How to Tempt a Duke

by Madeline Martin

  Chapter Ten

  Charles hadn’t thought Lady Eleanor’s back could possibly get any straighter. But then she hadn’t known him to be so blatant a liar and a fraud before. His stomach swam with unease as he peered through the door crack to where Lady Eleanor was perched tightly on a chair in Lottie’s drawing room.

  This was not going to go smoothly.

  Lottie nodded at him, and he knew it was time to make their wrongs right. She strode in first, with Charles following behind her, as they’d always done.

  Lady Eleanor rose from the stiff-backed seat she hadn’t truly needed and turned a blank face in his direction. Despite her implacability, her cheeks were flushed with a brilliant red, as they’d been during tea. She was not as unaffected as she would have liked herself to be perceived.

  Charles stepped around Lottie. “Lady Eleanor, I can explain. If you’d give me—”

  “I understand well enough.” Her eyes flashed behind her emotionless mask. “You thought I’d be at the modiste, and you presumed to impose upon my mother in my absence so your identity might remain a secret. My presence startled you into offering to court me rather than admit your true purpose.”

  Well. There wasn’t much more to add to it than that. She’d surmised it quite succinctly. Surprisingly and rather unfortunately.

  “You lied to me when I confided in you.”

  Her voice gave a delicate tremble. The slight break in her tightly reined composure cut into him more deeply than any slice she could make with her tongue.

  “Why were you there?”

  Charles remained mute, unable to tell her, unable even to open his mouth under the weight of the truth.

  Lady Eleanor scoffed. “You can’t even tell me? After you lied about why you were there? After you lied about your title? After you lied about finding me desirable enough to court?”

  “It was me,” Lottie said softly. “I didn’t tell you he was a duke. I only meant to keep you from casting him out due to your fathers’ association. I knew he would be ideal to assist you and I trust him implicitly.”

  Lady Eleanor regarded Lottie for a long moment. When she finally spoke, Charles knew the words were meant for him.

  “Your trust is more steadfast than my own. But then he did not seek to avoid you as a means of taking advantage of your mother. He did not make a fool of you.”

  Lady Eleanor drew in a long, slow breath and carefully let it out, the inhalation and exhalation both very apparent in the silence of the room. “I need your help, Lottie, or I would leave posthaste. The Duke of Somersville, however, is no longer necessary, and I find his assistance bothersome. Will you be so kind as to ask him to leave?”

  The request smacked Charles in the chest like a punch. This woman who had confided in him with their candid discussions, who had smiled at him with all the warmth of a summer sun, was now casting him out. But then, he truly deserved it. His deception had been deplorable and his cover attempt unforgivable.

  Lottie pulled her head back, as if she too had been viscerally struck by so powerful a request. She turned to Charles, all pretense of poise and her newly adopted sensuality giving way to wide-eyed shock. Her mouth opened and closed without issuing either an order or a protest.

  Charles would not be able to call himself a gentleman if he left Lottie in the awkward predicament of having to choose between her sole pupil and source of income and her lifelong friend.

  He bowed first to Lady Eleanor, and his heart dragged into his stomach as though it had been affixed with a weight. “Forgive me my transgressions. I understand that they were egregious and hope you do not seek to exact your frustrations upon Lottie, as she truly wants nothing more than to help you succeed.” Next he bowed to Lottie. “I shall take my leave.”

  Lottie nodded, her eyes luminous with regret and quiet gratitude.

  He strode from the room with all the confidence a cad such as he could muster. His error had been egregious indeed, and the cost had been heavy. Aside from jeopardizing the opportunity to reclaim the journals, he had also compromised his ability to help Lottie in her new endeavor. There was also the loss of Lady Eleanor’s hard-won trust.

  The entire ordeal left his stomach knotted and a dull, aching sensation in his chest.

  Rather than show him out, Lottie’s butler escorted him to the library. “Miss Lottie will wish to speak with you once Lady Eleanor has gone.”

  Charles gave him an appreciative nod and sank into an oversized chair beside the hearth. He stared into the flames, watching them writhe and twist against one another as a similar inferno blazed within him.

  At long last, the door to the library groaned open.

  “She’s gone,” Lottie said in a somber tone. “And she’s quite upset. I do not believe she trusts often...but I think—I think she did trust you.”

  Charles closed his eyes against the pain of Lottie’s words. There was more truth to what she said than he wanted to admit. He knew Lady Eleanor had indeed spoken to him in confidence. Their conversation on the path flashed back to him, when she’d thanked him for his honesty and expressed her genuine appreciation for having an opportunity to speak frankly. She’d given him her confidence and he’d responded with betrayal.

  He’d hurt her.

  The thought made something in his heart wrench painfully.

  Regaining his composure, he rose from the chair and faced Lottie. “I should have told her the truth about my title.”

  Her brow creased. “I never should have put you in that situation. I worried it would frighten her off.”

  “I never should have gone to her mother.” Charles put into words his deepest regrets. “Nor should I have attempted to hide my true purpose by asking to court her. Rather than flatter her, I have deeply offended her.” He shook his head. “I do not know how to fix this, Lottie.”

  She sighed—a weary, defeated sound. “And you have not acquired what you need to find your lost stone.”

  Charles blinked. The journals. Yes. He had not even considered them in light of his misdeeds. Damn. But how the devil did Lottie know...?

  “How did you know I needed information from her?” Charles asked.

  Lottie gave him a sad smile. “Because I know you far too well, Charles. Your hatred for Westix is strong enough that there would need to be a motivation greater than myself to lure you into aiding me in this endeavor.”

  Charles truly was a cad. He ground his back teeth, but it did not quell the disgust tightening through him.

  “But you still assisted me.” Lottie patted his forearm. “I know if I’d come to you for help when I needed it all those years ago you would have been there.”

  “I would have been,” Charles said resolutely. “I still would now.”

  Lottie’s mouth tucked at the corner. “You needn’t worry about me, but I would like you to make things right with Lady Eleanor.”

  Charles scoffed. “I doubt she will speak to me ever again.”

  “I disagree.” Lottie tapped her lips in thought. “Go to the masquerade ball.”

  Charles wished he had a glass of liquor in his hand—something strong enough to burn away the ache in his chest. “She has no desire to see me.”

  “Nor talk to you, nor hear your explanation. But if you’re at the ball with her...” Lottie smiled and gave a musing nod at her own plan. “She can’t refuse a dance with you—unless she isn’t planning to dance at all, which we know she won’t do. It will be the perfect opportunity to explain yourself.”

  Truly, the idea was preposterous. His actions had only proved correct everything she’d grown up learning: it was best for him to stay behind an unaffected shield and to dim all emotion.

  “I would suggest honesty this time.” Lottie leveled her gaze at him. “What other choice do you have?”

  A heavy sigh pressed from his lungs. “You’re right.” He owed it to
his father to try again to get those journals. And he owed it to Lady Eleanor, whom he had never thought he would be beholden to, to explain the breach of her hard-won trust.

  “Of course I am.” Lottie gave a nonchalant shoulder-lift at her victory. “So you’ll go?”

  “As long as I can get an invitation on such short notice.”

  Lottie laughed at that. “You’re the new Duke of Somersville, just arrived into London after a five-year absence during which you traveled the world in search of ancient treasure. You could show up in rags and they’d still welcome you.”

  No doubt his appearance would set all the tongues wagging. He cringed at the idea. “I’ll go as a pirate,” he said grudgingly.

  Lottie’s expression became serious. “I know you loathe balls, and other such social functions, but Lady Eleanor is going to be nervous. She could use a friendly face to settle her nerves.” She tilted her head in consideration. “Or at least a familiar one. Someone to help ward off the legions of suitors who will seek her attention.”

  Charles narrowed his eyes. Legions of suitors. He nearly scoffed again. But then recalled his idea of her gown, of how she would appear as an Ice Queen with her fire-red hair. Lottie was correct.

  “I’ve said I’ll go,” he said gruffly. Grumpily, really, if he was being honest. “So I can have another shot at getting my father’s journals,” he added for good measure.

  “Of course. For the journals.”

  Lottie gave him a coy look he did not think he liked. But, while he didn’t appreciate her implication, or the annoying way she tapped his nose after she said it, he was looking forward to another opportunity to claim the journals.

  And, blast it, he was anticipating with pleasure seeing Lady Eleanor as well.

  To make things right, of course.

  Or so he told himself.

  * * *

  Eleanor’s decision to be an Ice Queen for the masquerade ball had been the product of the mind of the woman she wanted to be, not necessarily the woman she truly was. In her mind, wearing the dazzling pale-blue-and-white gown would make her heedless of people’s opinions. She’d thought she might sweep into the ball like a queen, make the wittiest of remarks and confidently meet the eye of every eligible peer in the room.

  She could not have been more wrong.

  Everything she’d recently learned cautioned her against giving in to the desire to frost over, while every innate defense within her demanded she curl up inside herself. What was left was a very miserable and socially confused Eleanor. Her mother’s expectant stare did not help, and nor did the pressing watchfulness of the masked attendees.

  Why, why, why had she insisted on trying to throw the ton’s words back at them? And why had her mother insisted on her having the costume made?

  Now Eleanor was merely a fool draped in a costly gown and the burden of intense disappointment.

  No one had approached her...no one had asked her to dance. No one had even bothered to acknowledge her or beg an introduction. The weight of failure crushed in on her. She tried to stave off such thoughts, and instead repeated the rules Lottie had given her.

  Smile. Be sincere. Make eye contact. Believe in yourself.

  Those last words made her want to give a choke of laughter. For how could she believe in herself when she didn’t even feel comfortable behind a physical mask?

  Even as she tried to relax, every muscle in her body locked up, followed by the stiffening of her limbs and the straightening of her back to an impossible level of rigidity. The shield was up, locked so tightly in place that it could not be brought down by all the kittens in London.

  “Lady Eleanor.”

  The smooth, masculine voice was entirely too familiar. Her stomach twisted in anger and her heart gave a walloping thump against her ribs. She turned and met the brilliant ocean-blue eyes of the Duke of Somersville.

  A fascinating thing happened then—for, despite the hostility of her ire, and in spite of the lies of omission and blatant betrayal offered by the Duke, Eleanor immediately felt herself soften.

  “Your Grace.” She offered a slight curtsey.

  “You did dress as an Ice Queen after all.”

  His mouth quirked up. The arrogance in his expression scraped over her ragged nerves.

  “Evidently,” she replied.

  “Ah...an unforgiving Ice Queen,” he amended.

  Eleanor glanced over the black fitted breeches, ruffled shirt and old-fashioned black jacket. The growth of hair on his jaw was unshaven, giving him a dangerous air. In fact, all of him appeared rather dangerous and far too alluring.

  “And what are you? A rogue? Lord Charles?”

  The Duke of Somersville swept into an elaborate bow and straightened. “I am a humble pirate.”

  “Shouldn’t you possess at least a modicum of humility in order to refer to yourself as humble?”

  He smirked. “Touché! You make me regret leaving my sword at home. I hadn’t realized I’d be up against so sharp a wit.”

  Eleanor found her lips curling into a smile. She was flirting, she realized, and comfortably. What was more, she was enjoying herself immensely, even though she was furious with him. How could he make her do that when she was so irate still?

  His expression turned serious—a rather becoming look with his whisker-darkened jaw. “Dance with me, my unforgiving Ice Queen.”

  She studied him for a long moment, the answer hovering on her tongue. “If I refuse...?”

  “I daresay your mother might be glad of it. But you won’t refuse me. To do so would be considered rude, and the Ice Queen, while unforgiving, is anything but rude.” He held out his arm to her.

  “Am I so predictable?” She slid her arm through his.

  “No, actually.” He grinned at her, his teeth all the more startling white against his whiskered jaw. “Not at all.”

  The quiet amusement in his tone created a slow, pleasant warmth in her stomach as he led her through the room toward the dance floor.

  “It was inexcusable for me to lie to you.” His voice was little more than a low hum beneath the chatter of surrounding conversations.

  The quiet joy in her ebbed. “You made me a fool.”

  Heat scorched her cheeks and suddenly she regretted her decision to dance with him. She would take ill manners over yet another humiliation at the hands of this man.

  “No.” His eyes locked on hers. “I was the fool. I have enjoyed our friendship and now I’ve ruined it.” His brow lifted and he turned his head slightly to the side. “Almost ruined it?” he asked hopefully.

  She wanted to sigh in exasperation. How was she supposed to keep her wits about her when he looked at her so beseechingly?

  She clenched her jaw. If he wanted to continue their friendship she would get what she wanted from this son of her father’s enemy: answers.

  “Why did you do it?” Before he could answer, she added, “And I warn you not to lie to me this time.”

  Several people stared at them as they passed, their eyes alight with interest...watching. But then they were always watching, were they not? How could she be genuine when she was so very much on display?

  Eleanor’s body began to stiffen once more.

  The Duke of Somersville’s arm tightened, drawing her closer to the strength of his body. “I vow to be completely truthful going forward. You have my word as a gentleman.”

  He came around to face her, preparing for the opening of the dance. Her heart fluttered. The waltz.

  She had only practiced it before with her dance master. In fact, she had been sorely tempted to decline each time she practiced because of the dance’s vulgarity.

  Though the patronesses of Almack’s had sanctioned it, and given their permission to the ton in doing so, Eleanor had never actually performed the steps at a ball. No doubt her father would have locked her in he
r room for all eternity for even considering doing so now. And with the Duke of Somersville, no less.

  The Duke gave her an encouraging nod and she stepped toward him, placing her left hand on his jacket as his arm came around to lightly touch her shoulder blade. The brush of his gloves whispered over her back, where her skin was bare.

  A shiver tickled through her. It was easy to understand why the waltz was considered so scandalous.

  He gave her a half smile, boyish and lazy and altogether too charming. It set her heart pounding before the dance could even begin. How would she endure an entire set thus?

  She found herself so near to him she could make out every single eyelash around his eyes...could see the beautiful blue was flecked with a subtle pale green she’d never noticed before. The exhalation of his breath teased against the length of her neck like a gentle breeze, tantalizing and intimate. Her stomach quivered and her nipples drew tight where they pressed into the security of her stays.

  “Why did you lie to me?” she asked, determined not to let herself be swept away by his attractiveness, determined not to let his transgressions pass without accountability.

  The opening notes of the waltz cut in, and the Duke lifted his arm to meet the fingertips of her raised right hand.

  His expression became earnest. “I was afraid if you knew whose son I was you would hate me.”

  She paused a moment in the dance. “Why would I hate you?”

  “Because of our fathers’ past.”

  “Did you hate me?” Eleanor lowered her arm. “When we first met?”

  He held her waist at a respectable distance—for the waltz, that was—and began to spin around with her. “I didn’t know you.”

  The world whirled around and around and around in a heady rush. “You know me now,” she said breathlessly.

  “Yes, I believe I do.”

  The spinning stopped for a moment and they resumed their careful hold on one another, her hand atop his hard shoulder and his at the nakedness of her back.