She Tempts the Duke (10 page)

Chapter 10

D
uring the week since his return to Easton House, Sebastian had been busy sorting through the mess of records and documents that his uncle had left behind. The man was a slovenly slob when it came to keeping a tight accounting of all five estates that had been under his care. He had managers and solicitors handling various aspects, but little had been arranged in any sort of order.

Sitting at his desk in the library, he glanced over at Tristan, casually sprawled on the sofa—obviously life at sea was not as regimented as the army—leisurely reading an assortment of documents they’d discovered in a drawer. They looked to be little more than reports from various overseers, but it was imperative that Sebastian learn as much of the important matters in as short a span of time as possible. If not for his devious uncle, he would have been at his father’s side, learning all that he needed to know to manage his estates. As it was, he had to ferret out information. He was simply grateful that his brother had decided to join him in residence and assist with the monstrous task. It made sense that he be as familiar as possible with everything associated with the titles and estates. He was, after all, the spare.

And if Sebastian had no luck securing a wife, it would be Tristan or
his
son who would eventually inherit and hold the titles. Sebastian intended to ensure that his heir presumptive was educated in all things. If it came to that.

“You should consider joining me at Rafe’s tonight,” Tristan said distractedly. “His gaming tables are excellent.”

“Which I suppose means that no one catches you cheating.”

Tristan grinned. Even as a lad he’d had a penchant for seeking shortcuts. “A man caught cheating on the seas is tossed to the sharks . . . or feels the bite of a cat-o-nine.”

It was the opening Sebastian had been waiting for. He leaned back and kept his voice as casual as possible. “Is that what happened to you? You were found guilty of cheating?”

He’d only caught a glimpse of his brother’s back once—when he’d walked into his room at Rafe’s without knocking. But it had been enough to send guilt and fury spiraling through him. His brother’s back had been torn apart—more than once based upon the thickness of the scars. Tristan had merely shrugged into his shirt and ordered him to never walk in unannounced again.

Tristan tossed aside the missive he’d been reading. “Boring rubbish, this. I don’t know why we’re bothering with it.”

“Because we don’t know what may be of value. And you avoided answering my question.”

Tristan shoved himself to his feet, walked to the window, and gazed out on the magnificent gardens. Sebastian couldn’t fault his uncle for the manner in which he’d taken care of the London residence. Everything was in good repair. An abundance of fine liquor was easily at hand. The horses were of strong stock. The carriages were well-sprung. Nothing was in want of attention. Except the books. They left him feeling as though he were overlooking something vital.

“I wasn’t accustomed to being ordered about,” Tristan finally said quietly. “I enjoyed a good brawl. A lot of anger churned within me, and there are few places to unleash it on a ship.”

“I’m sorry for the hardship.”

Tristan faced him. “Did you find orders easy to take?”

He shook his head. “Saved every ha’penny I earned so I could purchase my way up the ranks to be the one who gave them rather than the one taking them. I never was completely without orders being thrown at me, but in time they became fewer in number and I was issuing most of them.”

“Well, there you are then. We are better suited to being gentlemen of leisure.” He spread his arms wide. “So here we are.”

“Why do I have the impression you are chomping at the bit to be elsewhere?”

“Because there’s no blasted wind here. I enjoy standing on the deck with the wind billowing the sails. Out there is freedom. Here I am left with the constant sense that I’m on the verge of being caught.”

“By Uncle?” Had there been threats? Had he spied someone lurking in the shadows? Sebastian was at a disadvantage because he could only ever clearly see the shadows to his right.

Tristan scoffed. “God, no. I’d welcome him attempting to do me harm. They couldn’t hang me for self-defense.” He shook his head. “I’m not quite sure what it is that bothers me. The thought of domesticity perhaps. Of being reined in.”

“A woman then. Has someone caught your fancy?”

He laughed. “They all catch my fancy.”

Sebastian was well aware that Tristan caught theirs. During his time at Rafe’s, he’d seen the women draped over Tristan as though he stole the bones from their bodies with a mere glance. Even at Lady Ivers’s dinner party, the young ladies were eyeing Tristan as though he were their favorite chocolate. He wasn’t envious, but he did miss the enthusiasm with which women had once come to his bed.

The door opening caught his attention. His butler strode in, carrying a salver. Sebastian came to his feet, wondering who might be calling.

“A missive has arrived, Your Grace.”

Sebastian took the envelope, turned it over. The waxed seal carried no crest, but outlined a single rose. Perfume wafted up to tease his nostrils. Orchids. It had been more than a week since he’d relished Mary’s sweet fragrance, but he would recognize it anywhere.

“You’re done here, Thomas. I’ll ring for you if I need to send a response.”

“Very good, sir.”

He waited until the butler had left before returning to his chair. He’d never had any correspondence while he was away. He’d envied the men who had received missives from home. He slid the tip of the letter opener into place and relished the ripping sound. He removed the folded paper and opened it.

It’s imperative that we meet at Rotten Row at four. I shall be riding a chestnut gelding.

Always your friend,

Mary

As though he needed to know the shade of her horse in order to find her. Her hair would give her location away. Even tucked up beneath a hat, it would serve as a divining rod for him.

“I can’t determine if you’re delighted or bothered by what you’re reading,” Tristan murmured.

“It’s from Mary. She wishes to meet me at Hyde Park. She says it’s important.”

“Rather cryptic. Any notion regarding what might be important?”

“No, but I doubt it bodes well.” He trailed his finger over the delicate script. He wondered if this meeting would go any better than the previous ones. He did hope they weren’t forever destined to have abrupt partings.

“Maybe she’s simply inventing some excuse to see you again,” Tristan said. “You two seldom went a day without visiting each other, and here it’s been several.”

“We were children, caught up in play.”

“ ’Tis true she’s no longer a child, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get caught up in play.”

Sebastian scowled at Tristan. “She is a lady for God’s sake. Do not imply otherwise.”

“Have you no interest in her at all?”

“As a friend, of course. As more than that . . . I do not think we’d suit.” He looked away when Tristan arched an eyebrow. “Besides, she’s betrothed.”

“Betrothals can be broken.”

“Not without consequences.”

“So you’ve considered it?”

“No.” Blast his brother for even putting the notion in his head.

“I think he selected her for her dowry. Her father was quite generous with it. Fitzwilliam’s family’s coffers are not quite as flush as they lead people to believe.”

“How do you know this?”

Tristan grinned. “Not all
ladies
are indeed ladies. And as much as I like Rafe’s girls, I don’t fancy paying for my pleasures. We are a curiosity. As such many bedchamber doors—or in my case often windows—are opened to us.”

“We’re striving to regain our place and your actions could very well undo it.”

“I’m insulted, Sebastian. I’m very careful, and I would never take advantage of an innocent. But I swear to you, Brother, there are a good many uninnocent wenches who long to embrace the danger I can provide. You could have some fun yourself.”

“We have enough scandal associated with our name. I see no reason to sully it further.”

“And I see no reason not to take advantage of our notoriety. But we’ve wandered off topic. You had an interest in Fitzwilliam.”

“Not in the man, per se, but in his . . .” How could he explain? “Is he good for Mary? Her aunt assures me he is of good stock, but is that enough?”

“Perhaps that is a question you should ask her when you see her.”

Perhaps he would.

A
s Mary trotted her horse along Rotten Row, she knew she would have been wise to have come to the park in the landau so her aunt and cousin could accompany her, but she and Sebastian had often ridden together as children. She thought that familiarity should serve her well now. She’d not seen him since the night of the dinner party, and while she didn’t owe him any consideration, she did feel a sense of obligation toward him. Not pity. He would detest that emotion. She’d seen that well enough after her tears had surfaced at the ball when he made his appearance. Charity, perhaps. Although even that he would no doubt disdain.

The lords of Pembrook were the topic of conversation at every dinner, and last night’s ball as well. The older ladies plotted how to keep them away from their daughters. The daughters gathered in dark corners and whispered about occasional sightings. Someone had seen Lord Tristan striding into a tailor’s on Regent Street. Someone else reported seeing him at the haberdashery. Lord Rafe seemed to be as much of a recluse as the duke for no one spied him. They understood Keswick’s hesitancy to be seen, but still they discussed how best to lure the lords from their lair. It was Rafe and Tristan that they seemed most intent upon capturing.

Often Mary was sought out for advice. As though she knew the intimate details about the brothers. But they were not the lads she’d known, and she could provide very little in the way of assurances that they would soon be making the rounds. While she doubted they would ever admit it, she suspected they weren’t quite comfortable with their return to Society. They had never traversed the maze of etiquette or—more importantly—the elusive rituals not taught to children. One’s reputation was improved or tarnished based upon to whom one was seen speaking. How one danced, how one laughed, how one dressed—all were studied and commented on. Did a lady stand beside a frond, behind it, or in front of it? Did one look as though she desperately wished to dance or did she act as though she could hardly be bothered? Trivial behaviors that could mean so much. Her own experiences had taught her that it could all be quite intimidating, and she suspected that even men as world-weary as the lords of Pembrook would find it so.

Still when Lady Hermione had cornered her at last night’s ball and asked once more for the favor of Mary encouraging the brothers to attend her ball, she decided no harm would come of asking.

She spotted Sebastian in the distance, his black horse loping along. From here, although she couldn’t see his scars, it was easy enough to identify him. He sat a horse magnificently and rode with confidence. Even if she’d not known who he was, she’d have identified him as a lord. His erect carriage spoke of self-assurance, a man who knew his place, one not to be trifled with. Even as a lad, he’d ridden with the same grace. She found comfort in knowing not everything had changed.

Unerringly he guided his horse toward her, as though he’d spied her the moment he entered the park, had known exactly where she was to be found. She brought her own horse to a halt as he drew his near. Reins in hand, he did little more than touch his fingers to the brim of his hat, and she assumed he felt more at ease with his face remaining in shadow. Just as he had during each encounter, he ensured that his handsome side was directed toward her.

“Lady Mary.”

“Your Grace.” She longed to see his mouth twitch with humor or to hear his laughter echoing over the green of the park.

“You indicated an urgency to our meeting.”

Blushing, she tilted her head down slightly and peered up at him, giving him an impish smile. “I may have overstated matters, but I feared if I merely requested you join me that you would find an excuse not to.”

He narrowed his eye, tightened his jaw, and she thought if she had no history with him that she might have been intimidated. “So your missive was a ruse?”

“It was for your own good. You can’t possibly think that attending my aunt’s dinner party was enough to earn your place in Society. You need to be seen about. Shall we walk?”

“I prefer to ride.”

She squelched her disappointment. Walking provided an ease in talking that riding didn’t, but it also would shelter her reputation. “Then ride we shall.”

She urged her horse forward. Rather than simply turn his about, he guided it around hers until the unmarred side of his face was again within her view. It irritated her that he would think her so shallow. “I’m not put off by your scars.”

“Still, no need to inflict them on you when there is an alternative.”

“You can be quite obstinate.”

“I learned it from you.”

Laughing, she peered over at him. “I do believe, Your Grace, that
you
taught me about obstinacy. I was quite biddable as a child.”

“Never. Not from the moment we crossed paths were you ever biddable.”

Even though the words indicated easy banter, his tone didn’t, as though he were forcing himself into a role that didn’t quite fit.

“You mustn’t let your discomfort during the parlor game keep you from attending other affairs,” she said quietly.

“It hasn’t. I’ve been quite busy putting matters to rights.”

“Such as?” she challenged.

She could see the determined set of his jaw. He didn’t want to explain his actions, but their long-ago friendship prevented him from telling her to mind her own business. He owed her, and while he might instruct everyone else to go to the devil he wouldn’t toss the order out to her.

“If you must know, my uncle was known to purchase items on credit,” he said succinctly.