The Duchess Diaries: The Bridal Pleasures Series

by Jillian Hunter

  Weed, however, remained the pompous frog that he had always been. He was not only a footman, but also Jane’s confidant, fashion adviser, and partner in her matchmaking ventures.

  “How can I be of service, madam?” he asked in the pinched voice that made it sound as if he were talking through his nostrils.

  “I am going downstairs to mingle. Kindly remind Mrs. O’Brien to keep a closer eye on Rowan tonight. My son has still not outgrown his habit of waylaying our guests with his sword.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “Oh, and, Weed, there is one more thing concerning our earlier conversation. Have you heard any other rumors about Wynfield?”

  “He has an appointment later tonight on Bruton Street with the courtesan he appears to have chosen as his next mistress. Her name is Gabrielle Something-or-Other, and she is known to be beautiful and completely immoral. She has ruined several marriages without the least remorse.”

  “Thank you, Weed.” She turned to Harriet as he left. “Confirmed—he is a duke. He is widowed and wealthy.”

  “He’s a wicked devil,” Harriet interjected.

  Jane’s green eyes glinted. “And he seems devoted to leading the sinful and shallow life of an utter scoundrel.”

  “And?”

  “We will have to keep him in our sights. Agreed?”

  “Yes, but if you let Charlotte know anything about this discussion, I will deny everything.”

  Chapter 3

  Devon walked Gideon around the ballroom, inundating him with so many last-minute instructions that he wasn’t surprised Charlotte lacked admirers. Who would be brave enough to break the Boscastle guard to approach her? Who could remember the endless rules?

  “One more word,” he muttered. “One more warning, and I am going to do you a violent injury.”

  “You are trustworthy, Wynfield, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a man.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I am human. I have failings like any other man. If you’re afraid that I will do or say anything to dishonor your cousin, then come out and say it. Or do not introduce us.”

  “The thought never entered my mind,” Devon said, then hesitated. “Did it enter yours?”

  Gideon laughed.

  Devon scrutinized him in silence. “On second thought, maybe this isn’t one of my brighter ideas. I’ll find someone harmless instead. There might be an earl hiding in here somewhere who isn’t a walking scandal.”

  “Look—”

  Devon held up a hand. “It’s all right. I understand. You don’t want to do me the only favor I have ever asked of you in all the years of our friendship.”

  Gideon glanced at Charlotte’s willowy figure. From where he stood she looked as if she were captured in the candlelight prisms. “Oh, hell, fine. I suppose it won’t kill me. But if this is one of your pranks, I promise you, I will pay you back in spades.”

  “Me, a model of dignity and reform? Would I play a trick on a duke who has studied under a sword master such as Fenton?”

  “What do you expect me to say to her?”

  “Haven’t you paid court to enough women to write a book on the subject?”

  “Only when I was hoping for something in return.”

  Devon’s eyes darkened. “Can I give you one suggestion?”

  “Damn you.”

  “Try not to use language like that in front of the young ladies or you’re liable to be slapped witless by a dozen or so fans.”

  Charlotte’s throat constricted. She couldn’t swallow as she observed the swath the duke cut through the ballroom. She glanced about, seeking a reasonable means of escape, a group of guests to hide her, any excuse not to face the man whom her cousin had clearly sent to bedevil her.

  And yet she waited. She hoped. What would she do for the chance to know him as she had imagined in her diary? What if when he reached her he announced in a masterful voice, “This ball is a waste of our time. You belong with me. Alone. In my arms. I am taking you again, and this time I will not let you elude me.”

  She shivered with forbidden, foolish anticipation. How wicked she could be in her thoughts. Then, suddenly, the duke stood before her. She lifted her gaze. Wickedness looked her right in the face. She forced herself to look back.

  Thought ceased to matter. Reason abandoned her.

  Her mind went into anarchy.

  Sensation reigned, wild and undisciplined.

  She’d caught only a few glimpses of him about town. His profile in a passing carriage. A stolen look at his broad-shouldered figure at an exhibition. It wouldn’t have been appropriate to stare down the duke in the emporium. Heaven forbid that one of his strumpets had made a snide remark that the younger girls of the academy had overheard.

  Or that Charlotte herself had broken her perfect record of propriety and given the tart a piece of her mind. One glance at him that day had been sufficient to confirm her prior beliefs. He was an insufferably attractive man who radiated the charm of an authentic rogue.

  And she was only asking for trouble by allowing her infatuation to grow.

  Perhaps this meeting would dampen her interest in him once and for all. Perhaps he would reveal how crude and conceited he was at heart. She would be content to prove to herself that he was handsome on the outside and hollow within.

  “May I introduce myself?” he asked.

  She nodded her head in the affirmative.

  He said something. She had no idea what it was. He might have been speaking Portuguese.

  For the life of her she could not force her mind to function.

  Had he just asked her to dance?

  “I’m sorry,” she heard herself reply. “I can’t.”

  Good for her. Her manners, her good sense, came to her rescue when it seemed mayhem had won.

  “Are you enjoying the party, Your Grace?”

  His dark saturnine smile swept her into another panic. “Not particularly.”

  “I’m glad to hear…”

  What had he said?

  This initial meeting was not unfolding as it had in her fantasies. She wasn’t supposed to become tongue-tied in his presence. She was supposed to charm him with her wit, with the dialogue that flowed effortlessly when written. Why did words fail her now that she needed to voice them?

  This was humiliation.

  How awful of Devon, leaning against the wall to watch her embarrassment deepen.

  The duke did not appear pleased about the situation, either.

  He stood beside her as they made a few more attempts at polite conversation until finally something inside her gave up. The Duke of Wynfield might be the man of her dreams, but it was obvious he had been dragged unwillingly into her company. And that he did not share her hope for a spark between them.

  Unfortunately that dismal fact did not subdue her attraction to him at all. Under different circumstances she could have stared at his beautifully sculpted face for hours. But she couldn’t keep chattering on forever. He would think there was something wrong with her.

  “Devon made you ask me to dance, didn’t he?” she said, refusing to embarrass either of them any longer. “I understand. He’s done this before.”

  “Not to me.” His dark eyes suddenly connected with hers, and she felt her heart give a wistful flutter for what might have been. At least in her imagination.

  But there wasn’t a reason to keep pretending that he had any romantic motives in mind.

  “I saw your handsome heads together. I know you were discussing me. And I know Devon and his antics, too.”

  “Nonsense,” Gideon said firmly. “We were talking about political events.”

  “Such as?”

  “Nothing I could repeat in refined company. Distressful subjects and…such.”

  “I see.” What she really saw was that he wielded charm as deftly as she did her fan. “I never knew that Devon took an interest in politics.”

  “He might not have wanted to offend delicate ears with…
”

  “Distressful subjects and such?”

  “Exactly.” And then to her surprise he edged in a little closer to her instead of running off gratefully into the night, as he had every right to do. “I’m curious about something. Do you typically put other gentlemen through a grueling interrogation before you agree to a dance?”

  “Only the ones I suspect are paying me court because my cousins have talked them into it.”

  “Don’t you want to dance with me?” he asked with a disarming smile.

  She smiled back, stealing another look at him over her lace-edged fan. “Are you trying to corrupt me?”

  “No. Corruption comes after the dance, which will apparently be over before this conversation is.”

  She closed her fan, sighing deeply. “I think I should pay attention to the young ladies who are graduating. This is their night, not mine.”

  He bowed. “Then I am disappointed.”

  “You are not disappointed, and we both know it. It’s a relief. Tell Devon you did your duty, and I released you from it. Don’t let him make you feel guilty. He can be quite persuasive.”

  “So can I, when given the chance.”

  “I hope he didn’t hold some dire threat over your head. If so, I apologize. He’s incorrigible.”

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Boscastle, but I never do anything unless it pleases me. If you knew more about me, you would understand that.”

  And if you knew more about me, Charlotte thought, you would understand that…That what? That she was infatuated with a man who had to be threatened into talking to her? That she had never been properly courted or known a romantic love that was reciprocated? And that with each lonely month that passed, her chances of finding the perfect man—which had been him—diminished? She turned her face toward the dancers weaving like ribbons across the floor. Why did he have to be so persistent? Why didn’t he leave her alone to feel sorry for herself? The diabolical man was determined to wear her down.

  “Will you—”

  “No, I’m dreadfully sorry. I have to keep my eye on my girls.”

  “It must be a difficult job.”

  “It is,” she replied in a clipped voice, not looking at him. “Especially at times like this.”

  “Why are they called the ‘Lionesses of London’ after they graduate?” he asked, and she could feel him staring through her skin. “Do you teach them to catch gentlemen between their jaws?”

  She glanced up at him again, caught unaware by the unbridled sensuality of his smile. “The reference has nothing to do with our predatory skills.”

  “A pity. The notion intrigued me.”

  “It refers to the academy’s original foundress, Viscountess Lyons.”

  “So there’s no truth at all to the nickname?” he asked in an undertone.

  “If there were,” she said, biting off each word, “this would certainly be the time to prove it.”

  “Are you—”

  She swung around. “The dance is over, you— It is intermission, Your Grace,” she managed in a dignified voice.

  He looked up. “Well, so it is.” He gave her a gallant nod. “I was so engrossed in our conversation I didn’t notice. It has been…interesting.” He smiled crookedly. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes,” she said, too exhausted to argue. She could only imagine how difficult he would be to resist in a private setting. Or if he truly had his heart set on seduction. It had been more than interesting, although she could envision ways it would have been better. It could have been a romantic interlude instead of a painful reminder of her unrequited affection.

  Not that she would ever have to worry about such a scandalous fate befalling her. They were complete opposites. He was a raging bonfire to her timid flame. A devil-may-care challenge to her conscientious soul. It wasn’t his fault that she’d built a romance between them that had never existed. Or that he was so gorgeous she could weep on his wonderfully masculine chest.

  But at least he had tried to be kind. Charlotte had to admire him for that, even if she was going to pinch Devon’s head off for making her an object of pity.

  “Miss Boscastle?” the duke said in a deep, irresistible voice. “Am I forgiven?”

  She stirred. “For what?”

  He looked at her for a long time. “I was rather obvious, wasn’t I?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You were obvious. Painfully so.”

  “Well, now that the truth is out, would you give me the next dance?”

  She shook her head, amused at his audacity. “No.”

  “Perhaps in the future?”

  “Yes, yes, yes.” She forced herself to turn away, hoping he would take the hint and leave her to recover her wits.

  She felt him withdraw a step. And not a moment too soon. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed two of her students drifting toward the French doors. Three young gentlemen were following in their wake. She gripped her rose-scented fan, steeling herself to thwart a scandal in the making. Duke of her secret desires or not, she would not tolerate any mischief under her guard. Nor would she give Lady Clipstone any tidbits to feed the gossipmongers. For all she knew, Alice had a spy in the house. She had tried to bribe former students and servants away from the academy in the past to spill any confidences that would damage the school’s prestige.

  “Another time, Your Grace,” she murmured, dismissing him with finality.

  “I look forward to it.”

  He bowed again. She gave him credit for hiding his relief. She had no doubt he would forget her the moment they parted company. And she would force herself to forget him, too, until the moment she sat at her desk and poured out her thoughts in her diary.

  She decided that it would be the last reference she ever made to the duke. Her imaginary affair with him had to come to an end…even if he were more desirable in person than she had dreamed.

  One night alone in his company would ruin her reputation forever. She would not be able to defend her virtue if he was of a mind to seduce her. Charlotte well knew the passion he could show her would make every other man’s company dreary in comparison. Of course no decent man would ever pursue her if she had a liasion with Wynfield. Would the memories be worth disgrace? She was afraid to admit to herself that they might be. And that was sufficient evidence that she had allowed herself to go too far with the silly fantasies about the charismatic duke. Still, any chance of a romance between them seemed as remote as the planet Venus.

  Chapter 4

  Gideon wasn’t sure that he had accomplished anything during his brief encounter with Charlotte Boscastle except to make a nuisance of himself. He doubted that

  the time he’d spent with her had rendered her more desirable to other men. Or that he would have felt as comfortable teasing her if she hadn’t been Devon’s cousin.

  But she hadn’t reminded him of Devon at all. There was a dreamy quality about her that set her apart from the rest of her family. She might have stepped from a watercolor painting that graced the wall of a country manor, her coolness an illusion. Her skin wasn’t an innocent white. It was sinful cream with a swirl of rose petals beneath the surface. Her smile had revealed an attractive slight overbite. The gold flecks in her eyes hinted at hidden fires.

  He found himself wondering what she would look like if she unknotted the thick blond hair that sat primly on her nape. He had counted twenty tightly fastened buttons on the back of her modest dress. God only knew what a fuss she’d have put up if she had any idea that he had been wondering how fast he could undo them.

  And yet if he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that there was an immediate sense of intimacy between them. Which wasn’t possible.

  They hadn’t exchanged a single word the day he had seen her at the emporium.

  “There you are,” a male voice called from the vicinity of the French doors. “Confess all. What did you say to chase Charlotte into the garden, and don’t tell me you’ve made a secret assignation to meet her there, because there
are more spies planted outside than trees.”

  Gideon snorted. “I’d prefer not to talk about it. I’m sure you will appreciate the fact that a gentleman does not discuss his dealings with a lady.”

  “Did you offend her?”

  “Probably, and it’s your fault.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Gideon said.

  Devon looked skeptical. “Nothing?”

  “Nothing,” he repeated, and wondered why the admission felt like a lie.

  “You asked her to dance?”

  “Repeatedly.”

  Devon shook his head. “And I thought that you were the most charming man at the ball.”

  Gideon laughed. “I’m sorry to let you down. I tried. I failed.”

  “You’re determined to pursue your life of decadence?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Devon nodded in grudging acceptance. “At least you gave it a go. Would you like to come upstairs to the gallery and drink a toast to your continued decline?”

  “Not tonight. Other pleasures await. And I’ve promised to drop off a few friends on the way.”

  “It’s just as well. Jane would probably corner you under the pretense of a friendly chat. She is unabashedly pursuing suitors for Charlotte.”

  Gideon resisted looking back into the room. “Good luck to the man who can get past her guard. I couldn’t even convince her to lower the drawbridge.”

  “Her brothers have written to Grayson announcing their intent to marry her off as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you for the warning, after the fact. I knew I detected the scent of conspiracy in the air.”

  “You could do worse for a wife,” Devon commented.

  “I don’t disagree.” Gideon shook his head in amusement. “But I’m not in the market for one. I doubt I will be in the near future, either.”

  “That’s what I thought right before I met Jocelyn,” Devon said. “One minute I was on my way to a midnight assignation with another woman, and the next I was standing at the altar wondering what had happened.”

  Charlotte nibbled at her salad and raised her champagne flute to the woman sitting two chairs down from her. Harriet lifted her own glass high. Her feathered turban listed on her head like a dying turkey, but nobody seemed to mind. All the girls were present and accounted for. A full complement of young gentlemen had been flushed out of the gaming rooms to balance the room.