How to Catch a Devilish Duke: The Disreputable Debutantes

by Bennett, Amy Rose

  “You were expecting him?”

  “Well yes, considering Nate and Sophie brought me here. But it’s only just occurred to me that they haven’t joined us…which is decidedly odd. We both know Nate has always been quite touchy about you and I spending too much time together.”

  “Yes, about that…” said Max.

  The smoldering ember of suspicion inside Charlie flared anew. “I have this horrid nagging feeling that something is going on.” She narrowed her gaze. “What are you up to?”

  “I think you must have an idea,” said Max. “When you first burst in here, you accused me of making the situation worse for you. And you’re quite right. I did, despite my promise that I wouldn’t. Suffice it to say, my anger over Rochfort’s betrayal—the injustice of the whole situation—got the better of me. In any event, because I took it upon myself to publicly challenge Rochfort to a duel to defend your honor—and then went through with it—there will be speculation as to why I did so. There will be talk that I am, indeed, the duke of your—”

  Charlie held up a hand. “Stop. Don’t say it. It’s humiliating enough to know it’s printed in a newspaper. And just so you’re perfectly clear, you are not that man. When I penned that list of silly romantic fantasies, I…I had an imaginary duke in mind. I mean, I hate to sound like all those other husband-hungry debutantes that you are trying so desperately to avoid, but doesn’t every young tonnish miss imagine she’ll wed a duke and become a duchess one day?”

  Max swilled his cognac, his expression non-committal. “So I’ve heard. My mother would certainly agree. In fact, she’s counting on quite a few tonnish misses lining up like potential brood mares for me to inspect.”

  “You see? There you go,” said Charlie, warming to her argument. “I may have the occasional lapse in judgment, but I would never be so foolish as to set my cap at a marriage-averse rakehell like you, Maximilian Devereux. No offense intended, of course.” She had no idea if he’d believe her lie, but she had to try to salvage some remnants of her shredded dignity. If Max suspected for one moment that she really did harbor a deep and abiding affection for him… That she desired him, might even love him in spite of the fact it was becoming clearer by the moment that he didn’t feel the same way…

  Oh, the horror.

  Max’s mouth twitched. “Or course. Be that as it may, it won’t stop everyone else from assuming the worst—that I actually am that duke. So…” His gaze caught hers. Held. “Given all of that, the most logical course of action—and indeed the best and only way to restore your reputation in the eyes of the ton, in my opinion—is that we…you and I…hammer out the terms of a mutually beneficial fixed-term arrangement.”

  “What on earth do you mean by that? A mutually beneficial fixed-term arrangement sounds rather like a business transaction or…” Oh, no. Charlie shook her head. “Surely you aren’t suggesting that you and I, that we…”

  “Yes, I am,” said Max, his expression as solemn as could be. “We should enter into a faux engagement for the duration of the Season. It would solve both your problem and mine.”

  “A faux engagement,” Charlie repeated. How utterly lowering to receive such an unromantic proposal. Not that she expected Max to fall at her feet and profess his undying love. He might have fought a duel for her, but that really didn’t mean anything.

  Men fought duels over all sorts of inconsequential matters. Things like cheating at cards and whose dog started a fight. She didn’t doubt that Max cared about her well-being, but to expect anything more from him after all this time would be beyond foolish on her part.

  She’d already played the fool far too long.

  She retrieved her cognac and took a decent sip. Then another. As the fiancée of a duke, perhaps she would not be so openly snubbed by society, and of course, she was very keen to reduce the impact her fall from grace had upon her family.

  Her father had only just begun to court again, and the thought that he might retreat into his lonely shell because of his wayward daughter made her want to weep. And who knows what teasing her brothers might have to endure at Eton about their disgraced older sister.

  The question was, if she did take up Max’s offer, would she be able to protect her heart? Because that was the real danger of his proposal—that she’d fall even more in love with him if she spent an inordinate amount of time in his company over the next few months.

  But…it would also give her the opportunity to test the waters once and for all. Max had just suggested that they could “hammer out the terms” of this arrangement.

  Hmmm. She suspected small, careful steps were required so she didn’t scare Max away.

  “Charlie, your silence is beginning to worry me. What are you thinking?” Max’s brow had furrowed into a frown. “I know it’s a lot to take in and mull over. And of course, you are free to turn me down—”

  “You mentioned an engagement would solve a problem for you too,” said Charlie, pinning him with a narrow look. “What did you mean by that?”

  “Well”—Max cocked an eyebrow—“one would hope that it would effectively stop this Season’s crop of debutantes and their matchmaking mamas from hunting me down. And it would certainly stop my mother from trying to engineer an engagement with someone from her god-awful list. If I’m no longer an eligible commodity on the market, I won’t have to watch my back every time I step outside.”

  Charlie couldn’t deny that his reasoning was sound. “And when the Season ends, I suspect you have an exit strategy, so to speak…” She trailed off and studied Max, trying to detect any flicker of feeling for her. But she found none. His noble countenance was a study in cool, ducal neutrality.

  “When the Season ends, I will leave it up to you to decide what to do,” he said matter-of-factly. “You could quite safely jilt me, and if you claim it’s because I’m a scoundrel, everyone will believe you, given my rakish history. Or you and I can wed, and we could look upon it as a marriage of convenience. I might not be the man you dreamed of marrying one day, but I like to think a union with me would not be an altogether disagreeable prospect. We do rub along rather well together. And I would be a generous husband. But as I said, I will leave the decision as to whether we wed or not entirely up to you.”

  “Oh, well, that makes all the difference as to whether I accept your entirely practical, perfectly sensible proposal. Or not.” Charlie couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice. “But I think there is a glaring flaw in your plan. My father might give his consent to our betrothal, but what of Nate? He’s always been against the idea of you and I…” She released a heavy sigh. “He thinks that you and I will not suit because we want different things. You don’t really wish to wed, and when you do, I’m sure you have an accomplished young woman with a pristine reputation in mind. And wicked hellion that I am, I’m foolishly holding out for a love match with a duke who doesn’t exist anywhere but in my fantasies. So, I can’t imagine that Nate will be happy about it. Are you willing to ruin your long-standing friendship—”

  “He already knows.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve already spoken to him about the prospect of you and I entering an engagement-in-name-only, and he is amenable to the idea if you are. He agrees that such an arrangement might help to dissipate the scandal. Which can only be good, all things considered.”

  “Oh…” Charlie abandoned her chair and stalked over to the fireplace. Lifting the poker, she jabbed at the logs, and sparks flew up the chimney. “It seems it’s all been decided, then.”

  “Of course it hasn’t. I’ve made an offer—and I know it probably isn’t the one you’ve always dreamed of—but it only has to be a temporary arrangement, if you so choose.”

  “I see.” Charlie put down the poker and wrapped her arms about her middle. Despite the fact she was standing right by the fire, she suddenly felt chilled to the bone. “If I accept your proposal, Max, your mother will be furious. She’s never liked me. And after today…” Charlie shivered. Memories of sca
thing looks Cressida, the formidable Dowager Duchess of Exmoor, had sent her way flitted through her mind. The woman had blue eyes, but unlike Max’s, hers were as hard and frosty as Arctic ice.

  Max followed her over to the fireplace and leaned his uninjured arm against the black marble mantel. Charlie was conscious of the fact his robe had fallen open, so she kept her gaze carefully fixed on the burning logs and the leaping flames.

  “I’ll make sure my mother lends you nothing but her full and unstinting support,” Max said gently. “She’s one of the bon ton’s doyens. She can ensure Polite Society’s doors are opened, rather than shut against you. And so can my sister-in-law, Diana. She is quite amiable, and I’ve been led to believe well-liked with wonderful connections. Between them both, I’m certain they can smooth the path for your re-entry into Society.”

  Charlie thought she’d much prefer to walk barefoot across broken glass than down any path supposedly cleared for her by Cressida or Diana Devereux.

  Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny that yet again, Max was doing his very best to sort out this awful mess they both found themselves in.

  She looked up from the fire and studied him. The way the flickering light illuminated all the strong contours and planes of his handsome profile. How his deep blue eyes drew her in, tempting her to drown in them forever. How she wanted to reach out and brush a light caress over his bruised cheek and say thank you for caring about her honor. And her family’s honor too.

  For a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be married to the Duke of Exmoor. To spend every single day with him, laughing and talking about anything and everything. To join him in the marriage bed every single night. To kiss him and run her hands over his hard, sleek body, exploring. Worshipping him with her own body…

  Desire flared, bright and burning. Max was proposing an “engagement in name only”, but he was a man with strong passions. She recalled the look in his eyes in the moonlit alcove at Rochfort House as he’d pressed his finger to her lips and she’d sensed he’d been tempted to kiss her. Would he be able to resist temptation once they were betrothed? Or would he go behind her back and continue to visit places like the Rouge et Noir Club? Would he continue to seduce widows or even married women when he thought she wasn’t looking?

  Of course, she knew he’d practiced such habits for years. That he’d bedded countless women, and all the while she’d watched from the wings, waiting and hoping one day he’d pick her to join him. And that when he did, she’d be more than just a passing fancy.

  But if they were engaged, surely she could strike a bargain with him. After all, he’d said they could negotiate the terms of their arrangement. “Max, before I give you an answer, I need to ask you—”

  The door opened, and a crisp, clear voice sliced through the air. “Maximilian. What in heaven’s name is going on? The gossip is rife. The town is abuzz.”

  Charlie jumped and whirled around. Chiffley hovered just outside in the hallway, his face as red as a beet as the Dowager Duchess of Exmoor swept past him and entered the room like Boadicea advancing into battle. Drawing to a halt a few feet away, her disdainful gaze skimmed Charlie from the top of her disheveled head to her mismatched toes. “Oh, good Lord. Who let that impudent hussy inside?”

  Impudent hussy? Well, so much for Max’s pronouncement that Cressida would lend her support.

  “Mother,” drawled Max. When Charlie chanced a glance his way, she noted that he’d at last cinched his banyan tightly about his waist. “I’ll thank you not to insult Lady Charlotte. In fact”—he suddenly reached for Charlie with his uninjured arm, and after threading his fingers through hers, drew her to his side— “I insist you apologize this minute, or I’ll ask you to leave.”

  The dowager duchess sniffed. A tall and elegant woman, she reminded Charlie of a perfectly carved marble statue, beautiful but in an austere way. Hard and cold and unyielding. “And why should I deign to offer an apology to someone who is so far beneath my notice—”

  “Enough,” barked Max, and his mother started. “Apologize to my fiancée or get out.”

  “Fiancée?” The dowager duchess paled. “So, the rumors are true. That you fought a duel on behalf of this…this piece of bag—” She broke off and fixed her son with a look which might pass for imploring if it contained a speck of warmth. “Oh, Maximilian. How could you? She’s simply not worth it. I know it. You know it. The whole of the ton knows it.”

  “Of course she’s worth it, Mother.” Max squeezed Charlie’s hand, then added, “She means far more to me than Lady Penelope or any of those other bird-witted chits on your list of prospective wives ever could. And as you still haven’t done as I’ve asked and said sorry to Lady Charlotte, I’ll once again ask you to go. Chiffley?” He called through the still open doorway. “If you’d be so kind as to escort the dowager duchess out? I have some unfinished business to discuss with Lady Charlotte.”

  “Maximilian,” erupted his mother. Bright color flagged her cheeks. “I beg you to reconsider. Think of the family name. Think of me. What would your father have—”

  “Don’t.” Max’s voice was colder and sharper than a midwinter gale. “Do not ever speak to me of my father again. He’s dead and gone, and unless you can change your ways and stop your infernal meddling, I will sever all ties with you. Are we clear?”

  To Charlie’s utter astonishment, Cressida bowed her head. “Yes, my son. We are.” Lifting her gaze, she turned to Charlie. “And Lady Charlotte, I do hope that you’ll accept my sincerest apology for my rude outburst and disparaging remarks. I have no excuse other than I was not thinking clearly. When I heard Maximilian, my only surviving child, had fought a duel in your name, I was quite overwhelmed and…” She gave a tight smile. “It won’t happen again, and I do hope that in time, you will see your way to forgive me.”

  Charlie inclined her head; she couldn’t bring herself to curtsy. Not for one minute did she think the dowager duchess’s apology was sincere. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she returned stiffly for the sake of appearances.

  “Yes. Thank you, Mother,” added Max. “I bid you good night.”

  As soon as the door shut, Max turned to Charlie. Guilt twisted his gut. “Oh, God. I’m so, so sorry for what just transpired. And after all those things I’d said about my mother.” He shook his head. “Her behavior is inexcusable. Unforgivable.”

  “You’re not responsible for her opinions or what she says or does,” Charlie said softly. “But I’m also quite certain that she’s not alone in her low opinion of me.”

  “Well, I don’t see you that way. My opinion of you couldn’t be higher.”

  “Thank you.” A soft, rosy blush tinted Charlie’s cheeks, and her full lips curved into a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  Max still hadn’t let go of her hand, and she hadn’t made a move to remove it either. The unfamiliar urge to draw Charlie into his arms and offer comfort flickered through him. To cup her face in his hands and kiss away any lingering sadness. To slide his palms over her lush curves and plunge his fingers into her wild, tumbling curls…

  He swallowed. No. He couldn’t do that. He’d promised Nate that he wouldn’t seduce Charlie. This engagement was all for show.

  But she hasn’t said yes… And he needed her to, for both their sakes.

  “Charlie,” he said gravely, “I also owe you an apology. I told my mother that you were my fiancée. But you hadn’t yet accepted my offer. And before my mother so rudely interrupted, you were about to ask me something.”

  “Yes.” Charlie blushed again. Now she did let go of his hand and retreated to the hearth. “You’re ostensibly making this offer so that this dreadful scandal in connection with my name goes away. But”—she inhaled deeply as though steeling herself to continue— “I need to know that you too will do your utmost to avoid any kind of scandal during the Season. I do not wish to come across as a harpy before we’ve even begun—and I know you are under no obligation to be fai
thful to me when our arrangement will only be temporary—but if you continue to frequent places like the Rouge et Noir Club, or pursue other conquests, and if your lack of interest in your fiancée is noted by others…” She shrugged. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is that our engagement should appear real, even if it isn’t.”

  Max blew out a sigh. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “You are absolutely right, of course. In fact”—he placed a hand upon what remained of his heart—“I solemnly swear that I will stay true to you from this day forth and throughout the Season if you consent to my proposal. No one will have cause to suspect that our betrothal isn’t genuine.”

  Some emotion Max couldn’t quite recognize flitted across Charlie’s face. But then she smiled. “Very well, Your Grace. I will say yes.”

  He smiled back. “Excellent. I will speak to your father in the morning so we can make it official.”

  “Well…” Charlie clasped her hands behind her back and took several steps forward. In that attitude, her fulsome breasts pushed against the restraints of stays and bodice, and the firelight caressed one long tendril of her unbound hair as it snaked toward her cleavage.

  Good Lord, she was lovely. Did she know how tempting she was? If he hadn’t promised her brother to keep his hands to himself, he’d drag her into his arms right this minute and kiss her senseless. With a Herculean effort, he forced himself to focus on her eyes as she began to speak again. “We’re engaged, but as it’s in name only, Max, I’m not sure how we should plight our troth. Shaking hands seems far too formal, but then kissing doesn’t seem appropriate either, considering the circumstances.”

  “No…” Devil take him, why did she have to mention the very thing he was trying to resist? Before he could stop himself, Max’s gaze fell to Charlie’s damnably delectable mouth. She was so close, her perfume teased him. The fragrance wrapped around him like silken ribbons, tangling him in the scent of sweet summer blooms—orange blossom and honeysuckle, and jasmine, perhaps. To stop himself reaching for her, he clasped his hands behind his back too. He winced as he pulled the stitches in his arm. The graze began to throb in earnest.