To Enchant a Wicked Duke

by Christi Caldwell

  The younger gentleman glanced up. His eyes lit—Justina’s eyes.

  Nick’s stomach clenched.

  “Huntly, my old friend.” Barrett quickly shoved to his feet and sketched a bow. “Care to join?” He motioned to the empty seat.

  Old friend. By his observations of Barrett at White’s, Brooke’s, and now this wicked hell, there was a shortage of any kind of friend for this man. Tugging out a chair, Nick slid into the seat.

  Immediately, a beautiful creature with blonde curls strolled over with slow, languid footsteps. He eyed her a moment. With her trim waist, flared hips, and pale blonde hair, she was a veritable siren who’d tempt any. The woman, feeling his gaze, tipped her lips at the corners in an inviting smile as she leaned close. Only, her curls didn’t possess the golden shades of sunlight and her lips were too thin. “Would you care for some company, Your Grace?” she whispered against his ear. Taking his silence for acquiescence, the whore slipped a palm inside his jacket and ran her fingers caressingly over his chest.

  Aware of Barrett studying them, Nick drew back. “I’m afraid not.”

  With a pout, the blonde beauty sauntered over to Barrett, but the young man waved her away.

  When he looked back at Justina’s brother, the man wore a silly smile. “I understand that.” Barrett grabbed the bottle and poured two glasses of brandy. He shoved one over. “When a lady slips inside your heart, she makes it impossible to think of another.” The dandy gave a knowing wink.

  Nick paused. The young man revealed too much. He collected the snifter. “You know something of that then?” he added noncommittally.

  Barrett’s smile widened and he edged forward. “Quite.” The other man’s expression took a distant quality and he stared beyond Nick’s shoulder. “Met a lady,” he said, and then his cheeks fired color. “Never thought the day would come that a woman managed to win my heart.”

  The gentleman demonstrated the same lack of artifice as his trusting sister. Nick’s belly knotted at that unwelcome connection between the siblings. Would that be their ultimate downfall?

  Barrett hefted his glass up. “Then, they are sirens, aren’t they? Change our thoughts. Make us forget anything but the need for them.”

  Those words, unerringly accurate, ran through Nick and he glanced down into his glass. For isn’t that ultimately what Miss Justina Barrett had done? She’d shown herself to be a woman of intelligence, who longed for love, and, as such, she’d upset his plan—for her, anyway. He, however, could leave her dowry untouched, set aside so Barrett couldn’t sell her off. Then with a clear conscience, he could ruin the rest of Rutland’s kin.

  With a shifting purpose, he returned his attention to Barrett. The other man sat sipping his drink, with that silly smile on his face. Nick could still have his revenge upon Rutland. Would still have it. It just didn’t necessitate him wedding a twenty-year-old romantic with stars in her eyes.

  The Barrett men, however, with their weakness for the gaming tables, were fair game. These were men of like darkness. Nick’s lips turned up in a slow, triumphant grin.

  “Justina is a good girl,” the other man went on, not a confirmation required on Nick’s part. How freely the man handed out intimate pieces about his sister to a man who was nothing more than a stranger. Mere moments ago, they would have been revelations he stored close with an aim to ruin her. “Bit of a bluestocking.”

  He well knew that. A memory of her slid in of her perched on the edge of her stiff, wood chair at The Circulating Library. It is just, a man who is friends with a schoolmistress would certainly not look unkindly upon educated females. “Is she?” A small smile pulled at his lips; the movement real and straining muscles unaccustomed to that free movement.

  Barrett dropped his elbows on the table and leaned close. “Oh, yes. Wasn’t always that way,” he added with a casual shrug. “Nor would anyone expect it of her. Think she’s an empty head, but she visits museums and bookshops.”

  How easily the man turned over the lady’s secrets. Anger at Barrett gripped him and at himself for caring about Barrett’s freeness with information about her.

  Barrett chuckled. “Horrid places. Also enjoys the theatre,” he added, the words more an afterthought than anything.

  He’d not known that detail about the lady. Yet, beyond the information handed him by the baroness, he’d only truly known her a handful of days. That detail fit with the romantic lady who appreciated Tristan and Iseult and saw beauty in stone statues.

  “Wants me to accompany her about,” the future Viscount Waters prattled on, bringing Nick back to the moment. “Glad when she found friends, I was, but there is only so often a lady can accompany another lady.” The careless dandy puffed up his chest. “Didn’t really matter before giving up my time and all. I’m one of those devoted brothers.”

  Nick snorted and then quickly concealed it as a cough, covering his mouth with his palm.

  “But now there is my lady and all and quite the chore trying to balance brotherly devotion with one’s love.”

  “Ah, of course,” Nick stretched out those syllables in long dry tones. “And this is the lady who’s quite turned your world upside down?”

  Barrett’s eyes took on that far-off quality, once more. “There isn’t another like her. Innocent. Good. Enjoys the violin. Used to play myself…” the gentleman’s words trailed off.

  With the other man lost in his own thought, Nick studied Barrett. A handful of days ago, he would have scoffed at that foolish naiveté. That youthful foolishness in which a man believed people capable of good. Outside of his own sister and niece, he’d not viewed a hint of that in another soul.

  Until Justina Barrett. Goddamn you, Justina.

  Apparently bored with that particular discourse, Justina’s brother looked about the gaming hell. Then glanced back to Nick, his eyes bright. “Care for a game of cards?”

  He bowed his head. “Whist or hazard?” And with a deck of cards and the fool Barrett, Nick traveled further down his path to no return.

  Chapter 12

  It had been a week.

  Or six days if one wished to be truly precise. Which Justina certainly didn’t. She didn’t wish to think about how, for a handful of days, she’d found a gentleman who spoke to her of her thoughts as though they mattered, when the world saw nothing beyond the surface of who she was.

  Seated on the neat row of chairs between Honoria and Gillian, Justina stared absently out at the couples twirling by in a violent explosion of vibrant fabrics. Hating that she searched the crowd for a hint of him. When he’d been quite clear in his disappearance that there was not anything there.

  “It is no doubt for the best,” Honoria said softly.

  Justina didn’t pretend to either mishear or misunderstand the other young woman’s words. No doubt. On what did Honoria make that inaccurate claim? She firmed her lips. There was no doubt she’d laughed more, and spoken her mind freely and known the very real taste of passion with Nick.

  “I expect there is probably a reason for the gentleman’s absence,” Gillian’s quiet utterance, so full of her usual hope that she kindled the still-present embers of the hope Justina herself carried.

  For surely there was a reason to explain why he’d simply…disappeared? “Do you believe so?” she asked, turning her full attention on the always-optimistic lady.

  Gillian nodded emphatically. “Oh, yes. He could have…” She paused and creased her brow. “Or he could have…”

  “You did not provide the first reason,” Honoria pointed out absently as she devoted her attention to the crowd of guests.

  Or mayhap she’d made more of a visit, a stolen embrace, and a private exchange in The Circulating Library than there was. Justina had attended inane affair after inane affair, all in the hopes of again seeing him. She had awakened each morning with the hope that he would call.

  “Well, I would not have you with a gentleman who is inconstant,” Gillian said, loyal all the way through. She patted Justina’s ha
nd. “You deserve a man who is honorable and good.”

  “And the duke was…is those things,” Justina said softly. Just because he did not care for her, did not make him dishonorable. Her gaze caught on a couple moving through the intricate steps of a country reel. The unfamiliar gentleman dropped his hand lower on the back of his partner and such an intimate smile was shared between them, she had to look away. “He is a man who didn’t simply wish to possess me.” As Lord Tennyson and so many of the other suitors who’d come calling. She looked quickly about the room and found the marquess blessedly missing from the event, still. Relief assailed her. “The duke did not see me as the Diamond, but rather spoke to me about literature and free thought.” Just as she’d always longed for in a gentleman and had begun to despair of such a man existing for her.

  Gillian sighed and caught her chin atop her hand. “I am certain there is a reason to explain his defection.”

  “Ultimately, they always betray you,” Honoria said with a stark somberness that served as a slight window into her past. “Our fathers. Suitors. Gentlemen who promise to love you, will fail.”

  “I do not believe that,” Justina protested. “Yes, we’ve each witnessed the faithlessness of our fathers, but Phoebe found a gentleman who proved that a man is capable of love. That he can change.”

  “As did Cedric,” Gillian piped in. Her brother-in-law, a notoriously reformed rake had disappeared to the country and now lived for only his wife.

  “Nor did he profess to love me.” A vise tightened about her chest. “It would be unfair to judge His Grace for not returning my affections,” Justina continued.

  Honoria eyed her sadly. “You will defend him, then?”

  “Defend him?” she scoffed. “It would be a greater crime for the gentleman to have given me false assurances of affection.” As it was, there had never been promises or requests for more. A pang struck. Oh, but how I wish there had been.

  “I do not believe the gentleman is indifferent,” Gillian murmured.

  It was on the tip of Justina’s tongue to point out that his absence spoke to the contrary, when Gillian motioned discreetly to the front of the room. She followed her friend’s gesture and froze.

  Nick stood at the top of the stairwell, exchanging words with their host, but his gaze remained firmly fixed over the tops of the heads of the guests on her. The piercing intensity of that volatile stare stretched across the distance between them and robbed her of breath.

  “No gentleman can look at a lady as the duke is looking at you now and not feel something,” Gillian said with a sly smile.

  “Do not be silly.” Justina’s words emerged breathless. “He is not looking at me.” She peeked about but when she returned her focus to the towering duke now descending the stairs, he stood at the side of the ballroom, surveying the crowd. And her heart dipped.

  “Well, he is not looking at you now,” Gillian pointed out. “But he was.”

  Disappointment blossomed again in her breast.

  Honoria groaned, cutting across her pathetic musings, and she followed her stare. She sighed. Barreling past guests, Justina’s father worked his way through the crowd.

  “Do you wish us to secret you away before Honoria makes her leave on the morrow?” Gillian offered.

  Despite Justina’s fast approaching, matchmaking father, her lips pulled. What she wouldn’t give to disappear to the country to visit Phoebe along with her. “No.” Honoria had delayed her visit long enough on Justina’s behalf. “I’ve learned he’s better to meet up front and then distract him with talk of the gaming tables.”

  Her father came to a stop before her, panting from the rapid pace he’d set. The three ladies climbed to their feet with a matched reluctance. “Where have you been? Been looking for you, gel,” he wheezed, ignoring the other ladies at her side. He swiped the back of his purple sleeve at his forehead. “You are not a wallflower,” he griped.

  Justina shot an apologetic look at her friends. Having proper nursemaids and governesses, the rules of Polite Society had been ingrained into her, just as they’d been into nearly every member of the peerage. How had her father remained so blind to proper decorum? “I was with Honoria and Gillian.” She motioned pointedly to the ladies hovering at her side.

  Her father scratched his wrinkled brow and then followed her gesturing. His bloodshot eyes lingered on Gillian and then moved over to Honoria, his gaze falling to the young lady’s ample bosom.

  “Lord Waters,” her friends said in unison, matching distaste in their cold greetings.

  Shame slapped at Justina. And hatred for this man who’d given her life sucked at her again. “You wanted something,” she snapped and he blinked slowly.

  Then, he gave his head a clearing shake. “Tennyson is looking for you,” he gritted out.

  Her stomach lurched and she quickly scanned the ballroom. “I didn’t…” Note his entry.

  “Come along,” he muttered.

  Like a mother tigress, Honoria stepped forward. By the fury flashing in her brown eyes, she’d go toe-to-toe with the viscount.

  But she would not allow her friends to make a public display for her. Just as she’d not reach out to Edmund when he was attending his wife and new babe. For everyone’s determination to see her protected, ultimately, since her mother and Phoebe’s departure for the country, what her friends failed to realize is that she had been effectively taking care of herself and would continue to do so.

  Panic mounted as her father motioned her ahead and Justina skittered her gaze about the ballroom in search of escape. When she’d been hiding from Lord Tennyson in the Royal Museum earlier in the Season, she’d sneaked into a lecture hall where the presenter had spoken of these magnificent displays of the earth’s fury in which the ground shook and ripped apart. With her father determined to lead her on to Lord Tennyson, Justina found herself praying for one of those grand displays of the Lord’s power.

  Alas, life should have already proven the folly in seeking rescue from anyone but herself. Smiling for her friends’ benefit, Justina started forward, when a long riiiiip cut through the loud noise of the ballroom. She glanced down with a giddy relief at the hopelessly torn lace hem of her gown dragging on the floor.

  Her father furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong with you, girl?”

  She’d avoided that particular gentleman successfully for more than a fortnight and now her father would turn her over to him? “You tore my hem,” she said quickly and pointed to the now blessedly tattered fabric. Saints in heaven. Who would have ever suspected her father was useful for something?

  The viscount peered down at her skirts and scratched his head. “Then fix it,” he barked, earning several curious stares from nearby guests. “And don’t tarry.”

  Her friends held her eye for a long moment, a silent look of understanding passed between them. With Honoria standing as sentry at the edge of the ballroom, Gillian fell into quick step beside Justina.

  They moved along the perimeter of the ballroom. “I do believe the duke was staring at you,” Gillian said, those quiet words barely reaching her ears.

  “Perhaps,” she answered noncommittally, her gaze fixed on the back entrance of the ballroom. There had been a glimmer of a moment where his gaze had landed on her and the same potent hunger that had filled their blue depths when they’d met in Lady Wessex’s garden had stretched across the ballroom. “But neither has he come to call.” Or request a set. Her lips turned in a smile made of bitterness and regret. “Honoria should feel assured that those chance meetings between us were just that…chance meetings.”

  Gillian stopped suddenly and took Justina by the hand, halting their retreat. She looked quizzically at the other woman. “Honoria is wrong,” she said quietly. “The duke has come to call and…” And that was all. But once, and only to return a book. “Honoria has been so hurt by her past that she fails to recognize there is still good in men. Even the rogues, the rakes, and scoundrels.”

  A kindred moment stretched
between them as they shared a smile.

  Gillian opened her mouth to speak when her gaze landed on someone beyond Justina’s shoulder. She followed her gaze and swallowed down a curse.

  The Marquess of Tennyson, his eyes fixed on her, wound his way through the crowd. “Go, see to your hem,” Gillian murmured, giving her a nudge. “I will distract him.”

  Spinning on her heel, Justina lost herself in the crowd. As a young lady, she’d lamented her mere five-feet three-inches of height, now she gave thanks for the advantage it gave in escaping notice. She slipped out of the ballroom and rushed down the hall, her skirts rustling noisily in the quiet.

  “Well, Miss Barrett, we meet again.”

  Those words, eerily familiar, uttered by Nick a week prior, now delivered coldly by another, brought her jerking to a stop. Justina wheeled around and fear iced her veins. “How…?” How had he found her so quickly?

  An ugly, triumphant grin split the marquess’ face. As he stalked slowly forward, it occurred to her that if it weren’t for the soullessness of that stare, he would almost be described as handsome. But there was that emptiness. “Tsk, tsk. You do have a history of sneaking off. Quite scandalous,” he teased and that frosty jeering snapped her back into movement.

  Justina retreated several steps. “It isn’t proper for us to be here, alone, my lord,” she reminded him. Then, would a beast like the Marquess of Tennyson, who’d made it a point of stalking her whereabouts, be bothered with such trivialities as propriety? She continued retreating, not taking her gaze from him.

  “No,” he said in gleeful agreement that gave her momentary pause. “Particularly not with your torn gown.” Involuntarily, her gaze fell to the floor and flew back to his. He smirked. The marquess continued coming. “Imagine the scandal if La Belle Ferronniere were discovered alone, with a gentleman?” Her back knocked hard against the wall. His grin expanded, revealing even white teeth in a cold smile the Devil would have envied, and then he continued advancing. “Do not flatter yourself, love. I’ve no intention of ruining you.” He paused and smiled a slow, unfeeling grin. “Not anymore.”