To Dance with the Dangerous Duke: Clean Regency Romance (The Nettlefold Chronicles Book 2)

by Arietta Richmond

  Lyon lifted her hand and kissed it gently.

  “I believe that was wise of you, my Lady.”

  She stared into the distance, as if seeing it again in her memory, and spoke softly.

  “The worst of it was that, once I knew the truth, I could not blame the man that Banfield had held as responsible. Certainly, his actions had not been the most honourable, but neither were they intentionally dishonourable – they were, for a battlefield situation, not at all unreasonable, no matter how much I wanted to see them as such. For some time, I did not wish to see him, but social circumstance has forced me to deal with doing so. So, in the end, I was left with an unchangeable truth, for which no one was truly to blame, yet I had risked everything to discover it. I was a fool.”

  “But until now, you have managed to keep it a secret?”

  “I have – or so I thought. I had hoped that no one other than Banfield and his staff had seen me in that terrible place. My hopes were in vain.”

  “But… I will not reveal your secret, my Lady.”

  She gave a brittle bitter laugh.

  “You may not, Your Grace, but Lord Scarpdale most certainly will. It seems that he too saw me there, and he, unlike you, has made all of the worst assumptions.”

  “The man is a cad, of the worst kind!”

  Lyon was furious. If Scarpdale had stood before him in that moment, her would not have hesitated to plant him a facer.

  “I have no choice, either I submit to what he wants, or he ruins my reputation and that will ruin my sister’s too.”

  “And what price does he demand for his silence?”

  Her fingers tightened on his and a single tear escaped her control and slipped down her cheek. When she answered him, her voice was choked, distress in every syllable.

  “My dowry, and my body – he demands that I marry him. He graciously allowed me time to decide – if I say no, he will go to my brother, and demand money for his silence, and if Garrett refuses, he will spread word of my shame about the ton, and thus destroy my sister’s reputation too. And I am quite sure that Garrett would not pay him – for that would leave it open for Scarpdale to demand more and more, forever. I think that Scarpdale believes that, should he ruin my reputation, I would then become willing to marry him, because no other man would have me. No matter what I do, he wins, and I cannot see a way out of it. The thought of marrying him revolts me, but if it will save Eugenia….”

  Lyon’s mind was whirling – he could not permit it, could not allow her to sacrifice herself, and certainly could not allow Scarpdale to corrupt her innocence. In that moment, he saw the depth of his own feelings. He loved her. He could no longer avoid the truth of it. The very idea of Scarpdale touching her, of him controlling her for the rest of her life, made Lyon feel physically ill. The thought slipped into his mind ‘if you asked her to marry you, and she agreed, Scarpdale would lose all leverage over her’. The very idea terrified him, and at the same time tempted him. The fear won. He did not ask her.

  “There is always a way out of any situation, trust me, I am sure that one can be found.”

  It was as close as he could go, in that moment.

  He cursed his own cowardice – never before had he backed away from a challenge – yet he could not speak. What if he proposed and she accepted, only to escape Scarpdale – what if, later, she became distant, and could not care for him? He did not think that he could bear it.

  Lady Isabelle looked at him, and gently shook her head.

  “In this case, I cannot believe those words. But I do trust you, and I thank you for not judging me a wanton, when by rights you should, by all that society values.” He pulled her into his arms, and brought his lips to hers. She returned the kiss with a deep desperation, as if this might be the last kiss she ever experienced, where she wanted to be kissed. That thought echoed through him. It was clear that she did want him to kiss her – could it be that she cared for him? He could not ask. But he hoped that the kiss conveyed more than his words could. When they drew apart, she laughed, a shaky but happy laugh. “With my willingness to meet you, an acknowledged rake, in secret, and to allow you to kiss me, perhaps you would have every right to believe me a wanton!”

  “My Lady, I have known women who are truly wanton – and I am quite certain that you are not, no matter how pleasant your kisses. You are worthy of respect.” He kissed her hand, and stood. “I will leave you now, and prepare for the Ball. When has Scarpdale demanded your answer by?”

  “By the end of tonight’s Christmas Ball.”

  Her words dropped into his heart with the force of an exploding bomb. So little time to find an alternative solution… And if he did not? He needed to make a terrifying decision.

  Chapter Ten

  Little more than an hour later, as he proceeded down the stairs towards the ballroom, he was no closer to a solution. The Christmas decorations of greenery and ribbons, mistletoe, and drapes of coloured cloth, made the ballroom beautiful, and there was a steady stream of arrivals coming through the front entrance of the Castle – all those who lived in the surrounding regions, and those who had not been accommodated in the Castle itself. He felt oddly out of place, with his mind on such serious matters, when the people around him were filled with Christmas cheer.

  Not long after he arrived in the room, Lady Isabelle appeared, accompanied by her sister. Her gown was remarkable, somehow emphasising her beauty even more. She met his eyes, and the sorrow in hers broke his heart. He had to save her. But how? Could he….? His mind slid away from the idea, again. She turned away, and went to speak to a woman he did not know, on the other side of the room. Not long after, as the other woman moved away from her, Scarpdale appeared at her side. Lyon ground his teeth at the sight.

  Moments later, Scarpdale led her to where dancers were forming up for the first set of the evening. Lyon watched, unable to do anything else, knowing full well that Lady Isabelle only allowed it for the sake of her sister, that she was, even now, steeling herself to submit to Scarpdale’s demands. It was an unbearable thought.

  ~~~~~

  Isabelle forced herself not to flinch from Lord Scarpdale’s touch. The dance began, and he smiled that predatory smile, and spoke softly.

  “Have you made your decision, Lady Isabelle?”

  His expression indicated that he was confident of her answer. She could not bear to give it, at that moment. As she had planned, she would make him wait until the end of the Ball.

  “I will tell you before the end of the Ball.”

  He gave a soft mocking laugh. The dance spun them apart, and she was glad of it – she had wanted to slap his face for that laugh, to express, in a very physical way, her outrage at what he was doing to her, and the fact that he found her distress amusing. The dance brought them back together, and he made it clear just how supremely certain he was of her decision.

  “Good. Do enjoy your last few hours of freedom, my Lady. Once you tell me, we can make an announcement – what a perfect piece of timing.”

  Isabelle said nothing, although, internally, she was filled with anger and fear, equally intermixed.

  Part of her still desperately hoped for a miracle, for a way to end this night without becoming betrothed to Lord Scarpdale – but she knew that hope was foolish – there was no escape. When the dance ended, she allowed him to escort her back to her sister, and was immensely relieved when he left her there, and went off to talk to some of the other men. Eugenia looked at her curiously.

  “I do not think that I like Lord Scarpdale, Isabelle. I wonder that you danced with him.”

  “I could not politely refuse, Eugenia. And he is not so different from most men.”

  She nearly choked on the lie, but what could she say? Eugenia must never know why Isabelle had accepted Lord Scarpdale. At that moment, she looked across the ballroom, and saw that Lady Marguerite had arrived. Isabelle went to greet her, glad of the excuse to avoid further discussion of Lord Scarpdale. Marguerite seemed happy, and Isabelle was g
lad, for she had been miserable for months, since the man she had hoped to marry had chosen to court another. Soon, Isabelle moved from Marguerite, who had been asked to dance by Lord Fortis, a man with a reputation as a rake, which made Isabelle concerned on Marguerite’s behalf, and made sure that she was always in conversation with one or another guest, and never available to dance. She simply could not face the idea of dancing, and being expected to converse with gentlemen, when her heart was so heavy.

  The ploy held until supper, when the orchestra took a break whilst everyone partook of the refreshments provided. As Isabelle turned towards the room with supper laid out, she stopped, a little shocked.

  She knew that her mother had invited half the ton, but still, she had not expected to see Lord Henry here. The man who had broken Marguerite’s heart. Marguerite would not be happy to see him. But, Isabelle saw, she already had. A tense scene played out before her. Another moment of distress in what was the most distressing evening of her life, where it should have been filled with Christmas joy.

  As soon as Marguerite had finished the drink and the food that she had, she came to Isabelle, and they slipped away to a quiet room to talk.

  “Marguerite, my dear. I had no idea Lord Henry would be in attendance tonight. Are you terribly put out? Do you think you’ll be able to spend the rest of the evening here? I could have your carriage prepared right away if you wish to leave. I am sure that your father would understand.”

  Marguerite assured her that would not be necessary, and spoke of her new acquaintance with Lord Fortis. Isabelle’s heart sank – she could not bear to see her friend taken in by another uncaring rake. Her own experience with Lord Banfield had left her deeply wary of such men, and Lord Scarpdale had only strengthened her poor opinion. She carefully did not consider Dangerfield in that context, even though his rakish reputation was rather more so than Lord Fortis’. Instead, she warned Marguerite of Lord Fortis’ reputation, even though Marguerite’s disappointment at her words hurt to see.

  “My dearest friend, you must not fall for the charms of Lord Fortis. Though he is good friends with my brother, the gentleman has the most terrible reputation in Town, for being a scoundrel with other young ladies. I’m afraid the man is no better than Lord Henry in that regard.”

  After a little more conversation, Marguerite decided that she did, after all, want to leave. Isabelle was uncertain how she truly felt about that, as she went to have their carriage arranged, and sent a footman to Marguerite’s father. In the end, she decided that having Marguerite see her claimed by Lord Scarpdale would have been too hard to bear, anyway.

  Returning to the ballroom, Isabelle saw a number of intense conversations apparently occurring in the room, and wondered that Christmas seemed to bring out both the worst and the best in people, when those who had not seen each other for months met again. Her ruminations on the character of the people she knew were interrupted by the appearance of the Duke of Dangerfield at her side.

  “Lady Isabelle, might I have this dance?”

  Isabelle swallowed back a sudden urge to tears. Yes, she wanted to dance with him, to feel his arms around her, to have a last moment of happiness, before Scarpdale took all joy from her life. But to do so was dangerous, for she might begin to hope again. This man led her to dreams of a future which was impossible. She loved him, but nothing could ever come of it. After tonight, she would belong to another. Yet she found herself taking the arm that he offered, and allowing him to lead her to the floor.

  The orchestra began to play, and she realised that it was a waltz. Dangerfield swung her into his arms, smiling down at her, his deep brown eyes like sunlit forest pools she could drown in. At first, he said nothing, simply moving with her. It was like floating, natural, perfect, effortless. Isabelle felt as if, for those moments, she was suspended in a dream. She clung to him, treasuring what would be her last touch of him, as they danced.

  ~~~~~

  Lyon had watched her, throughout the evening. She had gone from one friend and acquaintance to another, always talking, always appearing as cheerful as she could, but the paleness of her face still spoke to how distressed she was inside, no matter the cheerful surface. She had not danced, not since that dance with Scarpdale, and he suspected that she was intentionally avoiding it. For her deadline from Scarpdale was approaching, and there was, as yet, no other solution, no way to save her. Save one. The one that he still hesitated about.

  Yet his heart ached, and he yearned to go to her, to touch her, to protect her. Through supper, he wrestled with his own feelings, and the rather stark contrast they made to everything that he had intended, when he stepped into the carriage to come to Kilmerstan Castle. Then, he had been bitter, blue-devilled, and determined that he would never trust a woman again, never allow himself to care for a woman again. Yet here he was, doing both. More than caring, he loved her. He could not deny it, for every moment of the evening, every moment that brought her closer to Scarpdale’s deadline, showed him her strength, and her courage. She had made a choice for her sister’s sake, and she fully intended to go through with it, no matter what it did to her. Most men he knew did not have that sort of courage.

  It all made him love her the more. In that instant, he knew what he had to do. There really was no option, no matter that he had been avoiding facing that, through his own fear. He would not let the shadow of Josephine’s faithlessness steal this from him.

  The only thing which could save her from Scarpdale was marriage to another. And, if she was to marry anyone, it would be him – he was not willing to lose her. Now, he had one single challenge before him – he had to convince her to accept. He was quite sure that she would prevaricate, believing him to be acting out of kindness, rather than love. He looked for her, but she was not to be seen, and he worried that she had retired to her room – but no, there she was, just returning to the ballroom.

  He went straight to her. Words failed him. he needed more time. The orchestra began tuning up, and he grasped at the opportunity.

  “Lady Isabelle, might I have this dance?”

  She considered him silently, her blue-violet eyes full of conflicting emotions, and for a moment he thought that she might simply flee. But she did not. She gave the tiniest of nods, and took his arm.

  It was a waltz, and never had he been more grateful to hear that particular piece of music, for it would allow him to speak to her, without the interruptions which were inevitable in a country dance. He swept her into his arms, and into the flow of dancers. It was wonderful, dreamlike, as if he floated in a space where no one else existed but Lady Isabelle. She clung to him, as a drowning man would cling to a floating log, as if he was her only anchor in the world, the last real thing that she might touch. That desperate grasp unlocked something in his heart and mind. Suddenly, the words seemed the easiest thing in the world to say.

  “Marry me, Isabelle, please?”

  “Marry….”

  “Yes. If you are betrothed, what can Scarpdale do? Even if he tells people, I can make it seem that he is a liar, for who would expect me to marry a woman who had done what he claims?”

  “But… do you care for me? Is this only an act of noble sacrifice?”

  Exactly as he had expected – she was a woman willing to make noble sacrifices herself, it was reasonable that she should suspect others of doing the same. It was time for him to make a declaration he had never expected to make.

  “I care. More than I ever expected to care for anyone again. I love you, Isabelle. To marry you is no sacrifice, it will be a joy.”

  The dance swirled them on, neither of them considering it at all, dancing entirely by instinct. He waited, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had in his life, more vulnerable than when faced by another man’s duelling pistol or sword. For truly, if she refused, it would be as if his heart had been cut out. Finally, she gave an almost infinitesimal nod of her head.

  “Then yes, if that is truth, I will marry you, for I have come to care for you too – I h
ave been a fool before, thinking myself in love – this time, I know better. This is real.”

  He tightened his grasp on her, as unadulterated joy flooded his being. He wanted to kiss her, right then and there, before everyone – but he did not – she needed no touch of scandal on her.

  “Thank you, Isabelle. I promise that you will never regret marrying me. But let us go to your brother now – the sooner an announcement is made, the sooner Scarpdale loses his power.”

  He spun her into the next turn of the waltz, and kept turning, out of the dancers, until they stopped, not far from Kilmerstan, who looked somewhat startled by their rapid approach. Placing Lady Isabelle’s hand on his arm, he led her, rather more sedately, the last distance until he came to a stop before Kilmerstan, who was surrounded by his wife, his mother, and his sister.

  Kilmerstan raised an enquiring eyebrow, and waited for him to speak.

  “I fear that I have been most precipitate, Your Grace, for I have just asked your sister to marry me, and she has accepted. I pray that you grant us your blessing, perhaps even announce the matter to those assembled?”

  Kilmerstan looked stunned, and his mother looked delighted, if a little surprised. Kilmerstan turned a considering gaze upon Lady Isabelle, and Lyon had the distinct feeling that Kilmerstan was sure that there was something far more complex than it seemed at play. But Lady Isabelle reached out and touched his hand

  “Garrett, this is what I want, please…”

  Kilmerstan flicked his gaze back to Lyon, and gave the smallest of nods at his expression. Lyon surmised from that, that for once in his life, his emotions were clear to read on his face.

  “As you wish then – Dangerfield, I will expect you to make my sister happy, and you will answer for it, if you do not!”

  “I fully intend to make her happy, Kilmerstan, as she has made me happy already.”

  Lady Isabelle looked up at him and smiled.