A Duke For All Seasons (2 page)

    
But however much her insides ached, this man was part of the blasted game she’d been unwillingly sucked into. She wouldn’t let herself be coerced into more. Arabella pulled away from him.

    
“With regret, I must decline.”

    
With buckets of regret
, she thought ruefully.

    
The bulge in his trousers was formidable and if his kiss was any indication, the "duke" was a lover of considerable skill. Despite his chilly formal demeanor, he was all fire underneath and his nearness sent a flurry of conflicting sensations coursing over her. She steeled herself not to meet his gaze as she donned the wrapper that had been draped over her dressing screen.

    
“Allow me to offer you a libretto of this evening’s opera as a parting gift.” She had tucked the incriminating envelope within its pages earlier, figuring her contact might appreciate a method of concealing the volatile thing he carried. She held it out to him now.

    
He stared at the
Don Giovanni
libretto, his brows nearly meeting over his fine straight nose.

    
“You’ll find what you seek within its pages,” she said pointedly.

    
“No doubt, Giovanni has many things to teach a man, but unless I find you within this little booklet, I will continue in disappointment,” he said, taking the libretto and tucking it in his waistcoat pocket. “Thank you, Miss St. George. I will treasure this memento of our first meeting. However, you should know I am not accustomed to accepting defeat. You are a spectacular actress, but I recognize real passion when I encounter it. You were as moved by that kiss as I.”

    
She bit her lip. Could he scent her arousal over the roses?

    
He dipped in the shallowest of bows and put on his hat in a fluid motion. “My driver and equipage will remain at the stage door for one hour, should your plans change. I sincerely hope they do. Good evening.”

    
He strode away without a backward glance.

    
Arabella closed the door behind him, lest she be tempted to follow. The deed was done, the envelope delivered. Fernand and his cohorts would leave her in peace now. She'd never have to see any of them again. She escaped the ill-advised adventure with nothing worse than a few sleepless nights.

    
But why did her contact have to be such a delicious man?

    
She removed her stage makeup and re-applied a judicious amount of rouge for her exit from the theatre. It wouldn’t do for a
diva
, even an exhausted one, to look like a washerwoman. Then she donned a simple gown, grateful that unlike her heavy stage costumes, she could dress herself in street wear. She was tying the bow of her bonnet, when someone rapped on her door.

    
“Come,” she called out.

    
A man stepped into her dressing room, wearing a top hat and bearing roses. A white carnation winked at his lapel.

    
“
Bonsoir
, Arabella. I believe you have something for me.”

    
Her heart shuddered at the sound of his voice. Fernand de Lisle closed the door behind him.

“Under no circumstances should a gentleman involve himself with a woman who has entanglements of a sort that might diminish his enjoyment of her.”

~ A Gentleman’s Guide to Keeping a Mistress

         
“Fernand,” Arabella said, aghast. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

    
“You were told to look for a man wearing a top hat with a white carnation in his lapel, and bearing a dozen roses,
non
?” He made a sweeping bow and dropped the flowers on the floor. “Now, the envelope, where is it?”

    
Panic coiled her belly. “Why didn’t Jean-Louis simply tell me you were the one who would meet me?”

    
So I could arrange to be where you wouldn’t find me!

    
“Because
, ma petite
, you don’t need to know everything.”

    
Fernand swept her into an embrace with the assurance common to handsome men. She’d found his pale eyes beneath blond brows uniquely enchanting once. Now they seemed reptilian. She tried the firmness of his grip and decided a struggle would be pointless.

    
“As much as I would love to stay and renew our oh-so-pleasant acquaintance, I have some rather pressing matters to attend.” His voice was a silky bass, but there was an underlying tone of menace she hadn’t recognized when she first met him years ago. Now it was all she could hear. “I’ll take what I’ve come for and be gone.”

    
For a moment, she considered telling him that the Duke of Winterhaven was in possession of the wretched envelope and that he could be found at The Peacock’s Tail.

    
But that would put an innocent bystander in Fernand de Lisle’s path.

    
Not that Winterhaven was innocent. No man who kissed as he did could be considered such. But Arabella knew what Fernand was capable of.

    
Winterhaven didn’t.

    
She forced a musical laugh as she extricated herself from his arms. “Honestly, Fernand, you don’t think I keep it here, do you? Anyone could come into my dressing room.”

    
“And no doubt
anyone
has. You have no secrets from me, remember.”

    
She made herself smile at him. “The point is I don’t have it with me at present.”

    
“Then let us go collect it.”
 

    
“I can’t,” she said, trying to keep her voice even, as if her heart weren’t pounding hard enough to leap from her chest. “I’m . . . dining with the Duke of Winterhaven this evening.”

    
“He is rather—what is the word?—‘high-in-the-instep’ for you,
non
?”

    
She shrugged. Perhaps the Winterhaven name projected enough power to protect her for as long as it took for her to retrieve the envelope. “His Grace left his coach and driver for me and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

    
“Neither do I,
chérie
.” Fernand grabbed her forearm, twisted it painfully and pulled her close enough to whisper in her ear. “It was a mistake for you to move your family from the townhouse on Bent Street. It shows a lack of trust I find most troubling.”

    
“This is between you and me, Fernand. Leave them out of it.” She stomped on his foot and wrenched herself away from him, knocking the vase with Winterhaven’s roses to the floor with a crash. It shattered into hundreds of shards and the perfume of dying roses filled the room afresh.

    
A rap sounded on the door. “Everything all right, Bella?” the stage manager called out.

    
Fernand’s eyes flashed a warning.

    
“Fine, Will. Just a little clumsiness.” William was a nice man. He had a family. The last thing she wanted was to put him in danger. “You’ll have to send in the dustman after I leave.”

    
“Right-o.” Will’s footsteps retreated.

    
“You know the difference between you and me, Bella?” Fernand popped his top hat back on his head. “You have a care for what happens to others. That, my dear, is a weakness you can ill afford.”

    
“I mean it. Leave my family alone.”

    
“Certainly. So long as you and I deal well with each other, there’s no reason to involve them. I will be back tomorrow. Disappoint me at your peril.” He paused at the door. “I found the child once. Do not imagine I can’t find her again.”

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

    
“Arabella St. George is otherwise engaged this evening,” Sebastian admitted.

    
“She turned you down?” Neville plopped into one of the two wing chairs that flanked the fireplace. A grin brightened his face. “Oh, my friend, you cannot imagine how my heart bleeds for you.”

    
“Oddly enough, all I have to show for my trip to the opera is a new libretto, courtesy of Miss St. George.” Sebastian took the
Don Giovanni
libretto from his waistcoat pocket and laid it on the stack of books he’d brought for Neville from his library. Then he settled into the other wing chair with a snifter of brandy for each of them. He’d break out the cigars later. He kept a townhouse in London, but since his aunt and younger sister were in residence there, he preferred to confine his personal pleasures to the suite he leased at the Peacock’s Tail.

    
“She’ll come round,” Sebastian assured his friend. “This is but a momentary set-back.”

    
“And Waterloo was but a lost wager for the French.” Neville took a sip of his brandy. “Admit it. Have you ever been turned down before?”

    
“You’re enjoying yourself at my expense.”

    
“Not at all, Winterhaven,” Neville said with a laugh. “Once I claim that case of port,
then
I’ll be enjoying myself at your expense.”

    
“You are far too consumed with my private affairs.”

    
“Because I wish you to see you settled,” Neville said. “You devote a great deal of time and energy to securing four women a year. If instead you found one you could love for the rest of your life, you'd be a much happier man.”

    
“Granger, I’m delighted you’ve found your Christine, but just because you've decided to marry, it doesn't signify that all men should.” Sebastian sipped his brandy. His father had devoted himself to one woman and died a disappointed wretch. "Besides, what makes you think I'm not happy?"

    
“You haven’t got an heir.”

    
“There’s time for that.” A duchess was on his horizon, but her shadowy figure was the far in the distance. A woman might be trusted to bear a man’s heir with careful watching, but he knew better than to trust one with his heart. “And even once I marry, there’s nothing to prevent me from continuing to order my personal life to suit me. A wife should have no cause for complaint so long as a man is discreet.”

    
Heaven knew his mother hadn’t been.

    
There was a rap on the door. Neville hopped up to open it and Arabella St. George stepped into the elegant suite with the same alluring presence she projected on the operatic stage. She was a
diva
to her bones.

    
“Good evening, Lord Granger.” She offered Neville her hand. “Lovely to see you again. Are you joining His Grace and me for supper?”

    
Sebastian saw him fight the urge to swear.

    
“Unfortunately, no,” Neville said as he dropped a kiss on her gloved knuckles. "However, I hope you'll consider another recital for my mother and her friends very soon."

    
“Please tell the countess I'd be delighted,” Miss St. George said.

    
Even her speaking voice was musical and sultry. Sebastian was stirred by the mere sound of her.

    
“The opera company's season will soon be over. We might arrange something then. An evening of
liebeslieder
to celebrate your engagement, perhaps?”