A Duke to Die for: The Rogues' Dynasty (16 page)

“She’s all the rage,” Race said, taking the other chair. “You certainly know how to stir up gossip and set the scandal sheets on fire. I can’t remember there being such a furor over a new young lady coming to London as there has been with Miss Tweed.”

Blake leaned a hip against his desk and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. He could just imagine what the tittle-tattle must be among the ton. It was still a shock to him, too.

“I’m afraid that you won’t be able to meet her today. She’s with Constance doing whatever ladies do to get ready for balls.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to make us wait and meet her when everyone else does.”

“As a matter of fact, I hadn’t given it a thought at all, but I think I will make you wait, as that’s all you two devils deserve. Make your plans now to make Lady Windham’s first party next Thursday night. That is where Henrietta will make her debut.”

“He’s going to hold a grudge because we were teasing him about the balloon ride.”

“So it seems,” Morgan said and glanced down at the silver tray Ashby had brought in and left on the desk. He picked up some of the cards and looked at them. “Looks like you are a very popular fellow, Lucien.”

Blake jumped on the opportunity to change the subject from Henrietta, even though Morgan had called him by his first name.

“It appears that way, but I don’t know why all these gentlemen came to see me.”

“Really,” Morgan said. “I’m surprised you don’t know why.”

Blake didn’t like the sound of that. “I don’t even know some of them, but something tells me you know what’s going on and that you’re going to tell me what this is all about.”

“Better us than someone else, right?” Race said.

Blake’s uneasy feeling grew.

Morgan took a sip of his port and then said, “It’s already out among the ton that you are trying to find a suitable husband for your ward.”

“I don’t know how that can be. She’s only been here a week. I haven’t made any inquiries of anyone yet.”

“You don’t have to. The servants are talking to their employers, and shopkeepers are talking to everyone who comes into their shops. It’s already all over Town that your ward is beautiful, intelligent, and kind. That is all a man needs to know about a woman if he’s looking for a wife.”

“And it doesn’t hurt that her guardian is a duke,” Race added. “Everyone assumes you’ll place a handsome dowry on her.”

“That’s enough to bring out the men who aren’t even looking for a wife.” “There’s no more you need to say. The Season is for young ladies to make matches, and Miss Tweed is joining the Season. It’s my guess all these men stopped by to tell you why you should choose them to be Miss Tweed’s dearly beloved.”

Morgan pushed the silver tray aside. “Looking at some of these names, I’d say that most of them could do a lot worse for themselves than marry the ward of a duke, and I’m sure they know that. Even Lord Snellingly has called on you.”

“That popinjay,” Race said. “He has been looking for a wealthy woman to marry for years. He thinks he’s another Lord Byron. All he wants to do is write poetry.”

Having men vying for Henrietta’s hand was only Society taking its natural course, a course he put in motion by asking Constance to help him introduce Henrietta to Society. But for some reason, his stomach tightened at the thought of fops like Lord Snellingly vying for Henrietta’s hand in such an impersonal way.

“There’s more,” Race said.

Blake leaned heavier against his desk for support. “More? What more could there be? I have every rake-hell and fortune hunter in London calling on me.”

Morgan and Race looked at each other, and then back to Blake.

“Spit it out, you two.”

“You tell him, Morgan. You’re the oldest.”

Morgan took a deep breath. “As of this morning, there’s a new wager on the books at White’s.”

That couldn’t be good news.

“And already it has become the most popular wager to bet on.”

“And?” Blake held his breath.

“You can place a bet that you think Miss Tweed will be properly engaged by the end of the Season, or you can place a bet that she won’t. Or you can bet on whether you think she’ll snag a titled gent or not.”

“Hell’s bells!” Blake hissed.

“Sorry, Blake, we knew you wouldn’t like the notoriety of this.”

“It’s distasteful. What the bloody hell are the outrageous members of White’s doing betting on the future of a young lady none of them have met?”

“You can’t blame Society. It’s all a game with them. Always has been. You know they mean no harm to you or Miss Tweed. The more outlandish the bet, the better men like it. We’ve certainly wagered on our share of shocking bets.”

That was true. But now that the tables had turned and Henrietta was the subject of a wager, he had a different attitude about the betting.

“Besides,” Race said. “You, of all people, suddenly becoming a guardian is big news and worthy of a wager at White’s.”

“But cheer up,” Morgan said, reaching over and clapping Blake on the back. “We have come up with a plan for you.”

Blake eyed them warily. “A plan for me?”

Morgan rose from his chair, pushed the scattered mail aside, and set his empty glass on Blake’s desk. “Yes. I need to go out to Valleydale. I have some new thoroughbreds that are going to be delivered there in the next few days. I want to check them out and make sure I get the horses I’ve paid for. Race and I were thinking this would be a good time to get you out of London and let things calm down.”

“And it will give the three of us the opportunity to spend some time together riding, hunting, and other things,” Race added.

“If you’ll remember,” Morgan said, picking up the conversation, “the village has a lively tavern and a couple of wenches who would love for us to pay them a visit.”

Race grinned. “What do you say about the idea of getting away from London for a few days?”

Blake looked from one cousin to the other. Constance had told him she needed Henrietta to herself; Gibby was on notice not to do anything about Mrs. Simple; and he was looking for a woman to ease his recent celibacy. And he did remember the wenches. Morgan was right about the tavern. It was a lively place, and it could be just what Blake needed to get his mind off Henrietta.

“When do we go?”

“Meet at my house at first light,” Morgan said.

The widowed Lady Houndslow could wait for another day. Blake set his glass down, walked to the doorway, and called to Ashby. Seconds later the dour man appeared.

“Cancel the flowers and tarts. I won’t need them today.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Tell Mrs. Pepperfield and Miss Tweed when they return that I’ve been called away for a few days. I will be back in time to take Miss Tweed to Lady Windham’s ball next Thursday night.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Blake turned back to his cousins, and with a smile on his face, said, “I’ll meet you at dawn.”

Twelve

My Dearest Lucien,

Here are a few more good words to live by from my favorite
friend, Lord Chesterfield: “To ride well is not only a proper
and graceful accomplishment for a gentleman, but may also
save you many a fall hereafter; to fence well may possibly save
your life; and to dance well is absolutely necessary in order to
sit, stand, and walk well.”

Your loving Grandmother,

Lady Elder

IT WAS HALF-PAST NINE IN THE EVENING. BLAKE STOOD stiffly in his drawing room, staring out the window into the darkness and waiting for Constance to bring Henrietta below stairs so they could make the short carriage ride to Lady’s Windham’s house.

His shoulder was killing him. He desperately wanted a glass of port or brandy—or anything to take the edge off the pain, but he dared not take a sip of anything until he had seen Henrietta through her first ball. If he started drinking now, he was afraid he wouldn’t stop until the spirits eased the ache in his shoulder as they had done right after he was thrown from his horse.

The days at Valleydale with his cousins had been good until his mare stepped in a hole during a hunt and he and the horse went down hard. Blake’s left shoulder had taken the brunt of his fall, knocking his arm out of the shoulder joint. Morgan had put the arm back in place for him, but the pain had been excruciating. And it still pained him.

Much to his consternation, he had to ask Ashby to help him tie his neckcloth because certain movements were still too painful to accomplish alone. He didn’t like the feeling of not being in control.

When he’d returned to London earlier in the day, he had gone straight to see a physician. Not that it had done him any good. The ornery old fellow had simply looked at his shoulder, told him to keep the arm still, and said it would be better in a few days, which was exactly what Morgan had told him. Blake had refused the laudanum the physician offered him for the pain. He knew that would put him to sleep. Tonight belonged to Henrietta, and he wanted to make sure he attended her first ball.

He wanted everyone in the ton to see that he was a proper guardian for Henrietta, though he couldn’t feel any less like one. Every time he thought about her, he felt more like a seducer than a protector.

He hadn’t seen Henrietta since the balloon ride last week, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about her. Often. He had stayed busy with Race and Morgan during the day riding the new horses, hunting wild boars, and practicing archery, but at night, when he lay down to sleep, Henrietta always invaded his thoughts. Even after his evening with the tavern wench.

He had hoped the lusty woman would ease the ache in his loins and make him forget his ward, but that hadn’t happened. The brief, unfulfilling encounter with her had left him more unsatisfied than ever. He still desired Henrietta. Maybe he was cursed. It was the first time he had ever failed to have a good time with a doxy.

When he had returned home earlier in the afternoon, Constance told him Henrietta was already in her room preparing for the evening. Blake didn’t fully understand what he felt for Henrietta, but he was eager to see her.

He chuckled to himself as he remembered Constance waiting at the front door for him when he had arrived. She was beside herself with worry. She had been pacing in fear, thinking he wouldn’t return in time to attend the ball with Henrietta.

His shoulder had hurt like the devil, and he’d been in no mood for her theatrics and scolding about how Henrietta would have been ruined forever if he had failed to arrive and escort her to Lady Windham’s ball. But remembering he had asked for Constance’s help, he had held his tongue and listened quietly to every word.

He was damned happy Constance wasn’t upset about the wagers at White’s. He was worried she might think he had something to do with that and be outraged. He was astounded that she seemed thrilled that the outcome of Henrietta’s future was the latest bet on the books at White’s and that Henrietta was being discussed in the gossip columns.

Women.

It was difficult to know what was going to upset them and what was going to help them flourish.

Blake heard footsteps on the stairs and the slight rustle of taffeta. Suddenly his breath shortened and he felt a way he hadn’t felt in years—eager and expectant. He turned away from the window, and Henrietta appeared in the doorway.

His loins thickened in anticipation as he looked at her. She was stunning. The neckline of her dress was cut wide and astonishingly low with small strips of lace holding it on her shoulders. The soft swell of her breasts peeked temptingly from beneath layers of the gossamer-thin fabric of her ivory bodice. A ribbon of lavender silk banded the gown’s high waist and connected to the ruffled, taffeta skirt.

She wore a choker of three strands of pearls and teardrop earrings to match. Her shiny, golden blonde hair was arranged in curls, with strands of small pearls woven through each ringlet, making her look like a princess. She looked so enticing that Blake wanted to pull her into his arms and lose himself in the feel of her body close to his.

Henrietta smiled at him. Blake smiled, too. Why did just seeing her cause funny feelings inside him? He had been attracted to beautiful women since he was a young lad, but what he felt when he looked at Henrietta was different. And he knew the feelings had nothing whatsoever to do with her being his ward and he her guardian. They all had to do with him being a man and her a woman.

“Well, Your Grace, are you pleased?” Constance asked.

Blake cut his gaze to the side and, for the first time, realized that Constance was standing right beside Henrietta. He hadn’t even seen her. He had eyes for no one but Henrietta.

Clearing his throat, Blake walked over to Henrietta and bowed stiffly, trying not to move his shoulder any more than necessary.

He took her gloved hand in his, kissed the back of her palm, and then said, “Miss Tweed, you are the most beautiful young lady I have ever seen. None at the ball will outshine you tonight.”

Henrietta smiled and curtseyed, saying, “Thank you, Your Grace, and might I be so bold as to say you are very handsome.”

He acknowledged her compliment with a nod and then turned back to Constance. “You look lovely, Constance,” he said as he took her hand and kissed it. “Job well done. I have no doubt that Henrietta will find favor with everyone who meets her tonight.”

Constance beamed with appreciation for his comments as she curtseyed. “Thank you, Your Grace. We worked very hard so that you would be pleased.”

Pleased? He was thrilled.

Blake’s gaze locked onto Henrietta’s again as if they were the only two people in the room. Very quietly he said, “I could not be any more pleased than I am.”

Henrietta smiled again. “Constance was a wise choice for the duties you gave her. Her knowledge and taste in fabrics, colors, and styles to suit me were remarkable.”

“I agree.”

“May I also say welcome home, Your Grace. This house was big, dull, and empty without your presence.”

A warm, contented sensation filled Blake at her words. He was happy to be back and damned happy to see her again.

Blake acknowledged Henrietta’s words with a nod and glanced up to see his butler standing in the shadows of the doorway. “Yes, Ashby?”

“Sir, Lord Raceworth and Lord Morgandale are here and would like to be given permission to join you.”

Blake chuckled lightly. He was not surprised that his cousins had arrived. They had hinted that they would not wait until Lady Windham’s party to meet Henrietta. They were curious as cats about her, and he couldn’t blame them.

“Show them in.”

Henrietta was still fighting the feeling of butterflies in her stomach when two of the most handsome and impressive-looking men she had ever seen walked into the room. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught and held in her lungs as the Marquis of Raceworth and the Earl of Morgandale walked up to her.

One was only slightly shorter than the other, but both were tall, powerful-looking men with broad shoulders and narrow hips. They both resembled Blakewell in the way they carried themselves with a wealth of confidence and a little arrogance, too. They were fashionably dressed in formal evening wear of black coats with long tails. Their shirts, waistcoats, and trousers were buff white and shiny gold buckles adorned their black shoes.

Henrietta didn’t remember hearing much of the formal introductions that are always necessary for titled gentlemen, but she heard enough to know that Lord Raceworth was the gentleman with light-brown hair like Blakewell and grayish-green eyes. Lord Morgandale was the taller of the two with darker and longer hair. Both men had the same strong and handsome features of the duke.

Clearly Lord Raceworth and Lord Morgandale were friends with Constance. The three of them talked together without awkwardness or pretence.

“It was good of our dear cousin to insist that we come and meet you here in the privacy of his home rather than wait until Lady Windham’s ball, don’t you think?” Lord Morgandale said as he turned from Constance to Henrietta.

“We can always count on him to know just when to do the proper thing,” Lord Raceworth added with a twinkle in his eyes.

“You rakes are lucky I didn’t disown you years ago and that I still allow you to enter my door,” Blakewell said, and they all laughed.

Henrietta smiled as she enjoyed the banter among the three handsome cousins. She could see they had great fondness for each other. She felt a moment of envy. She had never had such closeness with anyone her own age and had never developed a deep friendship that carried over from one home to the next. She couldn’t even remember what being part of a family felt like.

With the cousins, she sensed the mutual respect and admiration that sizzled between them. One day, maybe she would find someone with whom she could be as close as these men were to each other. Perhaps she and Constance could become close if she were allowed to stay with the duke. “What do you think of London, Henrietta?” Lord Morgandale asked.

“Forget London,” Race said, “We want to know what you think of Blake.”

“Race, please,” Blake said.

“I don’t mind answering,” Henrietta said with a comfortable smile. “I find London huge, busy, and exciting as I ride along the streets with Constance each day in the handsome carriage the duke has provided for me. I’m awed by how much there is to see. There is so much life to the city that it amazes me. In most of the places I’ve lived, the only day that the High Street is busy is Market Day. I’m astounded by things as simple as the number of lamps on the streets here.”

She stopped and looked at Blakewell. “As for His Grace, I’ve found him to be cautious, respectful, and fair. All the things a proper guardian should be.”

“I’d say you’ve sized up London and Blake quite well,” Morgan said.

“I’m delighted to finally be presented to you both. Constance has told me how close both of you are to His Grace.”

“We are fortunate in that we get along well together and seldom fight among ourselves.”

Henrietta smiled at the earl. “Now that I’ve met you both, I’m certain you have fun even when you fight among yourselves.”

“For sure, though each of us always fights to win, be it at gaming or racing or to coax a smile from a pretty miss,” Race said with a wink.

“As it should be, my lord.”

Her attention settled back on the duke, and her heart grew full of emotion she didn’t wholly understand. She was impressed with Lord Raceworth and Lord Morgandale. They were handsome, appealing gentlemen, but the feelings she had for Blakewell were very different from what she experienced when she looked at his two cousins. And what she felt for him was very different from what she’d felt for all her previous guardians. It was almost as if she yearned for his favor, his attention, for him.

Standing in the drawing room with Constance and the three extraordinary men in front of her, for the first time in her life Henrietta was looking at the duke the way a woman looked at a man she desired, a man she wanted to marry.

Candlelight, candlelight, and more candlelight. Henrietta had never seen so many candles lighting a home in her life, nor had she ever seen so many people in one place. This had to be what the Society Pages meant when they said a party was a crush. All she could see before her were ladies dressed in beautiful, colorful gowns and gentlemen clothed in richly detailed evening coats with elaborately tied neck-cloths. Every lady’s gown was adorned with feathers, flowers, or lace—and some had all three. Large jewels hung around their necks, dripped from their ears, and graced their arms, hands, and fingers.