The Duke of Desire Page 2

  That would break his heart.

  “I say, are you listening at all?”

  Berronburg shook his arm and Robert blinked, coming back to the present and turning toward the man with a scowl. “Who would not hear you when you’re practically shouting the ballroom down? A bit of discretion, if you please, my lord.”

  Berronburg pursed his lips. “Those dukes are a bad influence on you, Roseford, I swear to Christ. I was asking you if you’d heard the news.”

  Robert stifled a sigh and settled himself back into the role of rake, rogue, scoundrel. It settled onto his shoulders, but less readily than it once might have. “News?”

  Berronburg was practically bouncing. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  “Well, you always do have the best gossip. What is it then?”

  “The Countess of Gainsworth is returning to Society.”

  All of Robert’s maudlin thoughts vanished in an instant at that unexpected information. He tilted his head. “The Countess of Gainsworth?”

  Berronburg grinned. “The very one. The infamous lady whose sexual prowess was so great that she struck her husband dead while in flagrante delicto!” The marquess rubbed his hands together and his eyes lit up lewdly. “Can you imagine?”

  Robert shook his head. Everyone knew the story. It had circulated through Society like wildfire about a year ago. The whispers had died down, of course, after the man was buried, but now that his wife was coming out of mourning, there was no doubt the world would go abuzz again.

  He almost felt sorry for the lady.

  “Can you?” Berronburg insisted, elbowing him.

  Robert smiled. “I can, indeed. Who could not? She’ll have her pick of lovers, of course.”

  Berronburg laughed. “I agree. There will be dozens who would be willing to risk the cost.”

  Robert snorted in derision. “Please. Her husband was an old bastard. Put her with a younger man of…talent? No one will suffer but the bed sheets. Are they taking wagers yet on who will win her to his bed?”

  “Of course,” Berronburg chuckled. “I assume you will be putting yourself into the mix.”

  Robert jolted at the suggestion. Had he been considering it? In truth, he could scarcely picture the countess. He rarely pursued married women. Too much complication. But certainly the rumors of her prowess interested him. As did the feather that winning her would put in his cap.

  He glanced over to find Berronburg watching him closely. Intently, even. “Why are you waiting for my answer with such focus, my friend?”

  Berronburg shook his head. “Half the men with interest will drop out if you enter the fray, Your Grace. Including me. That is too much rich competition for my blood.”

  Robert shrugged. “I have not yet decided what I will—”

  He stopped midsentence because something had caught his eye. Someone, to be more specific. Two ladies had entered the ballroom. The one was slightly older, with dark hair and a kind expression. But it wasn’t the elder who caught Robert’s eye. No, it was the younger. She was stunning, truly beautiful, with thick brown hair and a face that could stop any man in his tracks. She shifted as she said something to the footman at the door and seemed to take a deep breath before she was announced.

  “The Countess of Gainsworth,” the footman said. “And Mrs. Sambrook.”

  The reaction of the crowd was immediate. There was a stunned silence that rippled through the entire room and then a low rumble as talk began. The countess stood, almost frozen, for a moment. Her companion said something to her, and Lady Gainsworth set her shoulders back and stepped into the ballroom. The women were greeted by the hostess of the ball, Lady Vinesmith, who looked around the crowd as if she regretted asking the countess here now that the room was reacting so strongly.

  Robert watched it all unfold, this little drama, and couldn’t take his eyes away. Couldn’t shake a tiny niggle of…memory that itched in the back of his mind as he watched the exquisite countess edge to the wall and stand there, a blank expression on her face.

  “Better tell the others to put their blunt away,” he murmured.

  “Why?” Berronburg asked, his own gaze fixated on the countess, just as Robert’s was.

  “Because the lady is mine. I guarantee it,” Robert said with a grin.

  Katherine could hardly breathe as she and her aunt stepped away from their hostess. The hostess who had almost sneered at her the moment the crowd turned. And here Katherine had been friends with Lady Vinesmith since they were girls, when Francine had been far less exalted than she was now. And yet she sneered.

  But then, so did the rest of the room, so there it was. Her ruin, begun years ago by a foolish mistake—two foolish mistakes—was now complete. Her life was over.

  “You’re doing fine.”

  She jolted, for she’d all but forgotten the presence of her aunt. She reached back and found Aunt Bethany’s hand, and squeezed for comfort. That was one of the few things she could praise had come from her marriage. Once free of her father’s influence, she had been able to reconnect with her mother’s family. She and Bethany had become close, and now she could scarce recall not having her aunt in her life.

  “I don’t feel fine,” she whispered as they took their place along the wall. “They are whispering and staring, and that was the cut direct, right there.”

  “Be strong,” her aunt assured her.

  Katherine would have laughed if she didn’t want to cry. “I do not feel strong.”

  “Then pretend,” Bethany said softly, gently.

  Now Katherine did dip her head and laugh a little, though she felt no humor in the circumstances. Pretend. Yes, she was good at that. Her whole life was a farce, after all. A play. Pretend to be satisfied as a countess. Pretend to mourn his death. Pretend to be unmoved as they looked at her, sniffed at her.

  She pushed the thoughts away and lifted her chin. Pride. She had to have some pride or they would tread all over her and there would be nothing left.

  She scanned the crowd. There were a few of her old friends here and there. Ladies who had not come to call since her husband’s death, but still. They had been close once. She stepped forward, and there was a tiny hiss from one corner of the room that sent her back to the wall in one long step.

  Her aunt’s hand tightened on her arm, a motion of solidarity, but not one that would fix this untenable situation she found herself in. She was about to suggest they run together, run away from this horrible night, when a lady stepped from the crowd toward her. She did not know the woman, though she certainly knew of her. It was the Duchess of Northfield, one of the most powerful women in Society.

  She was very pretty, with honey hair spun up elaborately on the crown of her head and bright, friendly eyes. Katherine knew that meant nothing. Vipers often disguised themselves as sweet little bunnies. She stiffened her spine, waiting for whatever attack was to come.

  “Mrs. Sambrook,” the duchess said, extending an elegant hand. “How lovely to see you.”

  Some of Katherine’s starch softened as she watched her aunt’s face light up. Bethany was a good judge of character, and it was clear she liked this woman.

  “Your Grace,” Aunt Bethany said. “You look beautiful, as always.”

  “Adelaide,” the duchess said with a laugh. “There are too many duchesses in my circle to have such formality with friends.”

  “Have you met my companion?” Aunt Bethany said, turning the focus toward Katherine.

  “I think, perhaps, long ago,” Adelaide said. “Before I married Northfield.”

  “Katherine, the Countess of Gainsworth,” Aunt Bethany said. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Northfield.”

  “Adelaide,” the duchess said again, and extended the same hand she had with Bethany.

  Katherine couldn’t help but hesitate still, and yet the duchess took her hand without reluctance. Her blue eyes were bright, unclouded by ulterior motives, at least none she showed outwardly.

&nbs
p; “I was hoping you two would come join our group,” she said, motioning over to the small circle of women beside the dancefloor.

  Katherine caught her breath. These were the famous Duchesses of the 1797 Club. Wives of the dukes who were one particular man’s friends. A man she did not want to see or interact with.

  But she was given no chance to refuse, for her aunt nodded enthusiastically and practically dragged Katherine across the room, with all its eyes focused on her, to the ladies who stood there.

  “The Duchesses of Tyndale, Abernathe and Willowby,” Adelaide said, motioning to the ladies. “Isabel, Emma and Diana. There are a few others floating about, but they all seem to be dancing with their husbands at present.”

  Katherine nodded, though she had no intention of calling any of these ladies by their given names. She had enough impropriety haunting her. There was no need to create more scandal.

  They began to talk, just about silly things, conversation that was of no import. To her surprise, Katherine felt at ease with the ladies. And when she looked around the crowd, she no longer felt the heavy, accusatory gaze of others on her. She glanced back and found the Duchess of Northfield smiling at her.

  “Perhaps you’d come get a punch with me?” she said. “I’m parched.”

  Katherine squeezed her aunt’s arm before she stepped out with the duchess toward the refreshment table across the room. They walked in silence for a moment, comfortable until Katherine heard her name whispered on the wind. A snap of the syllables, an accusation with just the word.

  To her surprise, Adelaide huffed out her breath and took her arm, squeezing it gently before they continued their way across the room. “You are holding up beautifully, my dear,” she said as they reached the table at last.

  Katherine glanced at her from the corner of her eye, uncertain again as to the woman’s motives. “Is that why you approached us? To see firsthand how a woman of my…situation…was faring?”

  Adelaide faced her, and her expression was one of horror. “Oh no, of course not. I was asked to look out for you by a friend.”

  “A friend?” she repeated.

  Adelaide nodded. “Yes. Charlotte could not be here tonight, but she knew of your intention to return to Society and asked that I offer you a bit of friendship.”

  Katherine’s lips parted. She and Charlotte were friends of a passing nature, but she’d always liked the other woman. She was a duchess, too, now. She’d almost forgotten that. Married to the famous Silent Duke of Donburrow a year and a half before.

  She worried her lip. “I suppose Charlotte and her husband would know a great deal about whispers.”

  Adelaide’s blue gaze snapped with protectiveness. “Indeed. And even if I wasn’t sent by one of my closest friends, I would still have approached you. I like your aunt—she gives generously to a charitable society I dabble in. And I abhor bullies. There are those aplenty in this little room.”

  Katherine looked at her more closely. She wanted so much to like the duchess, to believe that she was a champion. Certainly, Katherine needed one of those now. Becoming friends with a powerful group of duchesses would help her.

  And having friends of any kind sounded wonderful after the past few years of pain, isolation and confusion.

  She shrugged. “They see blood in the water, I’m afraid. At least the Season will be over soon and I can have a few additional months for them to forget my…” She blushed, as she always did when this topic came up. “…to forget my particular scandal.”

  The moment she said the words, Katherine longed to pull them back. She didn’t like letting her guard down. She’d been punished for such foolish action many times in the past. No matter how kind or friendly Adelaide appeared, Katherine didn’t fully trust her. And now her face felt hot and her hands shook a little at her sides.

  Adelaide looked as though she would say something, and Katherine took a step back and held up a hand. “I find I’m a bit overheated in the crowd. Will you tell my aunt I took a moment of air and to excuse me?”

  Adelaide held her stare for a moment and then nodded. “Of course.”

  Katherine forced a smile and pivoted, abandoning her companion rudely, she knew. The duchess would likely lament her offer of friendship. Katherine regretted that as she burst from the ballroom onto the terrace and raced to the edge of the wall to draw a few long breaths.

  It was dark out. The night was cloudy, obscuring the moon and the stars. She flashed briefly to another night on another terrace. When she had sought darkness and found it. A night that had destroyed her life. Brought her to this particularly unpleasant future.

  “Lady Gainsworth.”

  She stiffened. A male voice said her name. Slowly she turned to find one of her husband’s acquaintances stepping on to the terrace and shutting the door behind him. Mr. Adam Morley, who was of an age with Gainsworth. Another old man who let his eyes roll over her like she was a prize.

  “Mr. Morley,” she said, forcing herself to be polite when what she really wanted was to be alone. “How nice to see you.”

  “And you,” he practically purred. “As soon as I saw you enter the ballroom tonight, I knew I would have to find a moment with you.”

  Katherine set her jaw. He meant a moment alone. Not on the dancefloor where others might see. No, she was too damaged for an open approach.

  “Well, here I am.” She folded her arms. “Though if this is about something between you and Gainsworth, I’m afraid I am not the one to speak to. His nephew has taken the title. I would reach out to him or to Gregory’s solicitor.”

  Morley tilted his head. “It isn’t about my dear old friend, rest his soul. I wanted to speak to you, Katherine.”

  She caught her breath. The way he said her given name, emphasized it, there was no denying his interest. It lit up in his cloudy green eyes. It hung on the air between them. And to pursue that kind of interest here, on the terrace, hidden in the dark, that meant it wasn’t a genuine one. It was about desire.

  “I would prefer to be called by my title, sir. And now I have left my aunt for too long. It was a pleasure to see you. Good night.”

  She strode past him, feeling his gaze on her with every step. Feeling stripped and vulnerable from it. Disgusted. As she reached the door, he said, “I will call on you again, my lady.”

  Her hand shook as she ignored the parting words, pretended she didn’t hear them as she re-entered the ballroom. She had scarcely a second to gather herself when she caught two gentlemen watching her. One leaned into the other, whispering something that made them both laugh. Then the first tilted his drink to her, as if in salute.

  She spun away, staggering across the room. It was one thing to hear the hisses and the judgment. This was something else. Everywhere she turned she caught another man looking at her. Smiling in that lewd, suggestive way. She knew want. She had been taught that concept, if nothing else, in her marriage. It was on all their faces. Stark and lecherous.

  She lifted up on her tiptoes, desperate to find her aunt so she could cry off this awful night at last. Bethany was nowhere to be found in the crush. Panic clawed up in Katherine’s chest as she scanned the crowd and found only cruel faces and faces that were lined with desire. She pivoted and froze.

  There, standing across the room, was the Duke of Roseford. The world came to a screeching halt as she stared at him. He was just as handsome as he had been three years ago. Even more handsome, if that were possible. With his thick, dark hair, sharp, brown eyes and impeccable dress, there was no way one couldn’t look at him. He was staring back, just as so many other men in the room had been. And yet his expression was different. The duke was not a panting dog. He was a wolf. Leader of the pack. Bored and indifferent.

  She remembered that moment on the terrace years ago. A stolen moment that had changed her life. She’d come to hate him for that moment and for the moments that had come after. But now, in this blink of an eye when she was caught in the snare of his g
aze, she could recall how very much she had wanted him to kiss her.

  “Damn him,” she muttered, pushing the memory away. Letting her anger return. He was the one who had ruined her life. She couldn’t be so foolish as to forget that.

  A slight smile turned up Roseford’s lips, and then he took a step toward her. Toward her! One after another, right in her direction as he held her stare with that smirk on his face.

  She turned on her heel and stalked away from him. She wanted nothing to do with that man and his handsome face and his knowing grins and his devil-may-care attitude. She had already suffered greatly for it once. She had no intention of ever putting herself in the position where he could make her suffer again.

  Chapter Two

  Robert settled into a comfortable leather chair before the roaring fire and accepted the cup of tea Matthew, Duke of Tyndale, handed over. He wanted something stronger, but, given the time of day, did not ask for it. Matthew would push and he wasn’t in the mood.

  He hadn’t been for three days. Not since the ball where he’d seen the Countess of Gainsworth and determined that he would take her as a lover. Of course, now that was up in the air. The woman had given him such a look, like he was a viper. And then she’d just…disappeared.

  “…the Vinesmith Ball,” Matthew said, finishing a sentence that Robert had not been attending to in the least. But it was about the very ball he had been brooding about, so Robert set his cup down and straightened up.

  “I’m sorry?”

  Matthew arched a brow. “I was just saying it was a crush and asking if you had a good time. What in the world is wrong with you? You’ve been out of sorts since you arrived.”

  “You were out of sorts for years and you didn’t see me troubling you about it,” Robert said with a shrug.

  He immediately wished he could take the words back. Matthew had been grieving the loss of his former fiancée for years. Only his bride, Isabel, to whom he had been married for only a few months, had brought him from the depths of his despair.