My Dark Duke (8 page)

‘Your Grace, you have entirely too high an opinion of yourself. I believe it is
you
that society considers the would-be victim. After all, I am the one who has refused seven offers of marriage.' Her dark eyes were guileless.

His eyes widened fractionally. She had taken him by surprise yet again. He cleared his throat. ‘Seven offers? I had been told it was six.'

She bit her lip, looking chagrined. She was absolutely adorable. Damnation. This was a very bad sign.

‘My family kept it quiet, but I received an offer from Baron Montrieff in January.'

James was so taken aback that he actually choked on a breath of air. He started coughing and had to turn his head away. Ignoring the stares from another couple who passed by, he turned back to his lady at his side. ‘Montrieff? Montrieff with the large mole here,' he gestured towards his chin, ‘and the seven children?' He knew he must look incredulous but he didn't care.

She looked straight ahead and pressed her lips together tightly. It took her a moment to reply. James had to look back ahead too, as he was aware he had already spent far too much time gazing upon her countenance. Hence he had been unable to deduce what the strange expression on her face was until she spoke.

‘Th-that mole. Oh dear Lord.' Her voice was choked with laughter. ‘It is huge. Monstrous. And . . . hairy. Did I mention hairy?'

There was the briefest moment of silence. Then James burst out laughing. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed this hard. He had paused to draw in a much-needed breath when she continued.

‘There were precisely seven hairs on that mole. Seven. Incredible, is it not? The exact number of his children. Such an amazing coincidence.' Her voice was filled with wonder.

That did it. James had to stop short in his tracks as another bellow of laughter exploded from him. He bent over and gasped for breath, but as he imagined her staring wide-eyed at Montcrieff's mole while the baron was earnestly pleading for her hand, another gust of laughter escaped. He was finally straightening up when she spoke again, her voice low, in the tone one would employ when sharing a confidence.

‘And as he was telling me how grateful I should be to receive an offer at such an advanced age and that he did not expect me to bear him further children as he already had seven, whom I should say in passing he expected me to mother, all I could think of was that I would not have to be concerned about my future as I would most likely expire on my wedding night, crushed under his immense weight until I was flat as a pancake on your breakfast plate. And the worst thing is that the very last sight I would have on this earth would be that mole. That enormous mole with its seven hairs.'

James clenched his teeth hard, trying desperately not to laugh again as he stared helplessly at the woman before him. She met his eyes, her expression completely serious, although her eyes danced. He didn't have to look around them to know that they were, without a doubt, going to be the topic on everyone's lips tomorrow. And more than likely to be an item for the caricaturists. To his surprise, though, he didn't feel at all concerned. They had done nothing improper, even if he had acted very unlike himself. When he felt that he had himself sufficiently under control, he spoke. ‘Come, let us get back on our mounts and turn back. I believe I have put on enough of a performance for the
beau monde
this afternoon.'

She gave him a small smile and followed him over to their waiting horses. ‘Well, Your Grace, your performance
was
most entertaining.' She shot him a look from under her lashes, the unveiled amusement in her eyes unintentionally alluring. ‘I enjoyed myself
immensely
.'

‘I'm sure you did,' he replied dryly. The minx.

Lady Alethea stopped next to her mare, but before the groom could step forward, James moved first. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. He saw the flash of surprise in her gaze when he cupped his hands and bent down. There was only the slightest hesitation when she placed her boot-clad foot in them and he threw her onto her saddle.

‘Thank you, Your Grace,' she uttered quietly. She was probably somewhat stunned. It was an intimate action on his part. One that told the dozens of witnesses around them that he intended more than friendship.

James swung himself onto his mount. ‘It was my pleasure entirely.'

The ride back to her residence was filled with inconsequential chatter about the current gossip around town. They were almost at her front door when James decided to tell her his plans for the coming week. It was the first time he had felt the need to do so with a woman since the early days of his marriage. ‘I am leaving town on the morrow as I am required to be at my estate on business. I shall be back on the Thursday of next week.'

‘I see.' She was quiet and for a moment he felt disappointment. What had he expected? That she would declare she would surely die without him? Pull yourself together, you fool, he berated himself. They halted in front of Alton's town house and James helped Alethea down. They were at the front door before she spoke again.

‘Thank you for the ride, Your Grace. I shall . . . miss your company,' she said softly, her eyes downcast.

His heart leapt. He wanted to reply in kind, but he was Trent. And he had shown enough of his emotions for the day.

When he remained silent, she lifted her gaze up to his, her smile a shade too bright. ‘Well, I should go. Mother will be wondering where I am.'

James caught her hand as she turned towards the door. He could not let her leave like that. ‘Lady Alethea.'

She glanced back at him as he let her hand slip from his, her striking dark eyes luminous in the dusky light. She was so beautiful that his chest ached.

Almost against his will, he touched her cheek with his gloved hand, wishing he could feel the softness of her skin against his. He stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, and watched as awareness bloomed in her eyes.
Damnation.
What he would not do to have her in his arms in that very moment. ‘You do not have any idea what you do to me, do you?' he asked roughly. Just one look from her, and he was hard with arousal, desire strumming through his veins and making him hot and restless. He knew it would not abate quickly or easily.

‘Your Grace?' The combination of innocence and the dawning of desire upon her face only served to heighten the frustration building within him.

‘Suffice to say, my lady, that you will be in my every waking thought, and in my dreams as well.' He dropped his hand and, stepping back, gave her a curt bow. James knocked on the front door, and it barely opened before he was striding away to his mount. He knew he was being abrupt, even rude, but he had to get away, put some distance between them. The feelings she had roused in him terrified him to his very soul. Yet they were also so exhilarating that he could not help but wonder what his life would be like with her by his side.

And so it was that as the Duke of Trent rode home that evening, he considered whether he could take Lady Alethea Sinclair to be his wife. The answer was all too obvious. The only question that remained was whether he dared risk his heart again, for he knew that it would be all too easy to do so. He wasn't certain he could again bear the pain of rejection – not from her.

There is Fencing Galore

‘Advance, advance, advance-lunge. That is good, my lady, but the timing should be thus. One, two-three. That is the timing for an advance-lunge. If you do an advance then a lunge, the timing would be one-two, three.
Hai capito
, Lady Alethea?'

‘
Si
, Signor diMarco, I understand. May I show you?'

‘Yes, please do,' replied the fencing tutor, waving his hand expansively.

Advance, advance, advance-lunge
, thought Alethea as she stepped forward three times and lunged with her foil on the third step, counting in her head. This was her first session with the Italian fencer, and it had been extremely informative. The techniques which he had shown her were almost exactly the same as the ones she had been taught by Monsieur Jousse. But the tactics he used – the combination of blade work, footwork and different manoeuvres – she had found most interesting.

‘Ah, very good, very good. You learn very quickly. It appears that your uncle was correct. You certainly have talent, my lady. Your footwork is extremely impressive, some of the best I have seen. I would be most pleased to teach you, if you would allow me.'

Alethea smiled up at the dark-haired man with the expressive brown eyes. She had never met anyone as tall or as thin as Signor diMarco. Or anyone with such a prominent nose. It was rather difficult not to stare at it when he was speaking to her. ‘I would very much like to learn from you, Signor.'

‘It is settled then.'

‘What is settled?' interrupted a voice from the doors to the ballroom.

A smile appeared on Alethea's face when she spied her godfather. ‘Uncle Arthur.'

Smiling in response, he walked up to them. ‘So, how was the lesson?'

‘Excellent, Uncle; Signor diMarco is a wonderful teacher.'

‘You make me blush, my lady.
Grazie mille
.' DiMarco turned to Mulgrave. ‘Lady Alethea will be taking lessons from me while I am in London and as my time here is short, I propose to see her twice a week, an hour each time. Will that meet with your approval, my lady?'

‘Yes, of course. Uncle Arthur has already spoken to my father, so I have his permission to receive instruction from you.'

‘
Eccelente
. Well, I need to take leave of you, my lord, my lady. I have another lesson in an hour, so I must go. We meet again in three days,
si
?' He looked expectantly at Alethea.

‘Yes, I look forward to seeing you then, signor.'

‘And I will see you tomorrow, Giuseppe,' said the earl.

‘Of course, my lord. Oh, I almost forget.' The Italian man walked over to the large bag he had brought with him. ‘You have seen the, uh, chest protector I suggested that you wear, but I also have one more thing.' He pulled out a strange oval-shaped contraption from his bag. Signor diMarco came back with it and handed it first to Mulgrave who examined it before passing it over to Alethea.

She looked closely at the heavy item in her hand as diMarco explained.

‘My friend, whom you might know of, Domenico Angelo, is friends with the French fencing master, Monsieur La Boessiere. La Boessiere has developed this mask, if you like, in a quest to prevent injuries to the face and head. As you can see, the front is made from a metal eh . . . how do you say . . .' The fencing tutor paused, grimacing as he tried to think of the English word.

‘Mesh,' supplied Alethea.

‘
Si, si,
that is correct. Mesh. It is strong enough to provide protection but you will still be able to see through the mask. Of course, your vision will not be as good as before, but I ask you please to use it while you are training with me. I understand that Monsieur La Boessiere is still making some improvements to it, so it will hopefully be widely available in a year or so.'

Mulgrave gave Alethea a quick look before turning back to their tutor. ‘Of course, Giuseppe. This is indeed a great invention. I think it will be something that would prove intensely helpful to the future of fencing. I look forward to our session tomorrow.'

‘Thank you, my lord. I bid you both farewell.' The man bowed before taking his leave.

After Alethea had changed – with the help of the countess's maid – out of the shirt and breeches she customarily wore for her fencing lessons, she joined the earl and his wife in the salon.

‘Aunt Pamela.' Alethea hurried forward and gave the older woman a hug.

‘My dear.' Lady Mulgrave smiled as she sat down and Alethea followed suit, taking the sofa facing the couple. ‘Tea?'

‘Yes, please.' Her tone was heartfelt and the countess's smile widened.

‘I see the bout of exercise has done you much good. Your complexion is glowing.'

Alethea murmured her thanks to the footman who served her. ‘Thank you, Aunt. I must admit I am feeling extremely well. And it is all thanks to Uncle Arthur here. If it weren't for him, I would no doubt be languishing at home with Mother for company, trying my utmost not to commit bodily harm.'

Her godparents laughed. ‘In that case I am sure your mother will be most grateful that you are here instead of with her,' said the countess.

‘Oh, you misunderstand me, Aunt. The bodily harm I refer to was to myself.' She sighed with pleasure as the milky tea soothed her parched throat.

The earl shook his head resignedly. ‘You, my dear, are incorrigible. What did you tell her you were doing this afternoon?'

‘Oh, I said I was visiting you to assist you with the cataloguing of the Italian books in your library,' replied Alethea casually.

‘I love you dearly, my darling,' said Lady Mulgrave, ‘but the ease with which you are able to utter an untruth makes me pity your poor mother at times.'

‘I do feel a little guilty, Aunt Pamela, but I needed so desperately to get away. Since I went riding with Trent four days ago, he is all she can talk about. I swear she is going to make me as mad as a March hare. If you heard her, you would think that Trent is on the verge of making an offer.' Alethea took another sip of her tea. Not that she would admit it, but she too wanted the duke to make an offer. She wanted it possibly even more than her mother, but she was practical enough to know that it would take time. Especially considering how recently he had re-entered society.

‘From what I have heard of your last outing, I must say I have to agree that the duke does appear intent on seeking your hand.' The countess set down her teacup and saucer. ‘And how do you feel about Trent's intentions, Alethea?' Her eyes, though gentle, were also probing.

If it had been her mother who had asked the question, the younger woman would not have answered truthfully. But this was her godmother, whom she trusted. ‘It is pleasant being in his company. He is charming and kind, and filled with good humour. He is certainly not what I expected after our first meeting.'

‘Filled with good humour?' The countess looked surprised but pleased. ‘He is certainly a charming man when he wishes to be, but I would not have thought the duke a humorous man.'

‘It must be Alethea's effect on him. Isn't that right, my dear?' Her godfather's eyes twinkled. ‘In all the time I have known Trent, I have seen him smile but thrice. And the third time was at the Guildfords' musicale when he spoke to our goddaughter.'

‘Uncle Arthur.' Alethea felt her cheeks warm. ‘Of course it is not my effect on him. He barely knows me.' She tried to appear dismissive, but deep down she harboured a hope that it was true.

‘My darling,' interrupted Lady Mulgrave, ‘I want you to be happy; you deserve every happiness in the world, but please be careful. Do not give your affections lightly. I have been where you are now, Alethea, and the excitement can be overwhelming.' She reached out and covered Alethea's hand. ‘Promise me you will be on your guard, won't you?'

Alethea smiled at her godmother's obvious concern. ‘I promise, Aunt Pamela. I thank you for your counsel.'

‘We are always here for you; remember that,' said the earl.

‘I will.' Alethea sighed at the sound of the clock chiming. ‘I am sorry, Aunt, Uncle, but I must take your leave. Uncle, I will return on Saturday at three?'

‘I will see you then, my pet.' The earl and the countess stood up and Alethea exchanged kisses with them.

‘There's no need to see me to the door, I know the way. Farewell,' she called out as she walked out.

As the carriage conveyed her home, she thought about the forthcoming fortnight without the duke. She knew very well that he wouldn't be far from her thoughts, but thanks to the earl, she would at least have the fencing to occupy her for some of the time, especially as Ruth was at present ensconced at her husband's family estate. Alethea sighed; it was going to be the longest fourteen days ever. She was sure of it.

A fortnight later

‘Good afternoon, Your Grace.' Mulgrave's butler bowed deferentially as he opened the front door.

‘Good to see you again, Tanner,' replied James, handing his gloves and hat to the footman. ‘His Lordship is in, I presume.'

‘Yes, Your Grace. Baker, fetch his Lordship, if you please.'

‘Yes, sir.' Giving them a quick bow, the footman hurried off down the corridor.

‘If it pleases Your Grace, perhaps you would prefer to wait in the salon?' Tanner gestured to the first door on James's left.

Inclining his head, James proceeded into the room but decided against sitting. He had spent the previous day in the saddle travelling back from his estate and he preferred to move about. Walking over to the window, he looked outside. There was relatively little traffic in the street below and the scene before him was quiet, almost tranquil. A slight breeze stirred the vibrant green leaves on the trees as a young couple in earnest conversation strolled past.

The duke smiled faintly as he recalled his ride with Lady Alethea. It had been a very long time since he had laughed that hard. In front of the
beau monde
as well. He must have caused quite a stir. He didn't give a whit what they thought of him, but he knew that, intentionally or not, and whether he wished it or not, his actions were going to affect not just himself, but Alton's daughter too. It was enough that she had to contend with being courted by the Dark Duke, who had allegedly had a hand in causing his wife's death. She didn't need to be with someone whose behaviour could cause embarrassment and censure. He made a mental note to himself to ensure that his countenance revealed none of his emotions from now on.

‘Trent!'

James turned around at the sound of his friend's exuberant voice. ‘Mulgrave.' The two men shook hands.

‘I wasn't expecting you today.'

‘I know, I do apologise for visiting unexpectedly but I was close by after calling on a cousin . . .'

‘Nonsense,' interrupted Mulgrave, shaking his head. ‘You know you are welcome any time.'

‘I did interrupt you, didn't I?' James gestured at the earl's attire, which consisted only of a white lawn shirt unfastened at the throat, and breeches and boots.

‘No, no, I wasn't in the middle of anything. I had just finished with diMarco, my fencing tutor.'

‘Yes, I remember you mentioning him.'

‘Well, he is here now, with another student. Would you like to meet him?'

‘Absolutely.'

The older man grinned. ‘Come with me.'

A minute later, James was standing inside the room that the Rossiters had used as the ballroom the night he was introduced to Lady Alethea. He watched with growing interest at the masked duo, one tall and thin, the other shorter but still slight, engaged in a fencing bout before him. The tall man was obviously the tutor, as his moves were skilful and practised, while the shorter man was slightly more tentative with his arm movements. However, what he lacked in strength and expertise, he made up for with speed. Most impressive of all was the agility of his footwork. The majority of men, including James himself, had too much muscle mass to allow them to move as fast. The pupil was also surprisingly intuitive, feinting and parrying at almost the same moment as the forward movements and thrusts made by the tutor.

‘He's good,' murmured James.

‘He has been teaching in a school in Florence for a number of years,' replied Mulgrave.

‘Ah yes. But I meant the pupil. His method is . . . interesting.' James narrowed his eyes as the man lithely cross-stepped backwards, steps which were seldom utilised as they had the propensity to put the fencer off-balance. ‘It would be a fascinating experience fencing with him.'

‘
Arrestare. Molto buona, molto buona
,' called out the Italian tutor, bringing the bout to a halt.

‘Giuseppe.' The earl walked up to the duo. ‘Before you continue, may I present my friend, James Cavendish, the Duke of Trent. Come, Trent.' He waved James forward. ‘Trent, this is Giuseppe diMarco.'

DiMarco removed his mask.

‘Signor diMarco, I'm pleased to meet you.' James nodded as the tall man bowed.

‘As am I, Your Grace. Your Grace has an interest in fencing?' DiMarco's gaze was direct and his tone pleasant.

‘An interest, yes.'

‘Don't let his reply fool you, Giuseppe,' said the earl. ‘The duke has been fencing for many years.'

‘Trent . . . Trent,' the fencing tutor said thoughtfully. His brow cleared. ‘Ah! Trent. I have heard about you from my friend Domenico. Perhaps we could fence one day, Your Grace. It would be my pleasure to engage with someone of your skill.'

James inclined his head. ‘I would be honoured, Signor diMarco.'

Mulgrave interjected. ‘I believe, though, that the duke wishes to have a bout with your pupil. Isn't that right, Trent?'

James was surprised at first at the offer, but then shrugged. ‘Indeed. I have no other engagements this afternoon. That is, if the gentleman has no objection.' He looked at the masked man who was standing completely still. After a slight hesitation, the slighter man shook his head.
Curious
, thought James. His friend didn't seem inclined to introduce him to the man. Perhaps he didn't want James to have preconceptions.