A Sinful Duke She Can't Refuse (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Olivia Bennet

  “No, I’m of the opinion that Almack’s standards are lowered. Why else would a man who has not bothered to ever punch his voucher be in attendance tonight?” Carrington said.

  Isabella stood a little straighter, even as a shiver ran down her spine. She took an unconscious step closer to the three men.

  “I wonder what inspired this appearance. Does he wish to make a fool of himself by attempting to dance?” Mayhew brayed at his own joke. “I may have to stay just to view that.”

  “Ha, not even Helmsfield would be that daring,” Carrington said. “Although I hear he sometimes walks about barefoot in the mud on his farm.”

  Something hard and heavy lodged itself in Isabella’s throat.

  “Ah, that is the least of the strange things that man does,” Carrington sneered. “I swear there should be a way to strip him of his dukedom. This is just ridiculous. No wonder he does not socialize within the ton. I hear he counts his steward a dear friend.”

  There was a low hum now in Isabella’s ears—but it was not loud enough to mask Carrington’s reply.

  “Probably because nobody else would have the honor. I remember him from Cambridge. He was quite the loner. Which begs the question of what he’s doing here tonight?”

  After that remark, her father glanced away.

  His gaze met Isabella’s and his eyes widened, his face grew a shade paler.

  Isabella stared right back at him, letting the anger seething inside of her show.

  “Well, the McKinnons are famed for their charity,” Carrington said dismissively.

  Isabella had heard enough. She could feel the tears starting to burn in the corners of her eyes, born of equal parts rage and humiliation. Holding her head high, she sent one last glare in her father’s direction before sweeping past the three loathsome Lords as regally as she could.

  Of course, that was not the end of it.

  Isabella had returned to her earlier spot by the wall and waved away the friendly concern of Lady McKinnon, one of Almack’s patronesses, who had sensed the change in Isabella’s mood. Isabella had reassured her that she was fine and urged her to go enjoy another dance with the Earl.

  She had enjoyed her solitude for all of four minutes before her father made his appearance.

  “Isabella,” he spoke in low tones, hovering by her elbow. It was very unlike his usual demeanor and confused her even more.

  Isabella looked away, doing her best to ignore him, but her father was not deterred.

  “You must forgive me for what you heard earlier. You know I couldn’t speak truly in the company of the Duke and the Marquess.”

  Isabella’s attention snapped to her father, her voice as cold as ice when she replied. “Must I indeed? Because I do believe, you did speak the truth. Tell me, are you apologizing for what you said, or that I happened to overhear those words?”

  His silence was more telling than any answer he may have voiced.

  Furious, Isabella turned and began to walk away.

  She did not get very far before she was halted by her father’s hand grasping her elbow.

  “Isabella, listen to me, I—”

  She was not going to listen to another word from him. Even though she did not want to make a scene, she needed to get away from this stranger in her father’s body. She wanted to find her mother and explain to her what had happened. Perhaps she could make it make sense.

  “Let me go, Father, please.”

  He did not.

  “You must allow me to apologize. I was crass and I truly am sorry—”

  Her father’s ramblings were interrupted again, but this time by a pleasantly deep voice.

  “Pardon me for the interruption,” His Grace, the Duke of Helmsfield cut in smoothly, “but I was wondering if you would do the honor of accompanying me in the next dance, Miss Addison.”

  Her father blanched at the Duke's sudden appearance. “Your Grace, you will forgive us but my daughter and I were having a word. If you would excuse her from this dance I would be highly obliged.”

  Isabella’s eyes flashed. “That is true, we were having a word but nothing that cannot wait for a more private setting. If you will excuse me, Father.” She looked up into the Duke’s crystal blue eyes. “Your Grace, it would be my pleasure to dance with you.”

  Before her father had any chance to offer further protests, Isabella yanked her elbow out of his grip and placed her hand on the Duke’s arm.

  He smiled at her and boldly covered her hand with his own before he led her away.

  Isabella was most grateful for the Duke’s interruption, which had saved her from an unladylike argument with her father, and making an even bigger spectacle of herself.

  The implications of her father’s earlier inexplicable conversation still had her mind churning, twisting her stomach in knots. Why would he say those things about her intended or entertain insults from others about him?

  I cannot fathom what has gotten into him.

  Isabella’s fingers twitched, resting lightly on the Duke’s arm. His muscles were hard beneath her fingers and she wondered what he would do if she were to squeeze hard, just to feel his firmness. She imagined that he could sling his arm about her waist and pick her up…effortlessly.

  She shivered at the thought, forgetting for a moment, her father and his words.

  “I must admit my curiosity as to your conversation is piqued by the angry color in your cheeks,” the Duke intoned, jolting Isabella out of her thoughts. “Of course, as a gentleman, I shall not pry into whatever was the root of your disagreement with your father.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I appreciate that,” Isabella replied, turning and relaxing into him, her bosom brushing softly against his solid chest.

  “Although, if you do wish to tell me, I will listen and console you to the best of my ability.”

  The corners of Isabella’s lips twitched. She did not miss how his eyes swept downward, his gaze heating up. “That is exceedingly kind of you, Your Grace. I do not wish to dwell on the matter a moment longer, however.”

  The Duke grinned lazily, still staring at her mouth. “Excellent. You definitely should not dwell on it, ever. Whatever has upset you is not worthy of your regard, Miss Addison.”

  Her own more elusive smile blossomed at last. “On that, I agree.”

  The dance was about to begin and Isabella and Helmsfield hastened to take their places in the two long rows.

  The strings started slow, testing the chords of the music.

  Helmsfield bowed his head. Isabella made a modest curtsy.

  Their gazes met, hot and direct, for a brief moment, before the music picked up and the dance began.

  They stepped towards each other, met in the middle, and clasped hands, pacing in a slow circle, eyes locked on each other. Their shoulders whispered past each other as he stood close to her.

  Their movements were like waves in a lake, flowing smoothly through the slow steps and then the faster ones. As their hands clasped, Isabella reveled in the Duke’s warmth, even through their gloves. She enjoyed the fleeting touches and his large hand enveloping hers made her feel small and cherished.

  His movements were more graceful than she had expected. Doubtless, he had mastered the use of his prosthesis to such an extent that it moved in harmony with the rest of his body. An admirable thing, indeed, and not something to be mocked. Isabella had to try very hard not to frown as she recalled the hurtful things said about this magnificent man.

  Given his figure, Isabella also suspected that he managed to indulge his athletic nature even as she tried not to let her gaze linger overlong on the broad shoulders and narrow waist. She certainly did not notice the curious dichotomy his knee-breeches did little to hide. One leg, muscular and defined, moving smoothly and powerfully. The other leg, identical in size and shape, dressed to match, the same bright white stocking and black dancing slipper, yet wooden—stiff and unchanging. With every bend of the knee came that distinctive click, fortunately masked by the cacop
hony created by the music and scores of people in the Hall.

  In the end, Isabella was pleased to have made it through the dance without stumbling or tripping over her feet. She knew she was being watched as carefully as her partner but for once her thoughts were not on her own performance but all on the man by her side. Her heart was bursting with pride for the courage the Duke displayed in full sight of the ton. His proximity, the overwhelming maleness, caused her breath to hitch. It was not the dancing that filled her mind but his touch, the intent look in his eyes when they faced one another, even the scent of sandalwood she could discern when the steps drew them together.

  After the dance, the Duke led her away, towards a quiet corner.

  Isabella’s breath came faster.

  Was he going to do what she had heard couples did at Almack’s and invite her to promenade around the room, finally leading her to an alcove where he would venture to kiss her? Isabella did not know how she would feel about kissing him. Was it not too soon? She did not want to appear fast. Her body was in strong disagreement with waiting, however. She looked up at his mouth, licking her lips.

  How would they feel against mine I wonder?

  However, he simply lead her to a row of chairs, with no apparent hurry to leave her side or socialize with anyone else.

  All of a sudden, Isabella was aware of the glances cast their way.

  As they settled into the near-deserted corner, Isabella took out her fan and hid behind it.

  “Have a care, Your Grace, how much interest you pay me tonight,” she warned him.

  Her father’s insult still fresh on her mind, her lips drew downward. “We do not need others to find more mean things to say about us.”

  The Duke laughed away her concerns and turned to look at her.

  “Overall, Miss Addison, I care very little about what other people will think. I have found that it is not conducive to a happy disposition to pay attention to them. However, if they wish to talk of my spending time with a lovely lady, I wish them great happiness of it!”

  Flashing his blue eyes, his mouth quirked dryly as he leaned confidentially toward her. “Besides, I do assure you that I am absolutely guilty of having nefarious designs on you, Miss Addison.”

  “Your Grace, that is most improper,” Isabella admonished him, though she imagined the effect would have been better if she were not smiling.

  Her cheeks showed their colors as her heart fluttered. His earlier comments and the attention might have been simple courtesy, but she knew from her extensive reading that that last remark had been blatant; that look in his eyes had left nothing to doubt.

  The Duke was definitely flirting with her.

  The result of that realization unfortunately was a whirlwind of uncertainty.

  What should I do? Should I flirt back? Should I bat my eyes coquettishly? What would her favorite authoress do?

  Isabella had followed the romance and elopement of Mary Godwin and Percy Shelley, both thrilled and shocked. Perhaps that wasn’t her best role model. She thought of her sisters, and what they talked about most leading up to their marriages—houses, income, children. Isabella had been bored by it all. Where was she, in that range between giving up everything, even your reputation, to follow a man, like Mary Godwin—or looking at marriage as such a solid institution that the man chosen barely mattered?

  “What has you so worried, my dear Miss Addison?” the Duke’s voice cut into her musings.

  “N-nothing. I was just...enjoying the ambiance.”

  “Does it make you uncomfortable to be seen in public with me?” his questioning blue gaze was intent upon her face and Isabella blanched, not knowing how to repair that impression without telling him the truth.

  “Of course not, Your Grace, why would you think that?”

  “You just went exceeding quiet.”

  “I am not used to so many people. I cannot be completely at ease in the company of so many who love to be censorious for the sake of it.”

  The Duke roared with laughter. Isabella regarded him quizzically. “Did I say something funny?”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s just that I, too, suffer from the same unease in this elevated company. Would you like to join me in a promenade? The press of people in here is a tad oppressive.”

  And there it is.

  “I, uh, I don’t…I am not quite ready to kiss you, Your Grace.”

  The Duke seemed dumbfounded as he regarded her with wide eyes and an open mouth. “Well…that is…unexpected. However, I shall try to contain my lustful desires and simply escort you around the Hall, observing all proprieties. This isn’t Vauxhall Gardens, you know.”

  “Oh,” Isabella’s shoulders slumped and she was surprised to find that she was disappointed.

  Chapter 6

  Open Communication

  The Duke was faithful in his letter writing.

  Every morning, she found a message delivered with her breakfast and every afternoon, she took care to write him back. They discussed the most mundane of things, interspersed with some profound insights. Isabella loved that she could not predict what she would get on any given day.

  One thing they did not talk about was his leg and how he was injured. Isabella knew that there were many people who would be willing to fill her in with all the sensational details but she wanted to wait for a time that the Duke himself felt comfortable enough with her, to tell her. She was so happy that she quite liked her intended and vowed that their marriage would not just be one of convenience as was rife in the ton.

  She wanted to have a real relationship with her Duke, her peg-legged pirate, her eccentric brown-beard. Although she had noticed that his beard was no single color, but held all the earth colors within it, from hickory to roan. It really was a work of art. And while she still thought of him as a pirate, the daydream no longer had anything to do with his leg—but all to do with feeling his hands around her waist, and that dangerous look in his eye. She had so many new, nameless feelings shooting throughout her body when she thought of her Duke, and could feel she was growing towards—something.

  Today his note waxed poetic about the game of pall-mall, of all things. He had been invited by the MacKinnons to partake in a pall-mall match now that he was, apparently, ‘back in society’ and he was considering attending if she was going as well. He went on to describe, in detail, the making of the wooden mallets. He had a set, specially made for him by the carpenter on his estate. They had his crest emblazoned on its head.

  “It is too much of a work of art to actually play with,” he had written.

  “Good morning,” her mother walked into the breakfast nook, yawning delicately.

  “Mother, are we invited to play pall-mall at the MacKinnon’s?”

  Her mother looked up at her in surprise. “I had no idea you were interested in the game.”

  “I am not. But His Grace has begged me to be there.”

  Her mother’s eyebrow went up. “Begged you, has he?” she snorted. “I shall be sure to check for an invitation.”

  “Well, do it quickly because if we have not been invited I shall write to him and tell him to take me along as his guest.”

  Her mother laughed. “I am glad to see how well you are getting along. But don’t fret. I feel sure I saw such an invitation on the tray.”

  Isabella sobered, remembering her father’s behavior at Almack’s a few nights ago. “Mother? Why would Father talk ill of the Duke? Does he not want me to make a match with him?”

  Her mother frowned. “Not that I know of. Why would you say that?”

  “Because I overheard him doing so at Almack’s. He was laughing as Lords Carrington and Mayhew made fun of him.”

  Her mother frowned. “Well, I shall be sure to speak to him about it.”

  “Thank you. It was lucky that His Grace did not hear him.”

  Her mother’s frown deepened. “Indeed.”

  * * *

  “Helmsfield, hello!”

  “Morning, MacKinn
on. Lovely weather you’ve ordered.”

  Lord Mackinnon looked up at the sky. “Isn’t it brilliant? I wish I had ordered it, and then remembered how I did it. I would then be able to order this kind of weather every time I wanted to play pall-mall! Unless I wanted to come up with a new way to play known as Rain Pall-Mall. It could have canals as well as hoops.”

  “Would the balls float down the canals or is the idea to avoid them?”