Desperate for a Duke

by Dayna Quince

  “You both should perform for the guests. An impromptu musical,” Miss Sagely suggested.

  “I’ll speak with Lady Endervale.” Lady Karen nodded confidently.

  Heather was about to speak up when Fallon stood and stole her attention.

  “Very well done, Miss Everly. The duke will be pleased. I don’t believe I know it.”

  “Quasi una Fantasia, by Ludwig van Beethoven. It’s my favorite,” Heather answered.

  “I believe it is now mine as well,” he said, but quietly enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

  “Good day, Miss Everly, Mr. Calder.”

  The three ladies quit the room, and suddenly, they were alone and there was no air to breathe. Heather set the harp from her and stood also. “I should go.”

  He stood. “It is my deepest wish to be able to dance with you tonight, but Lady Endervale did not invite me to attend in place of the duke,” he said quietly

  His words hummed along her nerves.

  “I wish I could be excused from the ball. There is no reason for me to go.” Heather tangled her fingers in front of her and looked down at her slippers.

  “Nonsense. You are in perilous need of dancing and champagne.”

  She looked up and laughed. “Perilous need?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He nodded emphatically. He moved to step closer.

  Heather jerked back, afraid he would touch her, and she would collapse under the weight of her want.

  He froze. “What is it?”

  “I—We can’t, Fallon. As much as I wish it could be otherwise, I can’t let you woo me. There is too much at risk. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said quietly, but his voice was tinged with anger.

  “But I do. I’m sorry for what I’ve done thus far. I wish I didn’t know…what I am going to lose.”

  She saw his jaw tense but he nodded. “If that is what you wish, then I apologize as well.”

  “It was a fantasy, Fallon. It could never be real.” She looked into his eyes, desperately hoping the emotion she saw there wasn’t pain.

  He smiled, but it was tight and didn’t reach his eyes. “Quasi una Fantasia—Almost a Fantasy.”

  Heather swallowed. He understood.

  “I have to go,” Heather said. “Good day, Mr. Calder. I will see you tomorrow.” She walked past him and didn’t look back. She was running away again, running from the desperate yearning of her heart. He didn’t stop her. He didn’t say anything at all.

  Chapter 12

  Lady Endervale outdid herself for the ball. Wreaths of evergreens adorned the walls, and an impossible amount of candles were scattered throughout the ballroom. It was a cozy winter theme, but with so many candles burning, the doors to the garden were left open to keep the guests cool. Nobility near and far were in attendance, but the true purpose of the ball was to bring young ladies and gentlemen together in the interest of matrimony. Heather’s presence was superfluous. There were only four more days of this misery before either she was rescued by the duke, or her family searched for a kindhearted acquaintance to harbor them.

  The last place Heather wanted to be was in a ballroom. Nevertheless, she wore her best gown, an ivory slip with an ivory lace overlay that hugged her body, under an apple green crepe dress split down the front. A lace sash wrapped under her bust to cinch the dresses together and was tied elaborately in the middle of her back. She wore her hair up in a simple twisted bun, letting a natural curl fall about each ear. She wore simple silk slippers of the same apple green.

  She loved this dress. It usually made her feel vibrant and confident, but tonight she wanted to blend into the walls, and if at all possible, to disappear entirely and retreat to her room. She looked down at her dance card. It was blank. She sighed and looked for her mother, hoping to find a seat among the dowagers so she could hide. She took two steps, but then she was caught. Lucy, Anabelle, and Hazel stood in a semi-circle before her.

  “Where do you think you are going?” Lucy said, arms akimbo.

  “To sit with my mother,” Heather said defiantly.

  “We won’t let you wilt against the wall. You deserve some enjoyment. Dance! Be merry,” Anabelle scolded affectionately. The other girls nodded in agreement.

  Heather hid her dance card in the folds of her dress. “I don’t wish to dance, truthfully.”

  Hazel grabbed her wrist and lifted the card for all to see. “She is determined not to enjoy herself. You need our help, Heather.”

  “It is pointless for any gentleman to dance with me,” Heather argued.

  “Dancing is never pointless.” Hazel looped her arm through her own, and Anabelle did the same on the other side.

  Heather was caught. She was both grateful and annoyed.

  Lucy led them like a general going to war and, with unnatural skill, secured a full dance card for Heather.

  “See? Men are blind fools. You have to stand before them and wave the card in front of their eyes. Otherwise, they have no idea what they should be doing.”

  “I’m strangely impressed with your methods of manipulation,” Heather admitted.

  “It helps to have a brother. I’ve studied the simple inner workings of the male mind.”

  “God help your future husband,” Hazel mumbled.

  “My father assures me I will be a trial for him, but he says it quite lovingly.” Lucy beamed. “Now, shall we find some refreshment before the dancing begins?”

  The girls nodded and moved in the direction of the refreshment parlor. It was slow going now that the room had filled to capacity. Heather looked down at her dance card. Most of the gentlemen were innocuous acquaintances, harmless really, but one gave her pause. He had eagerly added his name, a spark of mischief in his eyes. Lord Draven was lately behaving in a very puzzling manner toward her, and she had yet to understand why.

  Heather was not looking forward to it.

  The evening carried on and Heather, thankful for the effort extended by her dear friends, was actually beginning to enjoy herself. Every time her thoughts strayed to those kind blue eyes and warm smile, she let herself be distracted once again by the partner she was dancing with, or the witty musings of the gentlemen that followed Lucy and Anabelle like loyal troops. The conversation was boisterous, champagne flowing freely and feeding the gaiety. She could smile without effort now, and it helped that the evening was passing quickly.

  But as the next set began, Heather found herself dreading her dance with Draven. He appeared before her for their set, and she had no choice but let him lead her to the dance floor. They took their positions, and Heather did her best impression of a bored smile. His expression was an impenetrable mask, but he watched her as if he were waiting for the punch line of a joke.

  Heather looked away and her eyes caught on her mother. She was dancing! How lovely, Heather thought. Her mother looked stunning in a silver silk dress that she had borrowed from Lucy’s mother. But then Heather noticed her mother’s partner and she went cold inside, fear clamping on her heart with sharp claws.

  It was Lord Brightly! What on earth was he doing here?

  “How stunning you look this evening, Lady Everly.” Lord Brightly said as he began to turn them in the waltz. “A lovely shade of gray, if I may say so, an excellent choice for half mourning—but tell me, do you truly mourn your reckless husband?”

  Lillian couldn’t refuse this dance, but she would not be cowed by this man. “It is unwise to speak ill of the dead.”

  Lord Brightly chuckled. “It was your husband who was profoundly unwise. I must say I’m surprised you accepted my invitation to dance.”

  “You know I could not refuse.”

  “You could have, but there would have been repercussions.” He sneered.

  He fit the part of a villain perfectly, down to the streaks of gray hair at his temples in his jet-black hair. His obsidian eyes narrowed as they scanned her face.

  “Why are you doing this to us? My husba
nd is gone. If you seek to ruin Heather’s chances with the duke, you will never be paid what you are owed,” Lillian hissed. Her eyes scanned the dancers around them to be sure no one was close enough to hear. Her eyes clashed with Heather’s, and Lillian could see Heather was upset. She straightened her shoulders and glared her hate at Lord Brightly.

  “There is so little satisfaction to be gained from Everly’s death. I simply want more? I’ve always been a man of largess. Tell me…how did he do it?”

  Lillian almost lost her step. “It was his heart,” she said between clenched teeth.

  Lord Brightly snickered. “How convenient a story. It was smart, but it won’t hold water for much longer.”

  “You seek to ruin us further? Why?”

  “I find it entertaining. It could also be because your husband was an embarrassment to society, and I wish to purge him from it. That would include your daughters and you I’m afraid.”

  “You’re a monster.”

  Lord Brightly shrugged. “Perhaps, but I’m a believable monster. My words hold honor, your husband’s did not. So, when he promised me the hand of his daughter and a piece of land he had already lost to someone else, well…you can imagine my disappointment. Now, if I let Heather marry the duke, I will be paid what I’m owed from all those card games your husband lost to me, but there is nothing satisfying about money is there? It’s what one can do with money that is fulfilling. But for this plan, I don’t need money. I can have revenge and your daughter. I could even have you and your other daughters as well. I’ll have myself a little harem of Everlys to do with as I please.” He chuckled.

  Lillian’s fingers curled into the padded shoulder of his jacket; it was the only way she could stop herself from striking him. “You’ll have nothing but the money you are owed, Lord Brightly.”

  “We will see. I was so hoping to speak with the duke tonight, but I’ve been told he is laid up with an injury?”

  Lillian didn’t respond.

  “Oh well, I will seek him out tomorrow. Lord Endervale said he is convalescing at the Foal and Mare. Why, if I was determined enough, I could go straight there now. I wonder how the duke feels about suicides. Nasty business. Much like poison, it can damage everyone who is associated with the coward who took his life.”

  Lillian stomped on his foot.

  Lord Brightly yelped and they stumbled to the side of the room out of the way of the other dancers.

  “My lord, are you unwell?” Lillian said loudly. A footman came to assist Lord Brightly to a chair.

  Lord Brightly glared at Lillian. “You will regret this.”

  Lillian bent close to him, pretending to fawn over him. “Perhaps, but it was oh so satisfying to see you in pain.” Lillian left him. She knew it was unwise to provoke him, but with men like him there was simply no other option than to stand one’s ground. Somehow, they would find a way to silence him for good. She looked over the dance floor for Heather, but Heather was no longer there.

  Fallon had retired to his borrowed study at the beginning of the ball with a darkness inside he hadn’t felt since he was a small helpless boy, bedridden with lungs that would not allow him to do more than lay in bed and read. He hated the sight of Heather in another man’s arms. Innocent though the dancing was, jealousy boiled in him like hot tar. He sought refuge in the study and paced before the fire, his jealousy eating at his insides since the moment she had left him in the music room. He hadn’t realized the gravity of what he’d done, or anticipated the depth of turmoil he would cause for Heather and himself. He was out of his depth here among the English aristocrats. He was born to be a duke, but he was raised by clansmen who cared for Ablehill castle. They had readily defied the duke and cared for Fallon as one of their own, which meant Fallon knew little of being an Englishman. He could mimic the mannerisms and speak flawlessly, thanks to his tutor, but deep inside he was out of place and inexperienced. It was never more apparent than it was now. But it was too late. He was smitten. He was drugged by the essence of her.

  Fallon dropped into a chair before the fire, hunched over his knees, and held his aching head. He was a fool to think there would be any way out of this, which wouldn’t cause a bloody mess, either emotionally or publicly. Closing his eyes, he wished he could take Heather away from here. He’d take her to Ablehill Castle and show her the lovely blankets of daffodils that grew around the castle every spring. Things were simpler there. Wolves did not come dressed in silk waistcoats, and Fallon was free to be himself.

  He didn’t know how long he’d sat there, thinking of his home and the kind faces that awaited him there, but he began to hear the strains of music once more, and his neck was stiff. He stood drearily and prepared to commence his watch over Heather. He returned to his perch above the ballroom in a small balcony. He looked down on the guests with a bitter smirk. He wasn’t good enough to join them tonight, but that hadn’t stopped Heather, the only jewel among them, from seeing him—from wanting him the way he wanted her. That made him feel like a king.

  His breath caught when he saw her again. Lord Rigsby was escorting her to the dance floor. Rigsby was safe. Heather floated through the steps of the cotillion like a butterfly moving from flower to flower. Fallon took great enjoyment in watching her from the shadow of a pillar, hidden mostly from view, unless one cared to look diligently. He watched her entire set with Rigsby before she moved on to her circle of friends. Her cheeks were flushed prettily, her smile light. He was glad she was enjoying herself despite everything that had upset her earlier today.

  He watched her sip greedily from a glass of lemon water and smiled. His smile turned to a snarl as a gentleman took her glass and pressed a flute of champagne into her hand. She reluctantly took it, and the gentleman turned enough so Fallon could identify his profile. Lord Draven... What the devil was that bounder up to? He could tell by Heather’s rigid posture that she was not pleased by Lord Draven’s presence.

  Fallon cursed. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. A new dance set was beginning, and by the looks of it, Heather was partnered with Draven. Fallon cursed again and gripped the railing with white knuckles. It was innocent enough. Draven led her to the floor quite properly, smiling arrogantly—in Fallon’s opinion—and amused with the sound of his own voice. Fallon gritted his teeth as it became apparent that this dance was to be a waltz. The dancers took their places then began to move with the music. Fallon pushed away from the banister in agitation. He considered returning to the study, or even his room to drink himself to distraction, but the drive to watch over Heather was too strong.

  Heather tried to school her features into something other than abject panic. She looked away from her mother and Lord Brightly, her thoughts churning with questions and answers that made her stomach drop to her feet. She smiled as politely as she could as Lord Draven made an attempt at conversation. She was grateful he was a very good dancer because at present she had no idea what she was supposed to do with her feet. His gaze sharpened as it focused on her.

  “Miss Everly, how do you find His Grace’s steward?”

  Heather gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to talk about Fallon, not with Lord Draven, not with anyone—and not when her family’s greatest enemy was twirling her mother around the floor. She took a moment to collect herself. “I’ve little experience judging the capabilities of stewards, Lord Draven. I suppose he is competent.”

  Heather noticed his eyes narrowed just the tiniest bit, almost as if he were trying to see through her words. Her pulse began to throb heavily through her temples. It was a nauseating feeling.

  “Competent, you say?” He tilted his head to the side. “You are aware if you marry the duke, he will be an employee of yours as well as the duke’s? Do you plan to keep him on?”

  “I don’t see why I wouldn’t. I have found no fault with his doings. It would be entirely up to the duke.”

  “Are you saying you would tell the duke about your association with Mr. Calder? I commend your honesty, Miss Everly
, though it does not seem wise.”

  Heather’s heart skipped a beat. She would have stumbled, but Lord Draven turned her smartly and they carried on without a misstep.

  “I beg your pardon?” Heather asked breathlessly.

  “Don’t be daft, you know of what I speak. I should warn you that if I have noticed, others most certainly have. So what will you do? It will titillate the ton, I assure you, but you won’t be the first matron to carry on with a handsome member of her employ. If I could give you one piece of advice”—he leaned close, his lips almost touching her ear—“don’t tell the duke. He likely isn’t capable of siring children anymore and would be grateful for a strong heir, blood or not.”

  All the air rushed from Heather’s lungs in a whoosh. She would have pushed away from him, but he was the only thing keeping her upright. Her eyes snapped to his with disgust and fury.

  “How dare you say such a thing to me? Have you no conscience?”

  “I do, but I’ve long ago stopped listening. Life is more entertaining that way.”

  “And are you amused by my life, Lord Draven?”

  “Just barely, Miss Everly.”

  Heather stopped in her tracks and slipped out of his arms. She spun away from him and barreled into the crowd of guests. There were instant gasps and murmurs, and she knew word of the incident would spread quickly throughout the room, but Heather didn’t care. She saw her closest exit and walked as fast as she could to the door at the side of the ballroom. She heard someone call her name, but she didn’t look back. Tears sprung forth in her eyes, and she looked up, praying they would not fall while in sight of everyone. Something caught her eye.

  There, in the balcony above the musicians, she saw him beside a pillar. Everything in her body wanted to reach for him. She tore her eyes away and ran to the door, ripping it open and slipping through. There was darkness on the other side. She held herself against the door as tears fell, and she blinked until she could see. Weak light filtered through the row of windows lining the hall. It was significantly cooler here than in the ballroom. Heather took off down the hall at a run. She escaped through another door, closing it behind her, and found she was now in a larger hall with rooms leading off it.