Heart of a Duke 04 - Loved By a Duke

by Christi Caldwell

  His grin widened, and then a mask of seriousness replaced his earlier mirth. “How are you, Daisy?” He searched her face with his blue gaze.

  She pasted a smile to her lips. “I’m well.”

  Marcus cleared his throat. “I should have come around.”

  She waved a hand. “It is fine.” It hadn’t been for very many years. Eventually, she’d learned to breathe again, and laugh again, on her own without the support of those who’d mattered to Lionel.

  He shook his head. “It’s not.”

  They seemed to realize as one that he still held her hand. Daisy yanked her fingers back. Not one to attract frequent notice, it still wouldn’t do for her to be seen holding a gentleman’s hand overly long, even if it was just Marcus. The ton didn’t care how long a lady knew a respectable gentleman or the familial connections shared but rather the juicy morsel of gossip they might represent to the haute ton. She smoothed her palms over her skirts and returned her attention to the ballroom floor.

  “Did you just dismiss me, Daisy?” he drawled and gone was the somber figure of a man, in his place, the notorious rogue.

  “Er…no.” Though she could certainly see how it appeared that way.

  Marcus stood shoulder to shoulder beside her, and then with a deliberate slowness, folded his arms across his chest.

  She stole a sideways peek up at him. His gaze remained fixed on the crowded dance floor. “What are you doing?”

  His lips pulled up at the corners. “Trying to gather just who has earned your attention.”

  Heat burned her cheeks and she jerked her attention back to the neat rows of clapping dancers.

  “Ah, you won’t tell me, then?”

  No, she would not. She clamped her lips into a tight, determined line. She’d sooner pluck each too-curly strand of hair from her head than ever acknowledge to him, Auric, or anyone that the sole gentleman whose attention she longed for was, in fact, the proper Duke of Crawford.

  “I take that as a no,” Marcus murmured.

  She gave a firm nod. “That is a no.”

  He pounced faster than Cook’s cat on the kitchen mice. “Which means there is some certain gentleman who has ensnared your attention.”

  She pointed her eyes to the ceiling. “I didn’t say that, Marcus.” He was worse than Lady Jersey with her desire for gossip.

  “You didn’t need to.”

  The repartee, the teasing, but hard, protective edge underscoring his words seemed so very similar to her brother’s vexing treatment that her heart tugged with the pained reminder and, for a moment, she forgot that she sought to bury the truth from him, forgot she’d gone and fallen in love with a gentleman who seemed to have forgotten she even existed.

  Then Marcus pulled her back from her musings. “Who is he, Daisy?”

  The orchestra’s tune reached a lively crescendo and the stomping feet and clapping hands threatened to drown out his words. She cupped a hand around her ear. “What was that you said?” Daisy shook her head. “I could not hear you,” she mouthed.

  He folded his hands around his mouth. “I said—”

  And when it seemed he’d shout his suspicions before a room full of witnesses, she mouthed, “Don’t you dare.”

  Marcus blinked in feigned innocence. “But you indicated you were unable to hear…”

  She swatted him with her dance card. “Oh, do hush. You know I was being deliberately difficult to match your deliberate difficultness.”

  They shared a smile. A companionable silence descended as they stared back out at the ballroom floor. “So you’ll not tell me.” From the corner of her eye, she detected the hard, determined set of his jaw. “Very well. I’ll be forced to guess,” he said, his sudden concern at odds with the indifferent, young boy and then man, she’d known through the years. Even as a friend to her late brother, hers and Marcus’ relationship had never been a close one. Unlike her relationship with the duke, who, if he’d seen her as bothersome had certainly never indicated such sentiments. If he had, mayhap she’d not have thought of him with such fondness through the years “Is he present this evening?”

  In spite of herself, she located Auric with her gaze. His large hand intertwined with Lady Leticia, they made quite the striking couple. “Hmm?” She gritted her teeth in annoyance, detesting the image presented to Society. Nothing plump or freckled about Lady Leticia.

  “Daisy?”

  She started at Marcus’ gentle prodding and gave her head a shake. “No. I’ll not tell you.”

  He sighed. “You’ll force me to guess the unworthy blighter’s identity.”

  Daisy bit back a smile. “I’d rather you not spend any efforts guessing the er…gentleman’s identity.”

  Marcus captured his chin between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed. “Hmm, then answer me this. Is he a good man, because I’ll not allow you to ensnare the attention of a rogue like myself?”

  She’d not earned anyone’s notice, and most certainly not the gentleman she’d hoped to, as Marcus put it, ensnare. “He is, honorable,” she said softly.

  “Well, then. I’ll be left to guess.”

  “Yes, I believe we’ve already surmised as much,” she said dryly.

  “Humph,” he muttered.

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, refusing to give in to his baiting. She’d wager the use of her right hand he’d never guess the identity of the gentleman in question. Neither Auric nor Marcus had ever truly seen her as anything more than a sisterly extension of Lionel. Yet, for the bother Marcus now made of himself, it felt so very nice to be teased. For too many years, with servants and polite Society alike, she’d become accustomed to being tiptoed around, whispered about pityingly. Lady Daisy Meadows, the poor, young lady, whose family had crumbled, first with the loss of Lionel and then with Papa.

  The orchestra’s frantic playing drew to a cessation and the crowd erupted into a bevy of applause. The violins plucked the opening strands of the next set.

  Marcus held his elbow out.

  She eyed it. “What are you doing?”

  “Dancing with you.”

  She folded her arms and took a step away from him. “Are you asking or ordering?”

  He leaned close and again waggled an eyebrow. “Have a pity, Daisy-girl. However am I to gather the identity of the gent who’s captured your notice if I don’t do a bit of investigating?”

  A strangled laugh worked its way up her throat. “Well, then in the name of your research, I suppose I should allow you this set.” She placed her fingertips upon his coat sleeve and allowed him to guide her toward the dance floor.

  He maneuvered her expertly through the crowd. “Lord Darbyshire?” he whispered close to her ear.

  She looked around. “Where?”

  “Is it Lord Darbyshire who has caught your fancy?”

  She pinched his arm. “Lord Darbyshire is sixty if he’s a day.”

  “Even older gentlemen require the love of a good, kind lady.”

  “Ideally from a good, kind lady closer in years to his own,” she said, her tone droll.

  They took their places alongside the other couples lining the floor. She curtsied with the row of ladies. Marcus dropped a bow. They walked down the center of the line. “Lord Willoughby, then?”

  They switched partners. She gave her head a little shake and moved through the steps of the quadrille until she and Marcus were brought together. They raised their palms and performed the next motions of the dance. “I daresay a waltz would be more conducive to finding out your secret, Daisy Meadows,” he said under his breath.

  “You should have better strategized before hastily requesting the quadrille.” She laughed, earning disapproving stares from the other dancers. “We’re attracting notice, my lord.”

  He winked. “Which would make it in your best interest to share the name of your suitor.”

  Some of her amusement died. She’d the same chance of calling Auric her suitor as she did in being named the Queen’s favor
ite. Both about as likely as a rainbow without the rain. “I don’t have a suitor,” she muttered.

  The dance saw them separated yet again.

  When the steps brought them back together, he took her hand and gently twirled her. “You do know you’ll leave me little choice but to enlist Auric’s support.”

  Daisy stumbled.

  Marcus’ teasing grin faded and he righted her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly, grateful when the dance saw them separated once more. She glanced around in search of Auric and located him at the opposite end of the ballroom floor where he now stood, a glass of champagne dangling carelessly between his elegant fingers. With an almost detached interest, he surveyed the ballroom. She frowned. No, it wouldn’t do for Marcus to discover she’d gone and done something so foolhardy as to fall in love with the unattainable duke.

  The steps of the dance brought her together with Marcus once more. Gone was the teasing light in his pale blue eyes. Her stomach clenched as she braced against the dawning awareness in his intelligent gaze.

  “You do know I was merely teasing. I’d not dare enlist Crawford’s stuffy support.”

  The tension drained from her and an almost giddy sense of relief filled her. “Oh, is he stuffy?” Marcus didn’t realize the gentleman who she’d gone and fallen hopelessly and helplessly in love with many years ago was, in fact, his best friend.

  Lord Marcus’ response was automatic. “Certainly. Hopelessly stuffy and seems more so in the years since he became duke.”

  They went through the delicate, circle steps of the quadrille.

  Auric’s parents had died a number of years ago in a tragic carriage accident. Not long after Lionel’s death. Pain pricked her heart. Selfishly, she’d been besieged by the agony of her own loss that she’d never really stopped to consider the great heartbreak he had known in such a short span of time. She sought him out in the crowd once more and again stumbled.

  His coolly detached gaze took in her graceless movement, Marcus’ quick rescue, and then he glanced back out across the floor, promptly dismissing her.

  He’d not always been so ducal. Not to her. Never with her. She wanted him the way she remembered him to be, and she was prepared to fight for that man. Whether he wanted her to, or not.

  Chapter 4

  For the better part of the evening, Daisy had been seated at that ignoble place at the back, central portion of the vast ballroom relegated to the fate of wallflower. What hostess set up a neat, little row of chairs in that area for all those to see, gawking and gaping at the poor, partnerless creatures? Of which, there happened to be but one for the better part of the evening. One he cared very much about. He’d spent the night studying her, fuming with the realization that Daisy was, in fact, one of those poor, partnerless creatures. How had he failed to realize as much? Perhaps because he didn’t see her as a young lady in the market of a husband but rather the small girl sprinting through the grounds of her family’s country estate.

  Now, he studied her for altogether different reasons.

  He took in the sight of her graceful, elegant steps as the Viscount Wessex—his sole remaining friend in the world—led her through the movements of the quadrille. At that moment, Wessex touched his hand to the curve of Daisy’s lower back and said something close to her ear. A crimson blush stained her cheeks and she faltered. Auric narrowed his eyes. A dark haze of red descended over his vision. He blinked it back. Wessex wouldn’t dare betray Lionel’s memory by turning his roguish charm upon Daisy. Not that his annoyance with Marcus mattered for any reason other than to honor Lionel’s memory. This seething rage had absolutely nothing to do with the lady herself. Nothing, at all.

  Auric continued to study her and Wessex as they stepped a deliberate circle about one another. Did the other man have to clasp her waist in that manner? She was not one of the viscount’s many lightskirts. His fingers twitched with the sudden urge to plant a facer on the other man, and to keep from doing as much, Auric drummed his fingertips on the edge of his thigh while eyeing her objectively, seeing her as the foolish young swains who’d relegated her to the role of wallflower, saw her. There were her brown curls and the shock of freckles. Then, it was hard to see the lady and not see those very unique features that set her apart from the other ladies. Now, however, he forced himself to peer past the curls and the freckles—and then he widened his eyes, swallowing back a curse.

  Daisy Meadows had grown from troublesome child to voluptuous woman. Vastly different than the lean, delicate, golden creatures he generally preferred, she possessed rich, brown tresses that gleamed in the candlelight. Her heart-shaped face would never be considered characteristically beautiful like that of a delicate, English lady and yet, her large, brown eyes and bow-shaped lips were enough to make a man dream of all manner of wicked thoughts involving those lips. A surge of awareness coursed through him.

  Thunder rumbled outside, shaking the walls of the ballroom. The earth’s way of telling him he would be spending the end of his days in hell for lusting after Daisy Meadows. Not that he was lusting after her per se, because he had sense enough, honor enough, to not ogle Daisy. Any more than he already had, that was. He’d merely noted her lush form the way any other gentleman might. Such as Wessex. He jerked his attention back to the charming viscount.

  His friend, on the other hand, was less than discreet in his appreciation. Auric glowered as Wessex’s gaze dipped overly long to the generous swell of her bosom. By God, surely the man had sense enough to not long after Lionel’s sister. Auric finished the contents of his champagne and placed the glass down on a passing tray.

  This mind-numbing, black rage that clouded his vision stemmed from a desire to protect Daisy from hurt. That was all. A mere obligatory reaction. Regardless, she would never harbor romantic sentiments for Wessex. Why, the idea was as ludicrous as the lady developing a tendre for Auric’s miserable self. He fixed his gaze on the pair. Just then the other man, who could charm the proper out of matrons and young misses alike, said something Daisy seemed to find of extreme hilarity. Her laughter earned disapproving stares from nearby matrons.

  Auric sucked in a breath, as Daisy was temporarily transformed from someone unremarkable into someone really quite captivating. Her hips were generous, her waist well curved, her breasts… He winked. Twice. The one-two wink that, had she been looking, would have suggested immediate help was needed. And perhaps it was. For he had no place appreciating Daisy Meadows’ lush breasts.

  Egads, she’d become a woman in need of a husband. With the same methodical precision he applied to all aspects of life, Auric turned his attention to the crowded ballroom, taking in the gentlemen assembled. By her admission that morning, the lady sought…he shuddered, romance. He resisted the urge to tug at his suddenly too tight cravat, not at all welcoming the idea of thinking of Daisy as a romantic lady, seeking love.

  Who of the lot here would Lionel have approved of? With the man’s devotion to his younger sister, the obvious answer was, in fact, no one. Daisy’s greatest defender, her most ardent champion, Lionel would have scoffed at the prospect of nearly any one of these gentlemen present courting or wedding his sister.

  Restiveness stirred to life in his breast. He didn’t want this responsibility. The task was too great. The risk of failure not to be contemplated. He registered the orchestra concluding the lively quadrille.

  Except, at the very least, he owed Lionel this much. The details of that night remained cloaked in a black shroud. He could not sort through the memories but for a disjointed collection of experiences that belonged to another. He and Lionel, who’d never argued, had quarreled—but about what? Ultimately, Auric had encouraged the other man to join him at the club, Auric had paid the coin for the woman who’d taken Lionel to another room, and it had been Lionel, who’d ultimately paid—with his life.

  He pressed his eyes closed as a sickening wave of dizziness struck.

  The orchestra plucked the haunting strands of a waltz, the disc
ordant tune eerily suited to the dark memories. He forced his eyes open and there, across the dance floor where even now dancers assembled, his gaze collided with Daisy beside that same Scamozzi column. Only now, she was not alone. She was with Wessex. The other man had also been more of a brother to her than anything else through the years, treating her as a bothersome, younger sister.

  At seeing the wide, unfettered smile that was patently Daisy turned up at the other man, an odd pressure tightened in Auric’s chest. He scoffed. Why should it matter if she was with Wessex? The viscount’s presence relieved him of responsibility. Except, there was nothing at all brotherly in Wessex’s attention now, and annoyance rolled through Auric at the truth of it.

  With a determined step, Auric strode across the ballroom, bypassing marriage-minded misses and their hopeful mamas. He stopped before Daisy and Wessex. “Wessex,” he drawled in the indolent tone he’d perfected as a young boy who’d known he’d ascend to the role of duke. He ignored the narrowing of his friend’s gaze and shifted his attention to the young lady on his arm. “Hello, Daisy.”

  She frowned. “Hullo, Your Grace.”

  Frowned. When she’d been all smiles and boisterous laughs for Wessex, which only mattered because this was Lionel’s sister. He extended his elbow. “I believe this is my set.”

  Daisy hesitated a moment and then placed her fingertips along his coat sleeve.

  Wessex spread his arms and bowed. “I bid thee good evening, lady of the flowers.” That endearment set Auric’s teeth on edge. With a wink, the viscount took himself off.

  Without another glance for the other man, Auric guided Daisy onto the dance floor. Friendship or not, it wouldn’t do for Wessex to go winking at the young lady in public.

  “Oh, Auric, it is merely Marcus,” she said as though gently scolding a small child.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  The lady’s smile was back in place. “You didn’t have to.” She gave him a wink. A single wink.

  You are to wink once if you’re having a splendid time… His heart kicked up a rhythm. On the heel of the damned lightness in his chest was a surge of annoyance with himself.