Dusk With a Dangerous Duke (17 page)

His friend made it sound so simple. “Flattery will not impress this woman,” he said flatly. He had injured her feelings, and she wanted his head on a platter. “This will require work.”

Vane lightly slapped him on the cheek to get his attention. “The ones who matter always do, my friend.”

*   *   *

“Why is Chillingsworth glaring at me?”

Grace tipped her head to the side to see what Mr. Walker was fussing about. The man wasn’t exaggerating. Frost’s expression had a tinge of murderous intent. From this distance, it was difficult to tell if the coldness in his regard was personal or a false impression perpetuated by the chandeliers blazing overhead.

“Have you recently offended Lord Chillingsworth?”

“I avoid the gentleman. He has a certain reputation with his fists.”

“I suppose he’s a respectable shot as well.”

“So I have been told,” he said, dismissing the earl with a careless shrug. “Do you know him? Perhaps he views you as his?”

Mr. Walker managed a guileless expression, but Grace wasn’t fooled. “Come now, sir. Can you not think of one more reason why the earl might be troubled that you are speaking with me?”

“You know who I am, don’t you?”

“I paid attention when Lady Pashley introduced us,” she said kindly. “More important, you neglected to explain your connection to the Duke of Huntsley.”

His sheepish smile was endearing, but it did not soften her heart. “Ah, you have caught me. How embarrassing!”

For some reason, the males in the duke’s family believed she was gullible; it was reason enough for her to walk away. What prevented her from leaving was Frost’s hostile reaction. It made her curious. Was he spying on Huntsley’s behalf? If so, the man would live to regret it. Huntsley, too, if she had anything to say about it.

“Yes, it is,” she said mildly. “Is there a reason for this ruse?”

“Forgive me, Lady Grace. I was not certain you would speak to me,” he replied.

His apology seemed sincere. Still, she was not convinced that he did not have other reasons for not mentioning that Huntsley was his cousin. “No one has mentioned you by name. I was aware, however, that the duke’s grandmother added a clause in the marriage contract to ensure her grandson’s compliance. If this marriage does not take place, you will be a rich man, Mr. Walker.”

“I am not a poor man, Lady Grace,” Mr. Walker protested.

“No, but men are peculiar animals. I would wager that rich gentlemen dream of growing richer,” she said, softening the accusation with a smile.

Mr. Walker’s expression lightened, and he returned her smile. “Yes, my lady, there are no limitations when it comes to wealth. There is another reason why I want Huntsley’s inheritance.”

“What reason is that?”

“I would enjoy claiming it because it was his. It would infuriate him to lose his grandmother’s gift to me.” Noting the puzzlement in her expression, he added, “Boyhood rivalry, I must confess. Huntsley and I never played well together. Both of us ended up sporting bruised eyes whenever the families came together.”

“So where do I fit into all of this, Mr. Walker?”

He stepped forward. From the corner of her eye, Grace noticed that Frost had moved closer, too.

“Ah, I would be honored if you addressed me as Roland. We are almost family, after all.”

“Almost, but not quite, sir,” she corrected flirtatiously.

“Would it be impolite of me to speak of rumors that I have overhead about you and the duke?” he politely inquired.

“What did you hear?”

“That you might be unwed on your twenty-first birthday.”

“I would not be the first lady to celebrate thusly.”

“Do not be coy, my lady,” he countered, unable to contain the excitement on his face. “You speak boldly, and it is one of the reasons why you fascinate me.”

Grace doubted the duke shared Mr. Walker’s opinion.

“You approached me because you wish to know if these rumors are true.”

“And clever, too.” He took up her hand, and kissed her lightly on her gloved knuckles. “Another admirable quality.”

“Let me guess. Perhaps one you would like to explore further if the Duke of Huntsley is no longer barring your path?”

“It’s a reasonable aspiration,” he said, still holding her hand. “So tell me, dear lady … dare I stand a chance to earn your affections?”

“Well—”

“Take your hands off my wife, Walker!” Huntsley ordered, his menacing approach causing the couple to separate.

The duke’s claim ignited her temper. “Your arrogance is astounding. I am
not
your wife, nor will I be if you persist this way.”

*   *   *

This was not going well.

Hunter had managed to silence everyone in the ballroom with his declaration, giving everyone a chance to hear Lady Grace’s biting response. If he had the ability to blush, he would as red as his hostess’s headdress.

Walker had released Lady Grace’s hand, but he was emboldened by her rejection of Hunter’s claim. Circling around Hunter, he said, “I beg you, cousin … persist.”

“It is so typical of you, cousin,” Hunter sneered. “Hiding behind a woman’s skirt. If you have something to say, at least have the pluck to say it to me instead of skulking around ballrooms in the hope of cornering my betrothed.”

He had used
betrothed
in deference to Grace. If she denied him again in front of the
ton,
she would not be pleased with the results. Thankfully, the woman had the sense to hold her tongue.

“Cousin, no one could accuse me of skulking. Our hostess welcomed me with an affectionate embrace, and I am acquainted with several of the guests. When I learned your lady was in attendance this evening, I felt duty-bound to seek out an introduction. After all, she will be family.” Walker deliberately shifted his gaze to the clearly vexed Grace. “Or not.”

Any other day, Hunter would have called Walker a liar. This would have prompted an unpleasant confrontation, which would have forced them to excuse themselves. Once they had found a private setting, he and his cousin would have proceeded to pound out their mutual frustrations upon each other.

It would have meant leaving Lady Grace.

In her current mood, the violent confrontation with his cousin would only prove that he was unworthy of her. If she disappeared, he might not discover her whereabouts until her birthday had passed, and Walker would win.

He couldn’t allow either one to happen.

Instead he swallowed his pride and bowed. “Forgive my tardiness, my lady. If you are agreeable, would you join me so I can make a proper apology in private?”

A few of the guests around them chuckled. No man wanted to humble himself in front of witnesses, even when he deserved it.

Hunter offered her his arm, his level gaze silently willing her to take it. He was not above carrying her out of the ballroom over his shoulder, but he was trying to prove to her that he could be polite.

Lady Grace glanced from one man to the other. She was too astute not to realize that the cousins could come to blows if Hunter remained. “Of course, Your Grace,” she said meekly, and placed her hand on his arm.

Hunter wasn’t deceived by her obedience.

“Mr. Walker, I am so pleased we were able to meet,” she said genially.

His cousin inclined his head. “I look forward to our next encounter.”

“It will be soon, cousin,” Hunter said silkily. “I pray you will be able to join us as we celebrate our wedding day.”

“Of course,” Walker said tightly. “The joyous nuptials have been long in coming.”

“If ever,” Lady Grace said low enough that Hunter was the only one who heard her.

*   *   *

As Hunter and his future duchess strolled across the ballroom, he realized this was the first time they were appearing together as a couple. He nodded to familiar faces, and Lady Grace smiled shyly though he did not halt to make introductions. Hunter’s gaze connected briefly with Frost’s. His friend shook his head as if he was disappointed in him. It was his friend’s not-so-subtle way of telling him that he should have punched Walker and have been done with it.

Hunter relished the notion of seeing his cousin with a split lip and broken nose, but that was selfish. He had Lady Grace’s sensibilities to consider. Ladies tended to be squeamish of men who bloodied their fists and then wanted to put their hands on their women.

Though it surprised him, the desire to put his hands on Lady Grace was stronger than his need to bruise his knuckles on his cousin’s face.

They did not speak until they had left the crowded ballroom. He directed her to the left and down several stone steps until they reached a small alcove cut into the hedges.

“Would you have truly fought him?” Lady Grace asked.

“It is likely,” he confessed, assuming that she would prefer the truth. “Walker and I have never gotten along.”

“Which is why your grandmother chose to give your inheritance to him,” she shrewdly concluded.

“Aye.”

His dislike of Walker was a powerful incentive for him to honor his word.

“Did you order Frost to watch over me?” she abruptly asked.

“Uh, no,” he replied, deciding not to mention that Vane had been the one watching her. Perhaps Vane had warned Frost of Walker’s presence before he had left the house to find Hunter. “If Frost was following you, he must have noticed that Walker had entered the ballroom. Our mutual dislike is hardly a secret, and my friend was probably concerned that Walker would approach you.”

And Frost was correct. As usual.

“You were not tardy.”

Hunter feigned innocence. “I beg your pardon?”

“You were not planning to attend the ball. Regan would have told me,” she said, convinced she had secured the lady’s loyalty.

She probably had.

Regan loved the Lords of Vice as dearly as she loved her brother, Frost. Nevertheless, as with most siblings, the two often experienced differences of opinion. Once Regan had heard of his indifference toward the lady he was supposed to marry, she had sided with Grace. Dare’s wife knew exactly how Hunter had been spending his time over the years, when he should have been courting his future duchess.

Perhaps Regan was not the best choice in friends for Grace.

When he pulled her aside, he would have to remind the lady that some stories about the Lords of Vice should not be retold. Not everyone was as forgiving as she was.

Hunter gestured for her to sit on the marble bench. “I lied to Walker, though you are clever enough to guess the why of it.” He sat down next to her.

Lady Grace did not try to move away from him. “I assume you were worried that I would tell him about my decision. You need not have worried. Mr. Walker has already heard the rumors.”

Damn.

“Did he mention who was spreading these rumors?”

She shook her head. The paper lanterns in the trees overhead revealed her elegant profile. “No, he did not mention who had told him. However, he was cheered by the news and decided to seek an introduction.”

Walker had come to London to gloat over his victory. “His intention was to make certain that you did not alter your decision.”

Lady Grace frowned. “But I have not.”

“You have,” Hunter said, his tone daring her to argue. “There is more than just my inheritance at stake, Grace. Have you ever wondered why your grandfather was willing to betroth his only granddaughter at such a young age?”

Grace contemplated his question. “He had recently lost his wife, daughter, and son-in-law and was grieving. Perhaps he worried that he did not have long to live, so he appealed to your grandmother for assistance. It was a respectable match for her only grandson, so she proposed a merger between the two families.”

“A plausible explanation, but there was more to this arrangement than increasing my family’s wealth as you suggested the other evening,” he said, carefully choosing his words. “In most cases, your father’s heir … his brother would have been declared your guardian.”

Forgetting that she disliked him, Grace turned toward him. “Rosemary told me that my uncle refused to be burdened with a child,” she explained.

“Who is Rosemary?”

She grimaced at his bewilderment. “You met her the other night, and the afternoon at Covent Garden. The day we were betrothed, Rosemary was there in the library. She was my nurse. As I grew older, she stayed and became the housekeeper of Frethwell Hall.”

Her affection for the woman was reflected in her expression and voice. For her, Rosemary was more than a servant. She had become her friend, adviser, and companion.

And Rosemary wanted him out of Grace’s life.

That much was clear when he saw the woman’s face after she opened the door.

“What I know of your uncle and grandfather are written on the pages of my grandmother’s journal, and the letters she had exchanged with your grandfather. I know there was some concern about your uncle. He had been with your father when he had had his accident, and while a formal inquiry exonerated him, your grandfather was worried that your uncle might have had a hand in your father’s death.”

“Rubbish,” she protested. “My uncle is not an affectionate man—”

Hunter silenced her with a gesture. “Your uncle has visited Frethwell Hall?” He closed his eyes and answered his own question. “Of course he has called on you.”

He had not realized the extent of his failings until her admission. Porter only visited once a year, and the servants would have yielded to the Duke of Strangham’s request to visit his young niece.

“How often did he visit?”

She must have realized that she had given away a secret. “Not often,” she hastily confessed. “He never visited when my grandfather lived. A few years after his death, my uncle called on me to pay his condolences for my loss. He was kind, and I was—I needed kindness.”

Grace was a vulnerable girl and the bastard ruthlessly took advantage of her grief.

“Rosemary remained at my side the entire visit,” she added, sensing his fury that he had not anticipated—and worse, had not cared—how the girl was faring after her grandfather’s death. “A few years passed before we saw him again. He never stayed long. My uncle was just concerned. He had learned in London that you opposed the match, and were doing your best to forget my existence.”