is getting. With you, some poor girl is in for quite a shock.”

  They reached Stratton and the duchess. Since both had seen her since the birth of the heir, neither one of them commented on that. Instead, they chatted about less significant things.

  “I want to visit some boxes,” the duchess said. “Please join me if you would like.”

  Gabriel had nothing better to do, and it gave him a chance to talk to Stratton. Brentworth tagged along as well.

  They visited three boxes, where women fussed over the duchess and asked after the child. Gabriel wondered if Stratton and Clara ever grew bored of answering the same questions. The duchess may have attended tonight to get some of the repetition out of the way.

  “Ah, I see Lady Farnsworth is here tonight,” the duchess said while standing at the front of one box. I must speak to her.”

  “Indeed you must,” Gabriel said. “That is one woman you do not want slighted by any show of indifference. She may skewer you with her pen.”

  “Still smarting about that article, Langford?” Stratton asked. The duchess looked at him with bright eyes, curious too.

  “Not at all. If some obscure journal wants to waste its paper and ink on such ramblings by an eccentric, overbearing woman, that is not my concern.”

  “Not so obscure anymore,” the duchess said teasingly. “I am told by friends that it flourishes, and many in society have become subscribers.”

  “I cannot imagine why.”

  “Can you not?” She led the way out of the box, making room for others entering.

  They walked through the salon until they reached Lady Farnsworth’s box. She was not alone. Lady Grace was visiting, and another woman sat in a chair beside the box’s owner.

  “Ah, Miss Waverly is here. How nice,” the duchess murmured. She turned to Gabriel and Brentworth. “She is Lady Farnsworth’s secretary. Quite a novelty.”

  Gabriel followed her inside. “Like I said, eccentric,” he muttered to Brentworth.

  Stratton overheard. “A female secretary is unusual, but there is no reason why employing one is eccentric. I expect a woman can do the duty as well as a man.”

  “Perhaps better,” Brentworth said. “I would consider one except that tongues would wag.”

  “Tongues wagging about the most ducal duke? Shocking.”

  “You, on the other hand, do not care about that, Langford,” Stratton said. “You could employ one.”

  “I expect it would make the political correspondence less of a chore if a pretty woman sat in that other chair, and not—whatever his name is.”

  “You might even remember her name,” Brentworth said. “Unless you have developed a taste for women whose names you never know.”

  Gabriel would have jabbed Brentworth hard with his elbow, except just then the party in the box arrested his attention.

  Or rather, one member of the party did.

  Lady Farnsworth’s guest, Miss Waverly, had risen to greet the duchess. Which meant she now faced Gabriel. As soon as he saw her face, a chord of recognition plucked his awareness.

  Surely not. And yet—he moved to the side of the box, where he might see her better.

  She wore a rather boring, sedate dress of expensive fabric that glistened just enough to make the simple style appear out of tune with it. Her dark hair, dressed simply, contrasted with very pale skin. Her eyes looked like dark pools in which water sparkled. Her lips looked dark against her pale skin.

  The light was dim, but not in the same way as in Harry’s apartment. Still, this secretary appeared damned similar to Alice.

  He peered hard while she spoke with the duchess. Lady Farnsworth, swathed in her bizarrely unfashionable dress and wrapped like a Roman senator in a garish shawl, beamed like a proud mother.

  “I trust it is the secretary and not Lady Farnsworth whom you examine with those wolf eyes,” Brentworth said after sidling over.

  “I think I may know her.”

  “The secretary? Unlikely, don’t you think? She is hardly attending parties and balls—” He caught himself. “Oh. You mean the shepherdess.” He sharpened his own gaze on her. “Damn, so little of her was visible. At least of her face. I suppose it would be rude to ask her to bare her bosom so we might see if that part is recognizable.”

  “I may not be sure about her, but she should be sure about me. I think that I will attend on Lady Farnsworth for a few minutes.”

  “Brave man,” Brentworth said as Gabriel walked away.

  He advanced on Lady Farnsworth and waited to be acknowledged. All the time, he kept his gaze on Miss Waverly. He wanted to see her reaction when she saw him.

  The duchess moved. Lady Farnsworth settled her attention on him. She smiled conspiratorially, as if they shared a secret. “Langford. As handsome as ever, I see. It has been too long since we talked.”

  He made his bow, never taking his gaze off the secretary, whose attention had been momentarily distracted by Lady Grace leaning in to s
ay something.

  “I hear you gave a fine speech in the House of Lords,” Lady Farnsworth said.

  “It was a small thing. A passing whimsy.”

  “That whimsy moved you to great eloquence, I am told. I am so pleased to see you taking up your rightful place in the national discussions. I trust we will hear more from you.”

  “I expect that a decade hence I may be so moved again.”

  Lady Grace departed and it was just the three of them in the box. Miss Waverly made a half turn in his direction. Their gazes met.

  He saw the shock of recognition. It only lasted a second before she recovered, but it was unmistakable. Close like this, he could more clearly see the face he had come to know in the moonlight.

  He had finally found his mystery woman.

  * * *

  Amanda kept her exterior calm, but shock almost immobilized her. Terror of discovery mixed with elation at seeing him again.

  How fine he appeared in his dark coats and snowy-white cravat. The duke looked as handsome as the devil might if he materialized in human form.

  His manner with Lady Farnsworth bore formality mixed with a touch of familiarity. He held himself a bit aloof, with his demeanor only softened by a vague, naughty smile.

  He recognized her. She was sure of it. His blue eyes narrowed on her even while he bantered with Lady Farnsworth.

  “Oh, my,” Lady Farnsworth said. “Introductions are in order.” She introduced Amanda to the duke. “She is my secretary. The finest penmanship you will ever see, and clever with accounts. She is my right hand.” She placed an indulgent arm around Amanda’s shoulders. “Since she joined me, I have found I have twice the time to devote to my writing and interests.”

  “You are fortunate indeed to have discovered such an accomplished woman to aide you,” Langford said. “Where would England be without your having sufficient time to critique the world and its inhabitants?”

  “Would that the world paid more attention. I am gratified whenever some small part of it does.” Lady Farnsworth favored the duke with a meaningful smile.

  “Let us hope you experience more such gratitude soon.” He turned slightly. “Miss Waverly, are you enjoying the play?”

  “Very much, thank you. It is quite a treat for me.”

  “Then I will leave both of you to enjoy its conclusion.”

  With that, he took his leave and followed the others out of the box.

  * * *

  A rustling indicated that the audience returned to their boxes to prepare for the resumption of the play.

  “Miss Waverly, I must leave you for a spell. I have something important to tell the duchess about the journal,” Lady Farnsworth said. “I could hardly share it while she was here. I do not think Brentworth knows about her sponsorship of Parnassus yet. I am certain Langford does not.” She stood. “I will return shortly. If I should be delayed, wait here when the play ends and I will come for you.”

  Her departure left Amanda alone in the box. She finally exhaled. How unfortunate that the duke had visited. Lady Farnsworth had never indicated she shared a friendship with him. Nor had their conversation implied she did. Rather the opposite.

  That might have explained his severe expression. Or that hardness could have been all for herself. Whatever he may have thought of her, she doubted he had surmised she was in service.

  Would he conclude that was why she had been so vague, and so unwilling to allow a liaison to form? She hoped so. That reason was far better than the real one.

  Doors to the salon closed. She gave her attention to the stage. She hoped the actors’ return would distract her from thinking about how her heart jumped upon seeing Langford standing right in front of her with the light of recognition in his deep blue eyes. For an instant, she was on her back on that library floor, looking up at him.

  The play did distract her. She calmed and lost herself in the story. Then, suddenly, a firm grasp on her arm made her jump with surprise.

  That hand lifted her physically out of her seat and sped her toward the back of the box. She only collected her sense when it released her. She felt the wall of the box along her back. In front of her loomed the Duke of Langford.

  He was all darkness now, much as he had been the first meeting at Lord Harold’s house. Only he stood very close, making her invisible in the corner to whoever might look in from another box.

  One hand pressed the wall beside her head as his face dipped closer still. “So it is Miss Waverly. Not Alice Waverly, I am sure.”

  “A . . . Amanda.”

  “I was damned close. It all makes sense now. That shawl you lost is such that your lady might have worn it. And the shepherdess dress. Even that might have come from her. Does she know that you slip out at night to flirt with men at masked balls?”

  “She knows nothing about my life other than what she sees while I pen her letters and articles.”

  “I’m sure she does not. Hence your fear of discovery.”

  She did not disagree. Let him think that.

  “You slipped away from me once too often, Miss Waverly. I count the last time as an insult. Or another challenge.”

  “I did not seek to intrigue you further by leaving. Surely you cannot believe such a thing. Look at my situation. If it were known that I . . . that we . . . I would be ruined, and I have no family to take me back like your sort of ruined women do. If I am seen as disreputable, I will end up destitute.”

  “I would never allow that to happen.”

  “You have no power to stop it.”

  “I will find a way. I will make arrangements.”

  “I do not want arrangements. I want you to leave me alone.”

  “Do not reject what you have not heard.” He kissed her lips. Heaven help her, she rose into it, stupid woman that she was. “See? You do not really want me to leave you alone. You are glad I found you. I will treat your reputation with great care, Amanda. You will see. You are not to worry any longer. You will be free again in my arms very soon.”

  He kissed her again, hard and long, calling forth her own passion with savage demand. Then he melted into the shadows, leaving her trembling against the wall.

  Chapter Ten

  “Langford is plotting,” Brentworth said, angling his head toward the friend in question. “Brow furrowed. Eyes bright. Mouth firm. He has spotted his prey and now calculates the method of attack.”

  Stratton laughed. They all sat in an upper room at their club, one which they had used for years. It was not the day for their monthly meeting, but after the theater the duchess had gone home alone so her husband might enjoy some hours without domesticity hounding him.

  “I must have been elsewhere when the prey in question was spotted,” Stratton said. “Who is she, Langford?”

  Gabriel ignored him.

  “Miss Waverly,” Brentworth whispered none too quietly.

  “No. The secretary?” Stratton considered that. “She was certainly attractive in an unfashionable way. But with a good hairdressing and better garments, she would be lovely.”

  “He has seen her in a different garment. Those of a shepherdess. She is the woman from the masked ball.”

  “Is that so, Langford? I’ll be damned.”

  “You are both too annoying.”

  “At least now you know who she is,” Brentworth said. “Although if her relationship to Lady Farnsworth does not discourage you, I will think you an idiot. That lady has been sharpening a knife for you. Seduce her favored servant and she may just use it in shocking ways.”

  “I will not be cowed by the most peculiar Lady Farnsworth. As for seducing . . .” He faced the regrettable results of his long contemplation. “That would be complicated in many ways.”

  “Thank God you see that,” Brentworth said.

  “So much so that I find that I require your advice, gentlemen.”

  His friends stared at him. Finally, Stratton spoke. “Perhaps I misheard. You, the master of seduction, are asking our advice?”
r />   “Yes. Not on the seduction part.”

  “Of course.”

  “Other things.”

  “Such as?”

  “I will need to be absolutely discreet.” He looked at Brentworth. “How in hell do you manage that?”

  “First of all, I keep my damned mouth shut,” he drawled. “Even with you.”

  “I am annoyingly aware of that.”

  “I keep my mouth shut with you because you do not keep confidences of that nature well. To speak to you is to announce an affair to the world.”

  “I do not gossip about your lovers.”

  “No, you don’t. Because I rarely tell you about them.”

  “It is hell that I have to tolerate your smugness, but you are all I have at the moment. You said, ‘first of all.’ What is second of all?”

  “I require that the lady also not speak of it to friends.”

  “Does that work?”

  “Perhaps half the time at best. It normally reduces the number of friends to whom she confides so the entire ton is not told within a day or so, however. And she swears them to silence, as they do in turn when they pass it on. That means that, while it circulates, it is never actually talked about.”

  “Clever. I think. I, however, truly need it to be unknown, not merely unspoken.”

  “As you said, that is complicated. If the lady agrees on the need for such discretion, she will indeed not confide in friends. However, you must never be seen together. You do not enter her home nor she yours, even on a call. You do not dance with her at balls. You meet away from Mayfair. It will require a second residence. One with few servants, and only those most trustworthy. In my opinion, such drastic measures are only worth it for the most extraordinary woman.”

  Stratton looked from Brentworth to Gabriel and back again. “If a woman is worth all that trouble and is so extraordinary, and she does not have a husband, why not just marry her?”

  “You are charming, Stratton. Isn’t he charming, Langford?”