A Duke For Lady Eve (Belles 0f Christmas Book 5)

by Kasey Stockton

Rejection was foreign to this man if his expression was any clue. “And why not?”

  “Because that would not be a good idea.”

  “May I at least have a dance?” he asked.

  She glanced to the solid hedge which divided them. Did he intend to jump over it? That was madness.

  He pressed his suit. “I was invited to Lord Trenton’s masquerade but chose not to attend. It will take me very little time to obtain my mask. If I have been following the music accurately, then I have enough time to arrive before the next set begins.” He approached the hedge, reaching forward, his hand just clearing the top.

  Evelyn reached over the hedge, allowing Alverton to take her fingers. When his hand closed around her own, her breath caught in her chest. “We might be gone before the next set,” she said. Aunt Edith was likely having a spasm of the heart from Evelyn’s disappearance. She needed to return to the house forthwith.

  His fingers tightened. “Promise me one dance. If nothing else, I should like to have the one dance.”

  Oh, and how she wished for the same. It could do no harm, surely? He would not know her aunt if he saw her in the ballroom; furthermore, Aunt Edith was regal and haughty enough to ensure that Alverton would not realize the lowness of her birth at first glance.

  “Very well,” she heard herself say. Belatedly, she added, “Your grace.”

  His answering grin caused her heart to beat furiously and she snatched her hand back, grabbing onto her skirts in preparation to jump down from the bench.

  “I shall see you shortly.” Alverton’s smooth, masculine timbre floated through the hedge and caused prickles to run down her arms.

  She could hear his retreat and took a steadying breath before making her way into the townhouse.

  Adjusting the fox mask to be sure it completely covered the majority of her face, she sidled back to Aunt Edith.

  “Where have you been?” the old woman snapped, sotto voce.

  “I needed a breath of fresh air.”

  Aunt Edith glanced over her shoulder, sending Evelyn a wrinkled glare. It had been reckless and foolish. But if Aunt Edith was aware that Evelyn had met a duke and he was en route to dance with her, the old woman would not be complaining. She was an incurable title-hunter.

  “Do not disappear again if you want to retain any semblance of a reputation.”

  It was on the edge of Evelyn’s tongue to explain that she had been alone in the garden, but that was not entirely true, so she kept quiet.

  Waiting for the music to end and the door to open was like watching sap drip from a tree: painfully slow.

  When the door finally opened and the white-wigged servant in red livery announced his name, Evelyn turned at once. Alverton was as tall as he had appeared in the dim moonlight of the garden. A black half-mask tied around his head resembled a wolf. His hair was dark, tousled as though he’d brushed it aside with his fingers and let it be. His face was shaded with a few days’ whiskers—adding to the rugged nature of his wolf costume. When his eyes flicked about as he searched the group for her, her breath stalled.

  One by one the people on the outskirts of the ballroom seemed to notice the duke. Evelyn’s heart rate increased each time he paused in conversation. Had she made a horrible mistake in accepting? She was about to draw undue attention to herself.

  The moment Alverton’s eyes came to rest on her, she decided that she had not erred so greatly. Not when he was at the ball for her. He crossed the room with long, purposeful strides, coming to stop just before Aunt Edith.

  “Your grace,” Evelyn cut in quickly. “Allow me to present my aunt, Mrs. Chadwick.”

  Aunt Edith appeared as though she’d swallowed a frog.

  But Alverton did little more than bow to her before turning his attention fully on Evelyn. The music had paused along with the duke’s entrance and a moment later people began to line up for another dance. He watched her closely before offering his arm.

  Quirking up his lips in a devastatingly handsome half-smile, he said, “I believe this is my dance.”

  Chapter 2

  Lady Eve danced as well as she sang. Alverton watched her flow smoothly through the transitions. He would have chosen a less lively country dance, had he known, but it was better than nothing. Though graceful, she seemed skittish, like an unbroken horse, and he wanted to be careful.

  This was the first woman to intrigue him in years. He’d seen nothing of her face besides the striking green of her eyes and the shape of her chin, but he was drawn to her. And after the slew of matchmaking mamas—his own included—and unrelenting flirts, Lady Eve’s reluctance was refreshing. Had he really told her he wished to call on her? It was forward of him and would have pleased his mother and grandmother to no end.

  He, the Duke of Alverton, had done his very best to avoid title-greedy women for the better part of a year. But he could only do so much and his mother was constantly throwing women into his path.

  Was he mad? He did not wish to truly pursue Lady Eve—he’d only wanted to hear her sing again. And yet, his request to call had been summarily rejected.

  After she’d been told of his title.

  That was not something which had ever before happened to Alverton and he’d been momentarily stunned. If he did not know better, he would assume she had placed him under a spell with her low, velvety voice. He was usually such a calm, rational creature, but the sound of Lady Eve softly singing had done something to his soul.

  They separated in the movement of the dance and he watched her as she glided back toward him. The mask adorning her face was a work of art, but he could clearly see her eyes underneath it and he believed them to be just as lovely as the jewels which surrounded them. The amber on the mask was just the right color and highlighted her green eyes, making them all the brighter.

  Or, perhaps that was due to the exertion of dancing.

  Alverton had been utterly chilled earlier when they met outside, but the heat of the ballroom forced him to wish he was in the garden once again. Perhaps after the dance he would forgo a conversation with her aunt and beg Lady Eve’s company for a turn about the garden.

  No, that was madness. There was a reason the doors were closed and they had been the only people outside earlier. It was frigid. He’d only gone to the garden himself to escape the women in his house.

  Lady Eve returned to his side and he took her hands as part of the dance. The gloves which separated them were soft and smooth, and Alverton imagined her skin was much the same.

  But why didn’t he know her? He had thought he knew every man or woman with a title in London, but evidently, he was mistaken. He examined her hair, the chestnut brown a simple color, which could easily belong to a host of women.

  Her carriage was straight and elegant, her movements graceful. She certainly had the bearings of a lady, but otherwise he was lost as to who she could be.

  The song came to a close and Alverton found himself opposite Lady Eve once again, bowing to her. A man called out the quadrille and they moved into place for the next dance.

  “Have you lived in London all your life?” he asked.

  She glanced up at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she caught her breath from the previous dance. Her intelligent eyes searched his. “No. I have come for this Season alone.”

  A vague answer, of course. “For parliament?”

  Lady Eve nodded, looking back to where her aunt sat watching them with an eagle eye. He felt the older woman’s gaze prickle his flesh and knew immediately that she was a matchmaking woman of the worst sort.

  He would do his best to stay away from Lady Eve’s aunt, he vowed.

  “Yet you are here now, Lady Eve. And you don’t wish for me to call on you.”

  Lady Eve glanced about them as though wondering who could overhear. It was all he could do not to laugh at her nervousness. Why did she worry about who might overhear? They were in costume, after all.

  “I am not planning to return to London, your grace. And we leave in t
he morning to travel home. It is simply illogical, that is all. I meant no offense.”

  Alverton gazed at her as the motions of the dance continued. Why was she so sensible? Women of his acquaintance certainly weren’t. Each new revelation about her character intrigued him further.

  Perhaps it would not be madness after all if he was to find a way to call on her. Getting to know her better certainly wouldn’t be a horrible idea. And surely it would please the women in his life.

  But, if she was leaving London, then she was correct. It did not seem feasible.

  They danced together for the duration of the music and all the while Alverton watched Lady Eve, examining her graceful movements. He searched his mind for a way to see her again, but by the time the final strains of the quadrille drew to an end, he was no closer to contriving a way to make it work.

  Alverton was not the sort of man to give up easily, but even he could see that Lady Eve was correct. Unless…

  “Which county do you reside in? And what is the name of your estate?” he asked her as she was straightening from her curtsy.

  Her eyes widened. Had that been too forward of him?

  “Your grace, are you in your cups?”

  A loud, booming laugh wrenched from his gut and traveled out of his mouth. He’d caught her off guard with his mirth, but her question had shocked him. What sort of woman asked a duke if he was drunk? It was a valid question, he supposed, given his erratic behavior, but shocking all the same.

  “No, my lady. I am utterly sensible this evening.”

  Her eyebrows were covered by the mask she wore, but Alverton imagined her brow being raised by the slight widening of one eye. Touché, mademoiselle. Perhaps sensible was a bit of a stretch.

  He felt as though his head was spinning. Offering her his arm, he led Lady Eve back to her aunt. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off once again.

  “Father wished us home long before now, Aunt. Perhaps we ought to leave.”

  The older woman glared at her niece before turning back to the duke and waiting for him to speak.

  “I thank you for allowing me the privilege of dancing with your niece, madam,” he said.

  “Of course, your grace,” Mrs. Chadwick replied. Her beady, hungry eyes raked him over and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

  He turned to Lady Eve, lifting her hand in his own. “Thank you for the pleasure.”

  Eyes began to warm his back and a quick glance around the surrounding area informed him that if he were to stay a moment longer, he would be required to beg more dances from the young ladies in attendance.

  Which was something he heartily wished to avoid. It was the very reason he had chosen not to attend this masquerade in the first place.

  Offering Lady Eve and her aunt a bow, Alverton said, “I must bid you goodnight.”

  He drank in one last look at Lady Eve before turning on his heel and exiting the room in swift, purposeful strides.

  Alverton nodded to his host on his way out, his mask covering only half his face and not sufficient to guard his identity. A brisk walk around the block to his own house was all he needed to clear his head, however. And one thing was abundantly clear to him: Lady Eve was unlike any woman he had met before.

  * * *

  The duchess, Alverton’s mother, was every bit as regal as a queen. She sat upon her throne-like chair at the breakfast table, watching her son through narrowed eyes. “Henny tells me you went out last night,” she finally said.

  Ah. So she had deduced his social activity with help from the butler. Alverton yawned, his sleep having been horribly broken with unfinished feelings and memories of Lady Eve. The mystery of who she was plagued him above all else and he regretted not pressing her further for information. Taking a bite of his toasted bread, he chewed slowly to draw out the moment longer.

  She continued, “And evidently, you had a mask on.”

  Drat Henny. The butler was not very loyal, was he? No, that was unfair. Clearly he was loyal to the duchess.

  She picked up her cup of tea, sipping the liquid slowly while watching her son over the rim of her cup. For all of her years, the duchess had retained the majority of her beauty, small hairline wrinkles about her eyes and mouth the only signs of age.

  “You attended a masquerade?”

  “It was a small affair,” Alverton answered quickly, flicking his hand in dismissal. “I made a short appearance.”

  But it was far more than he’d done in recent months intentionally, and certainly more than he’d ever done without the express persuasion of his mother and grandmother.

  “Is there a particular reason you chose to attend?” she asked.

  He would give up his left hand in order to honestly say that he had not attended for a particular woman, but that would be lying. And Alverton did not lie.

  “I must go,” he said, standing. “Sanders is expecting me.”

  Disappointment fell over his mother’s features and Alverton’s gut wrenched. It was a familiar expression. He’d seen it more than anything else over the course of the previous year. But it could not be helped. Mother wished for him to marry above all else; and he did not.

  He paused at the door and looked back. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she knew a Lady Eve, or any lords connected to a Mrs. Chadwick, but he did not wish to show his cards just yet. “Good day, Mother,” he said, offering her a smile. “Give Grandmother a kiss for me.”

  She merely grunted, unamused. And he left.

  Sanders was half-awake when Alverton located the gentleman within the man’s own drawing room. The earl’s shirt hung open, his waistcoat untied.

  “It’s early to call, Alverton,” Sanders said, stifling a yawn as his pale blue eyes attempted to focus on his friend. Alverton dropped onto the sofa opposite him. Sanders’ eyes narrowed. “And yet, you look wide awake.”

  “I am finished with London,” Alverton said with dramatic flair.

  “Because…” Sanders prompted, leaning back comfortably.

  Alverton cast his gaze to the ceiling, huffing in irritation. “The same frustrations I’ve complained of since my father’s mourning period was over.”

  Sanders nodded knowingly. “Women.” He paused. “Or, your mother?”

  “Both.”

  “What is it this time?” Sanders asked.

  Alverton scrubbed a hand over his face. “I am bound to sound mad.”

  Sanders merely settled into his sofa cushion further, leaning his head back in both hands as if to say, I have all day.

  “I met a lady last night,” Alverton explained, “but she is not interested in allowing me to call on her. She refused to give me her direction, if you can credit it.”

  Sanders chuckled. “How odd.”

  “You mock me, but I have never before been rejected. It is foreign to me.”

  Sitting up in his seat, Sanders asked, “Are you bothered by the rejection, or the woman who delivered it?”

  “Both. But she has left London and does not intend to return. Meanwhile, I cannot seem to escape the hordes of mothers who wish to tie their daughters to my title.” He shivered, recalling the hungry eyes that watched him during the masquerade.

  “Perhaps I ought to be grateful I am only an earl,” Sanders said, his face carefully void of expression. “It must be horrid to be so sought after.”

  “You joke, Sanders. But it is indeed a trial.”

  His friend’s face searched his own, and Alverton had the impression that the earl truly did realize the extent of his burden. They’d been friends since they were boys together at school, and nobody in England knew Alverton as well as Sanders did. Sanders saw firsthand how Alverton could not go anywhere without being inundated with debutantes and their greedy mothers.

  His own father, the eighth Duke of Alverton, had been a man of the best sort and Alverton wished to follow in his footsteps. Yet, following his father’s code as a gentleman had forced Alverton to offer far too many dances of courtesy or ri
des in the park to simpering ladies. He did his best to be pleasing when he left his house, but it was tiring.

  And he was very, very tired.

  “You look exhausted,” Sanders said, his voice growing deep and serious. “Perhaps you were right. You ought to take a break from Society.”

  Alverton nodded in agreement. He’d considered this matter himself over recent months, however, and was convinced the only way he could truly get the break he needed was by marrying one of the obnoxious twits who vied for his title. And he simply could not stomach that.

  Sanders looked him in the eye. “I am traveling to my mother’s country house in Wiltshire until parliament resumes. You are welcome to join me if you wish. We don’t go there often, but it’s a good place for a respite.”

  Alverton paused, catching Sanders’ eye. “Do you mean it?”

  “Of course,” he answered at once. “My mother and sisters left weeks ago for my aunt’s house in Cheshire, so I am afraid it would only be the two of us.”

  “All the better,” Alverton muttered. This was precisely what he needed. To get away to a house in the countryside where he could breathe once again. A place he could venture outside without fear of being set upon by a slew of women.

  “I do not have grand plans for Christmas or Twelfth Night, I am afraid, but we can celebrate quietly. Do you think your mother will mind terribly if you leave?”

  “She has Grandmother to keep her company,” Alverton said, feeling the balm of a break from his family already. He turned to his friend. “When do we go?”

  Chapter 3

  The house smelled precisely as it had when they left it a few months prior. The only missing thing Evelyn found once she stepped within its doors was the sound of two rambunctious nine-year-olds running about the corridors and yelling things like you will never get away from me! and stop right there before I tie you up and feed you to the pigs!

  “I am fatigued,” Aunt Edith said, dragging herself toward the stairs. “Do not bother me for dinner this evening. I shall have a tray in my room.”