How to Beguile a Duke (Entangled Scandalous)

by Ally Broadfield

  “I would like that very much, thank you.”

  When the dance ended, Lieutenant Galkin led her back to Lady Hartley. He went immediately to Countess Lieven, and after a brief discourse, spoke with her secretary and discreetly pointed at Catherine. She doubted anyone else would have noticed, as she herself would not if she hadn’t just finished her dance with the lieutenant. It would seem that the countess wanted to ensure that she had dance partners for the evening, which was kind of her, but awkward for Catherine.

  After her dance with the countess’s secretary, Catherine noted a passing footman out of the corner of her eye and turned to reach for a glass of lemonade. She was shocked to discover he was one of the sailor’s from her father’s ship. “Dmitri? What are you doing here?”

  A muscle flicked in his jaw. “Miss Malboeuf. I didn’t expect to see you here. I now work for the embassy.”

  At first, Catherine was confused by his formality, but she quickly realized that he might fear for his job if he was caught fraternizing with a guest. How odd that Dmitri had left Papa’s employ. She was certain Papa was paying the crew to wait until the cargo arrived.

  He inclined his head and moved on into the crowd. As Catherine turned back to Lady Hartley, she noted that everyone in the ballroom seemed to be watching her. She would have to ask later if it was inappropriate to speak to a servant. It seemed equally wrong not to greet an acquaintance. Papa made it a practice to employ men he trusted. They weren’t treated as family, but they were always shown respect.

  Jane raised her brows and clasped Catherine’s arm. Lady Hartley moved toward her, closing ranks. Murmured conversations drifted from behind them. The word pirate reached them and Lady Hartley stiffened. It appeared that Catherine had again drawn unwanted attention. Taking a deep breath, she willed her stomach to settle. Not only had she brought unwelcome attention to herself, but her blunder could be harmful to Jane as well.

  Nick approached and her heart skittered, its beat more varied than an opera score. As sure as a knight in shining armor, he had come to her rescue. In this instance his stern reputation was an asset. Showing her his favor would quiet the gossips. “French speakers must be at a premium at this ball,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d have the chance to request a dance.”

  She smiled. “You had only to ask.”

  “That is easier said than done when you have been surrounded by Russians for much of the evening.”

  “I am available now.”

  He bowed formally. When she placed her hand in his, he drew her away. As they waited for the next set to start, he asked, “Have you had any luck with the journal since we last spoke?”

  “I happen to have a list of all of the names in the journal with me here, in my reticule. I was wondering when we might be able meet again to discuss it.”

  He scanned the ballroom. “Perhaps this evening. There is a small parlor just down the main corridor that we might be able to commandeer for a short period of time. There are enough people present that a brief absence likely won’t be noted.”

  Catherine glanced at Lady Hartley, but the duke was considered beyond reproach, so no one would likely question his motives even if they were caught together outside the ballroom. Jane had told her stories about couples who were forced to marry when caught in compromising situations, and she wondered if Nick could be forced to marry her if they were to be caught alone in the parlor. That the idea wasn’t altogether unwelcome was disturbing. But likely it could not happen or he would not take the chance. He would never risk his reputation. Her reputation was the only one at risk.

  “Catherine?” He studied her face, a slight frown pulling at his mouth.

  “My apologies. I was woolgathering.”

  “I am sorry to have bored you. Perhaps you could suggest a more entertaining subject we could converse about. The weather, perhaps?”

  “Do not tease me. I’m simply wondering if it is prudent for us to retreat to a private location during the ball.”

  Assuming a hurt expression, he replied, “Your lack of confidence in my ability to keep our clandestine meeting secret is disheartening.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I doubt that.”

  The music began and he led her in the first steps of a waltz. “I have spent much time at the embassy and know it well. There is no need to worry.” He steered her toward the edge of the dance floor.

  As he held her in his arms, she realized she was more comfortable with him than any of the other men to whom she had been introduced. When they danced, there was never a bobble or misstep. She could relax in his embrace, relishing the confident way he wheeled her about the floor. But there could be nothing between them once they deciphered the clues in the journal. Even if he decided to reconsider and marry, he would choose someone of higher status, someone titled. She might win Walsley, but she would never win him.

  Following a few moments of silence, he said, “Yes, I do believe we must limit our conversations to the weather. There seems to be nothing else to discuss.”

  She bit her lip. “That might be a bit too confining. Perhaps we could include food preferences as well?”

  “I do occasionally enjoy a good mutton roast.”

  She crinkled her nose. “Mutton has a strong flavor. My tastes lean more toward fish.”

  He shook his head. “Fish has an equally strong flavor. And aroma.”

  “I consider it distinctive rather than strong.”

  He met her eyes and sighed. “Are we never to agree on anything?”

  “It does seem as if we are fated to disagree about most everything.” She grinned. He suddenly pulled her closer to him to avoid another couple, enveloping her in warmth and the crisp scent of cedar. Closing her eyes briefly, she allowed herself to revel in the moment.

  “We shall simply have to make an effort to agree more frequently. Let’s start now. You can agree that my plan is brilliant, and I will bask in your adoration.”

  She tilted her head and studied his face. “Have you been drinking, Your Grace?”

  “Not nearly enough.”

  The set was about to end. He leaned closer and whispered, “I shall meet you in the corridor to the north of the ballroom in five minutes.”

  She nodded her understanding. He led her back to Jane and Lady Hartley, then quietly exited the ballroom.

  Nudging Catherine with her elbow, Jane said, “You seem to be getting on well with the Duke of Boulstridge.”

  Catherine kept her attention focused on Lady Hartley, anxious for her to end her conversation with Lady Grey. “I am simply being a pest with my attempts to cajole him into selling me Walsley.”

  Jane tilted her head to the side. “Is it working?”

  “Not in the least.” With a scathing glance at Catherine, Lady Grey turned away. Catherine rotated toward Lady Hartley, nearly colliding with Lord Tregony.

  Damn and blast. Nick would have to wait. He was her most promising prospect, and she would not pass up the opportunity to dance with him if he asked.

  “Would you care to dance?” He held out his hand.

  “I would be honored.” She placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her toward the dance floor. She imagined the weight of Nick’s displeasure boring into her, but it was unlikely he had noted her absence yet.

  If nothing else, her time in England had taught her the fine art of holding a conversation without saying anything meaningful. She wanted to spend more time with Lord Tregony, and even hoped to form an attachment with him, but knowing that Nick was off glowering somewhere made it impossible for her to enjoy their dance. Luckily the country dance they were performing kept them frequently separated so there was little chance for discussion.

  As soon as the set ended, Lord Tregony bowed over her hand. If only he made her heart respond in the same excited manner it did to Nick. She said her farewell and quickly located Jane. She told her she was going to the ladies’ retiring room so she and Lady Hartley would not fret over her absence.

  Thirst
y from the dance, she stopped at the refreshment table on the way to her assignation with Nick.

  “…was a pirate, as was the footman the countess hired.”

  She caught a snippet of conversation that could only have to do with her. Glancing over her shoulder, she discovered two ladies with whom she was unfamiliar, both of whom continued to whisper as they passed by. Nick appeared from behind them.

  He pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It is gratifying to see that one of us has enjoyed the last forty minutes.”

  “I had no choice,” she hissed. “It would have been rude to refuse him.”

  “You could have feigned fatigue.”

  She was in no mood to argue with him. “Toward what end? By your own machinations, I am forced to obtain an offer of marriage by the end of the season. I cannot afford to offend anyone.”

  He tilted his head and spoke softly near her ear. “I have just enough self-control left to offer you one more opportunity. I will await your arrival in the corridor.”

  His warm breath caressed her neck, sending shivers down the cool skin of her back. When she finished sipping the remainder of her champagne, she placed the glass on the table and followed behind him.

  …

  The scent of late summer roses reached Nick just before she did. The corridor was dimly lit, but he saw her before she could catch a glimpse of him because his eyes had already adjusted to the low light. He was not accustomed to waiting for anyone. Everyone, with the exception of Catherine and his mother, showed him deference without fail. So much so that he grew tired of their simpering and blatant attempts to garner his favor. Still, Catherine’s lack of regard for his position was unsettling.

  His mother would say it was refreshing.

  “Are you finally prepared to attend our meeting, or must I throw you over my shoulder and carry you off?”

  “As I’ve already told you, the delay could not be helped, but I hope you understand how greatly I appreciate your efforts on my behalf. I am indebted to you for your assistance in helping me decipher the journal.”

  If she had been able to make her tone of voice more convincing, he might have believed her to be sincere. He rolled his eyes, knowing she couldn’t see him clearly. Clasping her elbow, he led her toward the chamber he had indicated as a meeting place. “Let us be private before we discuss any details.”

  An oil lamp had been left on the table, burning low. He raised the wick and the lamp illuminated two chairs on either side of the table.

  Catherine sat and removed a rolled sheet of foolscap from her reticule. “In all, I was only able to discover five names—three given names and two surnames. There could be as few as three distinct individuals. However, I located a passage that states the given name of the man who gave her the tiara.”

  He drew up behind her and leaned over her to study the list. For just a moment, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift closer, breathing in her scent. His pulse hammered through him and he forced himself to focus on the list. “The surnames could be of use. I don’t see how the given names will be of any use unless they can be linked to a surname or another clue within the journal.”

  She nodded, not moving her gaze from the paper. “I agree.” She pulled the journal out of that mysterious fold in her skirts and opened it, removing a paper that marked the page.

  “‘He took me into his arms and I was awash in exquisite sensation as he showed me the depth of his love.’” Placing her finger on the page, she said, “These entries occurred just before she began to write about the tiara. Alex must have been her…um…”

  “Yes. I think we can deduce that from the passage you read in Hyde Park.” He cleared his throat. Leaning close enough for her hair to tickle his nose, he read the list. “Alex. Michael. George. Frederick. Bukov. Nolet. He straightened. “So we should concentrate our efforts on Alex. But either surname could go with Alex. Nearly every language has a version of Alexander.”

  She suddenly stood and turned to face him, then took a step back, her face flushed with color. After meeting her eyes, he glanced at her lips. She slid her tongue out to wet those lips and he was nearly undone. No doubt it was a nervous gesture on her part, but that action, coupled with the passages she had read aloud, created images in his mind that made it impossible to concentrate.

  “I think we have to consider both surnames until we are able to investigate further,” she said softly.

  He nodded. “I will search the records to determine if any of these men were in the House of Lords.” Pacing away from her toward the window, he peered outside, waiting for his body to settle before he had a physical reaction to her that would be difficult to hide. He glanced over his shoulder to find her studying the journal. A wrinkle of concentration had formed between her eyes and he was nearly overcome by an urge to smooth it with his finger.

  Footsteps in the corridor put an end to his musings. He waved Catherine toward him and lowered the wick on the lamp. She scurried to shove the foolscap into the journal and conceal it once again among her skirts. Glancing around and finding no better option, he opened the door to the large sideboard and shoved her in, then squeezed in behind her. To make space for them both to fit with the door closed, he lifted her onto his lap and sat against the back of the sideboard, holding her close. Even so, both their heads bumped against the top and there was no room to move. Pushing her against his chest, he reached around and yanked the door closed.

  Someone entered the room.

  Catherine’s breathing sped to an impossible rate. If it didn’t slow, she would lose consciousness. Sweat formed on her brow and neck and she trembled against him. He didn’t understand her panic—they weren’t in any real danger. The only thing at risk was her reputation, but she had to know he would not ruin her and walk away. He was not his father. He always took care of his responsibilities. It was a matter of honor.

  The footsteps approached the sideboard and Catherine held her breath. He rubbed her back with slow, silent caresses, hoping to calm her fears. Papers shuffled against the top of the sideboard, then whoever had entered moved about the room, presumably searching for something… A few moments later, the door opened and closed in quick succession. They remained in the sideboard until Nick had counted slowly to one hundred. Pushing the door open with his foot, he scooted to the opening and fell backward onto the floor, pulling Catherine out to rest on top of him. They were pressed together from top to bottom, but she didn’t attempt to move. He sat up carefully, shifting her so he could hold her on his lap. Smoothing her damp hair back from her face, he ran his hands up and down each arm and over her back, attempting to determine what was wrong with her. He pulled her close and held her tight as shivers racked her body.

  “Catherine. What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  “N-n-nothing.”

  “Even you couldn’t think me that obtuse. What is the matter?”

  Sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, she let it out slowly and repeated the process several more times before speaking. “I am not fond of small, enclosed spaces.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  She smacked her palm against his chest, a sign sure of her returning faculties. “I am being serious. I cannot abide small, dark places. I am terrified of being trapped.”

  “And here I thought you were just overwhelmed by my close proximity.”

  “Dear Lord,” she mumbled.

  Excellent. His diversionary tactics were succeeding. He stood, cradling her in his arms, then gently lowered her legs so she was in a standing position. He kept his arms around her for support.

  “How long have you been so afflicted?”

  “Most of my life.” She still shivered, and her teeth clattered together when she wasn’t speaking. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her, then sat in the chair behind him and pulled her into his lap. She rested her head against his shoulder, her scent of fresh roses enveloping him.

  “I was six or seven when it happened. While exploring
the ruins of an ancient temple, I fell through a soft spot and landed in an underground chamber. Rocks and debris dropped on me, camouflaging the opening I went through. It took nearly a day and a half for them to locate me. It was dark and I was unable to move around or stand. I have disliked enclosed spaces ever since.”

  “No wonder.”

  A sharp giggle escaped her mouth and he thought for moment she might be a candidate for Bedlam, but she was just recovering from her shock. “It didn’t keep me from exploring the ruins, but I was much more careful after that. I always tested my footing and took my dog with me.”

  “Your parents didn’t insist you have a chaperone with you at all times?”

  “Of course they did, but I became quite skilled at sneaking out or getting away from them. The Bahamas, and especially Acklins, is nothing like London. It is not necessary to have an escort to preserve your innocence. I was allowed to go into the village unescorted. I just wasn’t supposed to explore the ruins alone.”

  He was pleased to already be seated, because he would have needed to be after picturing Catherine trapped in a dark hole, covered with debris. The image wouldn’t leave his head. “So despite your experience, you continued to explore the ruins?”

  “I enjoy studying other cultures, and wanted to find out as much as I could about the temple ruins and carvings. If you had ever visited Acklins, you would understand. I spent much time attempting to decipher the carvings of the Lucayan people.”

  There was a lot more to this girl than he could ever have anticipated. That they shared an interest in the history of other cultures was unexpected. He cupped her check with his palm. Her eyes darkened like polished malachite and his heart ricocheted off his ribs. The pulse at her throat quickened. Without thought, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Her lips moved under his, softly exploring, and her breathing slowed to match his.

  Reluctantly pulling back from her, he met her startled gaze. He licked the taste of her from his lips. “We had best return to the ballroom before we are missed.”