How to Dazzle a Duke

by Claudia Dain

  “Quite right,” Cranleigh said, nodding fractionally. “It would be entirely possible for you to insult, why, even our dear Iveston.”

  “Oh, don’t be absurd. Iveston never does anything,” Molly said on a bark of annoyance. It was perfectly clear that she had meant her statement as a compliment.

  “I do think you can’t have heard of his latest adventure into Society, Molly,” Sophia said, pulling off a glove to take a cup of tea from Molly’s hand. On her right hand she wore a ruby ring of impressive size surrounded by seed pearls. It made a stunning statement against her white gown and white kid gloves. “Lord Iveston has won quite a wager. Everyone in Town had a pound or two in it. It’s all anyone is talking about. You hadn’t heard?”

  “No,” Molly said, staring first at Iveston and then at Cranleigh. “I had not heard the first word.”

  Molly, born and bred in Boston, of petite frame and iron spine, was not a woman to cross. A mother of six sons, five living, she had the temperament and the inclination to deal with any infraction as fully as she saw fit. She often saw fit. Not a one of her five sons cared to find himself on the wrong side of her; as to that, neither did her husband, the fourth Duke of Hyde.

  “It was a small matter, mostly between myself and Cranleigh,” Iveston said, refusing a cup of tea with a wave of his hand.

  “Mostly? How modest you are, Lord Iveston,” Sophia said pleasantly. “Surely you are fully aware that White’s book is nearly in tatters because of this small wager.”

  “Did you wager on it?” Cranleigh asked her.

  Sophia smiled, her dark eyes twinkling. “I’m the better by twenty-six pounds, Lord Cranleigh. And you? How much did you lose?”

  “Perhaps I won. Did you consider that?” Cranleigh said.

  “Of course I considered it, but as the wager, at least the report I had of it, was that you wagered that Lord Iveston should not be able to win any sort of attention from the lovely Miss Prestwick, and as he has done so much more than that with her, I did think you must have lost. Was I wrong?”

  Cranleigh was silent and glaring.

  Iveston was silent and sullen.

  Neither one of them dared a look at their mother.

  “Who did you hear this from, Sophia?” Molly asked.

  “Why, from Lord Iveston. He confessed it freely to both the Duke of Edenham and Miss Prestwick. I was standing right there. As was Lady Richard. The poor girl was taken quite by shock, if I am any judge.”

  “Oh!” Amelia said, her blue eyes looking quite accusatory. Cranleigh looked like he wanted to crawl under the rug. Little doubt Molly would beat them both with a broom if they attempted any sort of escape now. “In front of Edenham? And Lady Richard rarely goes out. It could hardly have been comfortable for her, let alone poor Miss Prestwick.”

  “Poor Miss Prestwick can take care of herself,” Iveston burst out.

  “Quite obviously she cannot!” Molly said, bristling, her eyes gone quite steely grey. “I did think my sons had better manners than to engage in wagers concerning virginal young girls in Society. I would have thought that, with your natural advantages, you would have seen fit to treat others, particularly the weaker vessel, with far more care than I have seen witnessed here this Season!” Molly was working herself into quite a rage. Iveston and Cranleigh closed their mouths and endured it. It was not wrong to state that they believed they had it coming. “First Blakes pulls Louisa into a closet in my own house, with half of London pressed against the door, ruining a girl of good lineage, though her father is a lout. Then you, Cranleigh”—Cranleigh’s ears turned a bit red along the outer edge—“abscond with poor Amelia into a conservatory and do something entirely dreadful to her dress, ruining her gown and very nearly the girl, and now you, Iveston, of whom I never would have believed it, have done something scandalous to Miss Prestwick, who I am quite certain did nothing whatsoever to you!”

  Nothing whatsoever?

  No, that was wrong. That was most assuredly wrong.

  She had done everything to him. Everything. Nothing was the same now. And never would be again.

  “But of course, the wager at White’s was entirely different, Molly,” Sophia said. “The wager there, one of them, was that Iveston would marry Miss Prestwick. Of course, I don’t suppose he should mind losing that wager as it wasn’t for much.”

  “How do you know what is on White’s book?” Iveston asked, his voice nearly hoarse with frustrated … what? Rage? Longing?

  Longing?

  No, not longing. Longing for what?

  Or for whom?

  Sophia simply shrugged, her expression entirely unconcerned. “I find a way to always be aware of what is happening at White’s, as well as most of the other clubs. How else is a woman to know what is happening in the world of men and protect herself accordingly?”

  Cranleigh laughed, a short bark of abrupt male laughter.

  Iveston felt absolutely no desire to laugh, abruptly or not.

  “I should think so,” Molly said, eyeing her sons most severely. “Why, Miss Prestwick is a perfect example of that. I should say she had no idea that there was a wager with her name on it, poor girl. She was clearly defenseless against you, Iveston. What did you do to that dear girl?”

  “I wasn’t aware that you knew Miss Prestwick,” Iveston said in reply. Anyone who referred to Penelope as dear and poor had clearly never met her.

  “I don’t,” Molly said. “But I am quite certain that she can have done nothing to earn such treatment from my sons. Is that not a true statement?”

  Cranleigh looked at Iveston, most suitably abashed.

  Iveston took a deep breath and answered, “It is most assuredly true. Miss Prestwick did nothing. And nothing was done to her. Nothing … alarming.”

  “Is that what Miss Prestwick thinks, or is that just wishful thinking on your part, Lord Iveston?” Sophia said just before she took a sip of tea, her black eyes shining merrily at him over the rim of her cup. It was becoming increasingly clear to Iveston why Cranleigh had such violent thoughts about Sophia Dalby so often. She could drive a man to anything. Even marriage. Most especially marriage.

  Marriage. He’d thought of it before now, naturally, always in terms of how to avoid it. Now, Penelope dragged into something slightly sordid because of a stupid wager, he found he didn’t have quite the same determination to avoid it.

  He might have to marry her. Just to save her reputation, of course. She did have a sterling reputation, or had, until the wager, which had got a bit out of hand, actually.

  The poor girl shouldn’t be made to suffer a lifetime on the shelf simply because of a wager, should she?

  Of course not.

  He should do the right thing, the honorable thing, and marry the girl.

  If she’d have him.

  There was that. She didn’t seem to want him, not in that way.

  Of course, she did want him very much in the other way; there was no hiding that fact, was there?

  Iveston found himself smiling for the first time in hours. He simply had to marry her, didn’t he? Of course he did. He’d explain to her that it was for her own good, to protect her name, and she would see reason, she was rather famous for that, by her own reckoning, and she would marry him. He was the most logical choice, wasn’t he?

  Of course he was.

  “I do think I should ask her, Lady Dalby,” Iveston answered. “That would be the wisest course. When I return, I shall know precisely what Miss Prestwick thinks. About everything.”

  “I have no doubt of it, Lord Iveston,” Sophia said, taking another sip of tea.

  Molly sniffed in annoyance and said nothing.

  Cranleigh laughed again, quite ruefully, too, which was excessively odd, wasn’t it?

  Twenty-Four

  PENELOPE was dressed beautifully in white muslin. The bodice was cut modestly, but flatteringly, the sleeves fitted snugly and ending at the elbow. A silk ribbon in scarlet, quite wide, was tied beneath her bosom, and she
was wearing diamond earrings that resembled Spanish fans. She looked, she was utterly certain, enchanting. Quite more than enough beauty and allure to tempt Iveston into ruining her. He seemed on the cusp of it already, didn’t he?

  He certainly did.

  Why, given his past experience, all it should take was a single moment alone and he would be kissing her without restraint.

  She could hardly wait. The thing to do, naturally, was to hunt him down, wherever he might be hiding himself. He was either at home or at White’s. She did so hope he was at Hyde House for then she could call on Lady Amelia on the pretext of worrying about the return of the torn shawl. That would do nicely. It would give the appearance of courtesy and solicitation when all she was after was the delicious Lord Iveston’s mouth and hands upon her person.

  Not that she’d changed her mind regarding Edenham at all. Certainly not. He would have made the ideal husband, but as Iveston, for reasons she could still not work out, had been quicker off the mark, then Iveston would simply have to do. She did think he might do rather well.

  It was as she was arranging her hair in the hall mirror, arranging a wave to fall just so, that she heard Iveston’s voice and Hamilton’s reply. With an audible gasp, Penelope hurried to waylay Hamilton before he could announce Iveston to her father. She was perfectly capable of driving a man to ruin, but it would be so much easier and quicker without her father watching on. Obviously.

  Hamilton, with a most odd expression on his normally pleasant face, nodded and gave every indication that he would allow her to see to Lord Iveston. With considerable grace, if she did say so herself, Penelope greeted Lord Iveston with a deep curtsey, giving him more than enough time to study her décolleté, and smiling, waited for him to bow. He did. She then waited for him to say something. He did not.

  Penelope had a very difficult time not rolling her eyes at Iveston’s obvious backwardness, but she did it. Just. She, clearly, was going to have to manage this ruination all on her own. Iveston was, for whatever peculiar reason, going to be obstinate about it. And of all things! One did think, as one had been taught certain truths about men from a most early age, that the one thing a man could manage with almost no thought at all was a simple ruination of an innocent girl. As she wasn’t precisely or perfectly innocent, that ought to have made it all simpler. With Lord Iveston, nothing, not even getting his hand upon her breast or a finger under her hemline, was going to be simple.

  Penelope nearly sighed in frustration.

  In fact, she did. She was frustrated. Most urgently frustrated. She could feel it building in her like a flickering wave of burning water, even though she was nearly certain that there was no such thing as burning water. Certainly she had been more sure of that yesterday, before Iveston and his silly wager and all those nearly innocent kisses.

  Iveston looked wonderful today. His eyes very blue, his skin very fair, his hair shining blond. He wore his hair quite short, but arranged forward, and it did set off his brow, which might have been the finest brow of the present Season.

  It was as she was admiring his face that he spoke, quite jerking her out of her reflections. “Miss Prestwick, I fear I may have caused you some difficulty. I wagered intemperately. I would not see you hurt by it.”

  Oh, yes. Quite fully jerked out of her reflections.

  “Lord Iveston, I should have thought you would have reasoned it all out before you began. Did you not foresee some difficulty?”

  “No, not really,” he said.

  As the wager, as she gathered, was to make her want him in some obvious fashion, she could not but find it in excessively poor taste that he should say such a thing to her face.

  “How predictably odd of you,” she said, throwing back her shoulders just a bit. Of course it did wonderful things for her bosom, but it also did wonderful things for her resolve. Perhaps Edenham was not completely out of reach. Perhaps she did not want Iveston to seduce her.

  Iveston also straightened and seemed to nearly glare at her. It was nearly funny.

  “You have forgotten your own wager? Your double wagers, Miss Prestwick. How could you have hoped to win them both?”

  “It should be quite obvious, even to you, that I did not intend to win them both. I have been entirely honest with you from the first, Lord Iveston, which you can certainly not say to me. You were to be a spur, that is all. If I may say so, you did not do an adequate job at all. If you had been paid in coin for such a shoddy performance, I should very much have demanded a full refund.”

  Iveston was breathing a bit more heavily than she thought was usual for him. His eyes were cobalt blue, and most importantly of all, he had two white spots on his neck, just below his very nicely shaped ears. Really, he had quite a cunningly shaped head and it was quite right of him to keep his hair short, the better to show it off. It also allowed her to notice whenever she had said just the precise thing to bring him to white-hot frustration. Suddenly, she was enjoying herself immensely.

  “Perhaps I can do better,” he said quietly.

  She had learned that, even though Iveston was usually quiet, it did not mean he did not experience the full range of emotional responses. Not at all. In fact, she did begin to think that, at his most quiet, he was the most fully engaged. Perhaps a bit more experimentation was due?

  Why not?

  “To what purpose? The wager is done, the damage as well,” she said, prodding him. She did think she might have a talent for it. And she did so love to acquire new talents.

  “To prove myself, Pen,” he whispered, taking her arm and leading her into the closest room, which just happened to be the conservatory. She would have chosen better, if there had been a way to do it and still look reluctant. The conservatory didn’t even have a chair! It was all roses and stone floors and miles and miles of windows. Hardly a place for a seduction. It wasn’t even dark. Everyone knew that the best seductions happened in the dark. “Or, if that does not serve, so that you may prove yourself to me.”

  “I beg your pardon? Prove myself to you? Whatever for, and as what, I should like to know. I don’t have anything to prove to you, Lord Iveston.”

  “No?” he said, closing the doors of the conservatory behind him, standing in front of them almost menacingly. Ridiculous. Lord Iveston could not menace a small dog, let alone a fully grown woman who had some small history of kissing experience beneath her sash, as it were. Not that any man had ever gotten beneath her sash. In fact, no man had even tried. It was almost, when pondering it on some dreary dead of nights, insulting. “Not the degree to which you have been previously seduced? I confess to having had my curiosity aroused upon that topic. I should like satisfaction, Pen, and I should very much like for you to provide it.”

  Well, perhaps a small dog. Even a small child. Even, in this rare instance, a small woman, which she happened to be. Iveston was tall and built precisely as a man should be, and the hot blue look in his eyes was just the tiniest bit menacing, in the most delightful manner imaginable. He wanted satisfaction?

  Very well, then. So did she.

  “You presume quite a lot, Lord Iveston,” she said, backing away from him. “Yet, I do find I have my own curiosity about you.”

  “Have you? Regarding?”

  “If you have questions regarding my innocence, it is equally true that I have questions regarding yours. Can you complete a seduction, Lord Iveston? Can you woo? Can you pet? Can you seduce? At all?”

  “This is not the sort of thing one discusses with a lady.”

  “I’m not asking you to discuss it. I’m asking you to prove it.”

  Iveston looked at her from beneath his golden brows, studying her quite seriously. She stood her ground and met his stare.

  “Very well then,” he said softly, his eyes as bright as turquoise stones. “I shall prove it upon your body. Will you stand still or will you require me to run you to ground?”

  Her heart hammered and the beat echoed between her legs, causing her knees to go all wet and wobbly a
gain.

  “I have not yet decided,” she answered in a conversational tone. “Must you be forewarned, my lord? Are you afraid I will outpace you?”

  Iveston shook his head at her, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Shall we put it to the test?”

  And then her heart trembled within her breast and she tingled in all the right places, and, with a smile, she turned and ran through the roses.

  He had her in three steps. Three of her steps. She had no idea how many steps he had taken, likely one large one would have done the job. He had very long, well-turned legs. The thought was enough to make her head swim.

  He wrapped one long arm around her from behind, pulling her hard against his length. And he was hard. With the other hand, he tucked his fingers beneath the neckline of her dress and pulled it down as far as he could without tearing the fabric, and then he kissed the top of her shoulder. Her neck. Her back.

  His mouth moved slowly, leisurely, deliberately over her skin leaving the whisper of moist heat and carnal hunger in its wake. He ground his hips against her bottom. She pressed back against him. He groaned softly and the hand at her waist moved upward, upward. Her nipples tingled in anticipation and her bosoms ached heavily. He did not disappoint. With unerring accuracy, Iveston untied her bodice. It fell loosely down, a muslin crumple, and caught on the crests of her nipples in an exquisite agony of sensation.

  Iveston, that imbecile, did not remedy the situation in the slightest. No, Iveston, backward as ever, turned her in his arms and kissed her fully on the mouth, her breasts and her turgid nipples apparently forgotten. The only thing he was doing right was that he had his leg pressed between hers, which was quite delightful, and he had his hands firmly on her waist, truly encompassing her, and he had his delicious mouth deeply and fully on hers.

  Oh, very well. He did have most of it right, but what about her slack bodice and her tempting breasts? Didn’t he find them tempting in the slightest? How was it that he was able to resist a quick fondle? Or a slow one, as to that.