How to Tempt a Duke

by Madeline Martin

  Reality crashed into his ruminating. He was consorting with the enemy—enjoying it, no less—and was not a single step closer to obtaining the stone.

  Charles ground his teeth in frustration and shook his head. “It still eludes me. Damn them for making this so difficult.”

  “If it isn’t the stone...” She pursed her lips and captured him in the line of her scrutiny. Her mouth fell open. “Is it a lady?”

  Charles smirked and turned away to fill a glass with liquid resilience, seeing the possibility of a Lottie-mandated inquisition. “I assure you, it is not.”

  “Oh, pish. You can’t fool me.” Lottie’s voice drew closer as she did. “Everyone is susceptible to love. Even you.” With the last word, she tapped the tip of his nose.

  Love. The idea was laughable. Of all the people to love, the offspring of the Earl of Westix was the last on Charles’s list.

  He splashed a bit of Scotch into his glass and slid a sideways glance in her direction. “I find your jaunty assessment reprehensible.”

  “It’s all part of my charm.” She propped a hand on her hip and grinned impishly up at him. “Aren’t you supposed to wed now that you’re a duke?”

  “After I’ve found the stone,” Charles muttered into his glass, and took a sip of his Scotch.

  The butler appeared through the double doors. “Lady Eleanor has arrived.”

  Charles kept his face impassive, lest Lottie manage to notice any change in his features. While he did not hold affection for Lady Eleanor, he was anticipating seeing her with pleasure. After all, she was softening toward him through their discussions. It would take a few meetings more, but if things continued he would no doubt convince her to give him the journals.

  It was only a matter of time.

  Chapter Seven

  Being open was extremely difficult for Eleanor at her next set of lessons, despite the allure of it. Her first bout of tedious introductions proved her absent genuine appeal, and the second didn’t let the feigned enjoyment reach her eyes.

  In truth, pleasantness was a trying feat to perform when one’s stomach was knotted into a storm of anxiety.

  Charles nodded encouragingly at her. “Perhaps think of a humorous thought or event.”

  “You know ladies are not to give in to the effects of mirth. It’s common.” She hated her father’s words on her own tongue, and yet she could not fully cast them aside. “And it’s impossible to think of anything comical with the two of you staring so expectantly at me. As if I’m...on display. It’s most unsettling.”

  Lottie tapped a finger on her bottom lip in contemplation before jolting upright suddenly. “I have an idea. Do excuse me.”

  Charles met Eleanor’s gaze in the empty room—too beautifully blue, too familiar. The unease in her stomach tightened.

  “Smile at me,” he said. “I promise not to ravish you in the time Lottie is gone.”

  He winked at her, the rogue.

  Eleanor stretched a smile over her lips once more. Her mouth trembled with the effort.

  Lord Charles cocked an eyebrow in a debonair display of consideration. “You look like you’re trying too hard to smile.”

  The man was insufferable.

  “I am trying too hard to smile,” she exclaimed.

  “Well, it’s coming across as a blend of grimace and snarl, as though you intend to tear out my throat.”

  A smile did come to her lips then, natural and easy. “And what if that was my intention?”

  “I prefer nibbles to bites,” he answered. “Just below my ear, if you should like to know.”

  Eleanor’s tongue went thick in her mouth and stuck fast, paralyzing the prospect of saying anything witty or even vaguely intelligible. Her stare drifted to his neck, where strong muscle showed at his tanned throat. Was he serious? About nibbling his neck?

  After all, how did one nibble against another’s skin? Was it in dainty pinches between the front teeth, as when she ate at the edges of a delicious marzipan flower, too pretty to eat and too delicate to keep? Or perhaps an act akin to the nip of one’s lip in a moment of consideration?

  And how would it feel? To the one being nibbled and the one doing the nibbling?

  Lottie reappeared suddenly with a basket carefully propped against her hip. “I believe these ought to elicit some warmth.”

  She set the basket carefully on the ground. Eleanor leaned close and lifted the blanket on the top to reveal a lazy gray tabby nestled along the bottom. Half a dozen puffs of gray-and-white fur wriggled over her soft belly.

  “I thought Silky had been getting fat on her complacent life here in London.” Lottie stroked the mother cat’s head, affectionately rubbing her ears. A contented purr vibrated in the air. “Turns out she was merely in a delicate way. Aren’t they terribly precious?”

  She scooped up one of the furry bundles with her cupped hand and cradled it to her chest. The mother watched vigilantly as her baby was taken. A squeaking cry came from the ball of fur, repetitive and desperate.

  Lottie pressed a kiss to the tiny gray head and grinned at Eleanor. “Would you like to hold one?” She cradled her hands around the small bundle and its cries fell silent as it snuggled against her.

  An eager excitement dashed through Eleanor. “The mother won’t mind?”

  “Silky is grateful for the reprieve, and I know you’ll be gentle.”

  At Lottie’s words, the gray tabby licked her paw and scrubbed at her face, confirming her mistress’s claims. Eleanor did not wait for a second invitation. With the same care she’d seen Lottie utilize, Eleanor lifted up the wriggling warmth of a new kitten.

  The pitching mewls of protest began immediately and a fat belly writhed against her palm. The kitten’s claws dug into Eleanor’s skin like miniature needles, but she was not so easily deterred. She cooed quietly to the baby and tucked it against her chest. The mewling ceased.

  “Focus on how you’re feeling right now,” Lottie said in a low, soothing voice. “The kitten offers no judgment, no scrutinizing assessment. You are protection and you are comfort to her. Let yourself cast aside your fears and embrace the quiet delight of such a treasure. There is no need to ever be afraid of being who you are.”

  Eleanor set her attention to Lottie’s words. The kitten’s belly rose and fell with even breaths beneath a delicate set of ribs and its blue eyes blinked slowly closed. How very precious. And how true were the words of instruction.

  There was nothing to be afraid of here, in the presence of people she trusted, while cradling a small cat who had fallen asleep cupped between her palm and her chest.

  “Lady Eleanor...”

  Lottie’s smooth voice nudged into Eleanor’s enjoyment of a kitten lying fast asleep just above her heart.

  “I’d like to introduce you to Lord Charles.”

  Eleanor looked up and found Charles watching her with a smile quirking his full mouth. She beamed up at him. “It’s lovely to meet you, Lord Charles.” The kitten shifted at the sound of her voice and climbed higher on her gown with its needlelike claws. Eleanor couldn’t help but giggle at its clumsy movements. “I’d curtsey, but I am otherwise detained. I do hope you’ll forgive me?”

  “If you swear to look at me like that again someday, I will forgive you any transgression.”

  There was a low softness to his tone and it pulled at something deep within her chest. He was watching her with a pensive expression that made the skin around his eyes tighten in a very alluring manner.

  “Lady Eleanor, you are a beautiful young woman, but when you smile you are wholly and completely captivating.”

  Captivating?

  Her?

  She’d always been prim, proper and well-behaved. Perhaps beautiful, if she were inclined to believe his prior compliments. But captivating—never.

  “Thank you.” She said it in a clear v
oice, which was a wonder in and of itself when the rest of her had turned suddenly weak and trembling.

  She turned her attention where it was the safest in application—to the slumbering ball of warmth nestled against her chest. Emotions held exceptional power. She’d spent her entire life fighting against them, squeezing, strapping and binding them into a solitary, biddable place. How could she simply let loose the stays? Would they not all explode in a riot of chaos?

  There was perhaps only one way to find out: to cast her fate to the stars and allow Lottie to help pull free the ties.

  * * *

  Charles had grudgingly admitted that Eleanor was a pretty woman. Even her red hair, which some of the ton had described as gaudy, he found uniquely fascinating in the way it set off the creaminess of her skin. But when she smiled, truly smiled, it transformed her face into a beauty no one could deny.

  Good God. If she greeted every man with such open affection, and if they all were granted the glint of those bewitching green eyes, Lady Eleanor would be in no danger of consigning herself to a spinster’s life.

  The kitten had settled itself contentedly against the elegant curve of her collarbone. Funny that Charles hadn’t noticed before the lovely smoothness of her fair skin, the graceful arch of her long neck.

  Lottie caught Charles’s eye. She lifted her brows in a confident manner which radiated the unctuous touting of her victory.

  For her part, Lady Eleanor had dropped her attention back to the furry body cuddled against her.

  “Now that you’ve been properly introduced, perhaps we ought to progress to conversation,” said Lottie, and carefully lifted the kitten from her lap and replaced it alongside its mother.

  Lady Eleanor removed the kitten from her chest and laughed softly as the beast tried to crawl back up her arm. After a few moments she freed the creature and returned it to its mother. The smile hovered in her eyes and left a particularly lovely flush to her cheeks.

  Lottie gently set aside the basket in a quiet corner of the room and pulled the blanket over it. Lady Eleanor elegantly rose to her feet and he saw the familiar stiffness take up residence in her shoulders. But then after a lifetime of wearing such rigidity it could not be cast aside with the ease of a cloak. It would take time...practice.

  Except all the time it took to perfect was time Charles was without the journals.

  He had been sitting on the floor beside the ladies, but now pushed himself to his feet without ceremony. After all, there was no proper protocol for the etiquette involving ladies on the ground playing with animals.

  Now standing, he offered a courteous bow. “How are you this evening, Lady Eleanor?”

  The transformation was immediate. The light in her eyes was shuttered, leaving stark politeness in its place.

  “I’m well, thank you.” Her words were devoid of the friendliness they’d been brimming with only moments before. “And how are you?”

  “Well, thank you. I wonder if I might be fortunate enough to claim you for a dance?” He grinned down at her in the hope that she might relax more. “Forgive me for being so bold, but I must say you look lovely this evening.”

  She gave a perfunctory smile. “Thank you. I’d be honored to dance with you.”

  A thick and uncomfortable silence thudded between them.

  Lady Eleanor’s brow puckered. “This is terribly awkward...”

  “Perhaps I may offer some suggestions.” Lottie appeared beside them. “You are a reader, from what I understand?”

  Lady Eleanor’s face lit up. “I am.”

  “And do you immerse yourself in the stories when you read them?”

  “Oh, indeed,” breathed Lady Eleanor.

  Charles stared in wonder. Was Lady Eleanor truly being wistful?

  “Close your eyes and imagine being a character in one of your favorite books during a romantic scene.”

  The expression on Lady Eleanor’s face relaxed, and when she opened her eyes once more there was intimacy in her expression. Lottie nudged Charles and nodded at him.

  He offered Lady Eleanor the lazy half smile women had always seemed to hold in high regard. “Good evening, Lady Eleanor. You look enchanting. I trust you are well?”

  Lady Eleanor peered up at him through a veil of black lashes. “Quite, thank you. And yourself?”

  Good God. “All the better now.”

  A tinge of color swept over her cheeks. A glint of something mischievous shone in her eyes. When she looked at him like that, as if she were teasing him with a secret, he could stare at her all day. It was suddenly too easy to imagine her laid out on a chaise longue, the top of her gown falling from a naked shoulder, that glorious red hair spilling over the swell of her breasts.

  “Dance with me this evening.” He hadn’t said it as an invitation or an offer. It was a command, and one he wished he had the right to make.

  She met his eyes and held his gaze. “With pleasure, My Lord.”

  He held out his hand and she took it, her kid leather gloves soft in his palm.

  “Superb...” Lottie’s voice stole into the private moment.

  Charles eased back at once, granting room for her to approach. The interruption was exactly what he had needed.

  Westix.

  The reminder blared through his mind. She was the daughter of his enemy. He was here for the journals. What the devil was he doing, letting himself be swept away by a mere smile?

  “Lady Eleanor, how simply marvelous.” Lottie clapped aloud, as if it were an opera that played out before her instead of a conversation. “You let a piece of yourself free. I saw it on your face. One such look to a man will make him feel important. He will not be able to stop his thoughts from fixing on you, focused and wonderfully enraptured.”

  It appeared Lottie had a strong grasp of what made up the male mind. Charles did his best not to be affronted by her perfectly accurate assessment.

  Eleanor inclined her head graciously, accepting the praise with humble pride. “Your instruction has been integral, Lottie.” Those green eyes turned on Charles and her mouth opened in preparation to speak.

  A knock sounded at the great double doors. The footman entered and announced that Eleanor’s carriage had arrived.

  “Has it been an hour already?” she exclaimed.

  “It has, unfortunately,” Lottie replied. “Shall we expect you tomorrow?”

  Lady Eleanor settled the blonde wig on her head, albeit slightly askew. “Please do. Especially if I might see the kittens once more.”

  Lottie laughed, and Charles felt his own lips teased into a smile by her gleeful hope.

  “You may certainly see the kittens once more.” Lottie delicately straightened the wig, so all the bounty of that red hair lay hidden by the coiffure of pale tresses.

  Once Eleanor had departed, Charles turned his attention to Lottie and found her watching him with a small smirk, her hand propped against her hip.

  “You were in rare form tonight, Your Grace.” She lowered her head and teased him with a coy expression. “I think you’ve changed your mind about Lady Eleanor.”

  Indeed, he had not. A lovely smile or no, the woman was still the offspring of the Earl of Westix. Even if he’d made her life as difficult as he’d made Charles’s. And, while Lottie was aware of Charles’s need to acquire the journals from Eleanor, she didn’t know it was his primary reason for accepting the opportunity to aid her in this bizarre venture.

  He brushed at a bit of kitten fur on his sleeve and didn’t deign to reply.

  “Hmmm...”

  Lottie nodded slowly, her head tilted in purposeful observation, her gaze sharpening too perceptively for his taste. As though she knew something he did not. And he didn’t like it one bit.

  Chapter Eight

  The following evening Charles took his time, deliberately not arriving early at Lottie’s. H
e refused to feed her implication that he might harbor affection for Lady Eleanor. Indeed, he rejected the very idea. Why, his father would turn about in his grave at such a consideration.

  “Any more discoveries in your search for the stone?” Lottie asked, once they were settled in the drawing room.

  A servant entered and placed a glass of sherry on the small side table, the same as was done every night when Lady Eleanor came.

  “She never drinks it.” He nodded to the full glass.

  “It’s there if she wants it.” Lottie shrugged and turned her attention back to him. “And that’s a no on the stone, I assume?”

  He had uncovered nothing of use in the pile of boxes from the country estate. Not that he’d expected his efforts to yield what he needed. After all, his father would have easily uncovered the ruby’s location if the necessary information had been in his possession. No, Westix had to have it. Why else would the late Earl have refused to relinquish any of his items?

  Charles tapped his finger impatiently on the mahogany tabletop holding various bottles of liquor. “If only I had all the journals.”

  If only he were close enough to Lady Eleanor to ask her for them. But he’d made far too much headway with her to risk losing all by asking too precipitously. Especially with Lottie’s future at risk.

  “Have you ever considered approaching the Countess of Westix for them?” Lottie asked.

  He gave a grunt of dissatisfaction. “And have Lady Eleanor discover who I am?”

  “She’ll find out eventually. Do you truly think you can keep up this charade and fool her forever?”

  “It was your decision to introduce me as Lord Charles.”

  Lottie threw her hair over her shoulder and gave him a saucy look. “I hadn’t planned on you getting so close with her.”

  The doors opened, saving him from having to respond. The subject of their conversation entered in a whisper of silk, her cheeks pink from the chill of the night air.

  “I have been invited to Lady Covington’s masquerade ball this Tuesday. Do you think I might be ready in time?”