How to Dazzle a Duke (24 page)

such inclinations.”

“Oh, now really, Lord Iveston,” she said, digging in her heels.

Iveston did not appear to notice. “I think you are far too—”

Iveston stopped so abruptly that she nearly tripped. “I am far

too what, Miss Prestwick?” he breathed, and not at all nicely,

either. Why, he looked nearly enraged.

It was most inappropriate of her, but she did feel the urge to

giggle, which would have been a terrible breach of etiquette and

in the worst possible form. So she didn’t. But it was a struggle.

“Far too long of limb, Lord Iveston,” she said. “You’ve run me

to ground. I can’t keep pace with you at all.” And she put her

hand to her heart, to illustrate. That her heart happened to be

buried beneath her very fi ne bosom was none of her doing, was

it? That Iveston’s vivid blue gaze followed the movement of her

hand and lingered was none of her doing either.

How to Daz zle a Duke

169

“Miss Prestwick,” he said quietly, “I think ’tis you who have

set the pace.”

“I shall take that as a compliment, Lord Iveston,” she said,

staring up at him.

He was a fine-looking man, white spot and all. Did he have a

white spot of frustration on the other side? She’d just have to ar

range for him to turn his head, wouldn’t she? Or perhaps to work

his cravat down a bit so that she could see farther down his neck.

That would take considerable doing, but she was quite certain

she was up to the challenge. He was only a man, after all, and

not even a duke yet. How much resistance could he offer her?

“I thought you would,” he said. “But as you are fatigued, cer

tainly by the heat of the room, and as we have so much to discuss,

I shall escort you out of the room, shall I?”

Naturally, he wasn’t asking at all and proceeded, under the

false banner of concern for her welfare, to whisk her out of

the room before she could say a word otherwise. And she was

quite certain she would have, if given any chance at all. Quite

certain.

6

“I’M back to White’s,” Lord George Blakesley said the moment

Iveston swept Penelope Prestwick out of the room. “I need to get

my name on that wager. He’s doing quite well, which I’m certain

will surprise some, but not I.”

“Some?” Sophia said. “By which you mean Edenham? A

man does tend to put more emphasis on a woman’s cordial

nature and pleasant aspect than perhaps he should. Just because

a woman smiles at a man is no reason to think that she’ll take

him for a husband. If that were so, I’d have been married scores

of times.”

George Grey looked at her and said, “And she’d hardly take

him for a lover. Not a woman with her ideas.”

170 CLAUDIA DAIN

“Ideas?” Lord George asked, looking Grey over. Grey re

turned the look.

“Marriage ideas,” Grey answered. “It’s after marriage that

women of your country take lovers, isn’t it?”

Lord George Blakesley, who was truly a remarkable-looking

man, looked with rather a chilly demeanor at George Grey, who

had only pointed out the obvious, after all, and was also not a

man to be intimidated by something as inconsequential as a cool

stare. Really, one would almost suppose that Lord George had

forgotten with whom he was conversing.

“Not all women,” Lord George responded. “Certainly no wife

of Iveston’s would ever fi nd the need.”

“They do it for need? Not want?” Grey asked.

Sophia very nearly laughed, but as it would have made mat

ters much worse than they currently were, and as this evening

had just begun, things being worse, or better, depending upon

one’s perspective, would have to wait until later. And she was

quite certain there would be a later and that things, as defi ned

by Penelope Prestwick, would most definitely get much, much

worse. Or better. Very likely both.

“Were we discussing Lord Iveston?” she asked. “Is he to

soon marry, Lord George? All part of a wager, I daresay.

Didn’t you have a wager of your own to put down? Something

about White’s?”

Casting a final, or one hoped it was final, dim and coldly

forbidding look at Grey, who rebuffed it completely, Lord George

Blakesley made his excuses, casting a final look at Lady Lanreath

before he made his way through the reception room and out onto

the street. He would be back, of that she was certain. Lady Lan

reath’s pointed stare at his back all but declared it.

“What is a London Season, Sophia?” George Grey asked her,

staring at Lady Lanreath, his gaze moving casually to her sister,

How to Daz zle a Duke

171

Lady Paignton. Lady Paignton stared at him and smiled, a slow

smile of pure invitation. “Beyond a dance between beds?”

“Politics, darling George,” she answered him, “which can

happen in the space between one bed and another. Do not imag

ine that the English cannot indulge their passions while fueling

their ambitions. They are quite adept at it, I’m afraid.”

George turned his black-eyed gaze upon her. He was quite

tall and looked quite well in his English tailoring and his fi ne

cravat. He looked like every other man in the room in his dress,

and nothing like them in his deportment. Which was just as it

should have been.

“If I climb into a woman’s bed, it won’t be for politics,”

he said.

“If you climb into a bed, it will serve someone’s purpose,

political or not, George. Have a care. The lion is the totem of the

English. It is apt.”

“And I am of the Wolf Clan, Sophia, as are you,” he

answered with the sliver of a smile. “I am not afraid of lions, as

you are not.”

Sophia smiled and nodded softly. “I am not, but have a care,

George. Even a wolf is wary of the lion.”

“Or the lioness?”

“Especially the lioness.”

George looked again at Lady Paignton. Bernadette looked

quite as seductive as she normally did, which was quite a lot.

Small wonder that George was tempted.

As to temptations, what
was
Miss Prestwick doing to poor

Lord Iveston behind that door?

Fourteen

THE reception room at Lanreath House was done up in ivory

and rose. The drawing room was also a confection of ivory and

gilding, the major difference between the two rooms being the

design of the plasterwork and the amount of gilding. The draw

ing room had less gilding on the walls, but the chairs were gilded

and upholstered in dark cream damask.

Lord Iveston, with his pale complexion and light blond hair

should have disappeared against the drawing room walls, but he

didn’t. He didn’t disappear in the least regard. It might have been

his eyes. His eyes, so blue, so hot, looked nearly to burn a hole

of outrage right through her.

Who would have thought he had it in him?

Of course, they were hardly alone. There were servants

aplenty and the dining room was just beyond the door, which

was also abuzz with activity. A soiree was many things in that

many avenues of entertainment were offered. The three rooms

which comprised the main rooms of this floor would be full of

guests until dawn, once all the guests arrived, of course. They

How to Daz zle a Duke

173

hadn’t yet. And, according to Iveston, it was all because of that

tiny little wager George had made for her.

He was going on about it now, on and on, while she stared at

him, not bothering to listen to his words, because she had de

duced what he was going on about after the first sentence or two,

but he had clearly felt the need to go on and on about the same

thing, as men so often did, and so she found herself studying his

face and reminding herself that he couldn’t possibly ruin her

as they were not even remotely alone.

She was not entirely certain she was happy about that. Oh,

she knew she ought to be happy, but she was not truly certain

that she was.

How perfectly odd.

She found herself thinking that rather a lot. She’d never

thought it before meeting Lord Iveston. And that caused her to

ponder. She liked to ponder. She did not believe anything was

ever gained by an impulsive display of emotion or raw reaction.

No, the thing to do when caught unawares by a situation was to

ponder it, considering all the elements.

Lord Iveston was a most unexpected element.

“I do appreciate it when I am listened to, Miss Prestwick,”

Iveston said crisply, practically looming over her.

She shook her head briskly, shaking herself back into the con

versation, as it were, and said, “But of course you do, Lord Iveston.

I’m quite positive that could be said of anyone. I myself come

perilously close to demanding it. I can’t abide being ignored.”

Iveston looked quite near to grinning. Then he seemed to get

hold of himself and suppress the urge. Quite rightly, too. As he

was giving a good show of being angry with her, smiling would

have ruined the effect completely.

Which, naturally, made her smile, and not at all hesitantly

either.

174 CLAUDIA DAIN

“I do think you should look at least slightly abashed, if

not flatly ashamed,” he said. “I look the worst fool for hav

ing placed that wager. It was not at all what we agreed to, Miss

Prestwick.”

“I am aware of that, Lord Iveston, but I found myself in a

position which would allow me no other course.”

“And what position was that?” he said. As he was standing

quite close to her, his head dipped down to speak very nearly

into her ear, all for the servants, she was certain. He was trying

to be discreet, which was very thoughtful of him, indeed.

Indeed.

The skin on the back of her neck tingled and her knees felt a

bit watery. She couldn’t think why. It was only the Marquis of

Iveston, and he was no man to cause watery tingles.

“Position?” she said, her voice coming out quite soft. For the

servants, obviously. There were still servants in the room. Weren’t

there? She couldn’t see around Iveston to find out. It had gone

quiet, hadn’t it?

“Yes,” he breathed, leaning closer. “Position. Prone, were

you? Unable to fi ght back?”

She took a firm breath, shaking her head at him in admonish

ment, shaking away the tingles. “I am always able to fi ght back,

Lord Iveston, prone or not. And I was certainly not prone. How

inappropriate that would have been.”

“And you never do anything inappropriate,” he said, tracing

his fi nger down the seam in her glove.

Now her elbows felt a bit watery. Most distracting.

“I do not make a habit of it,” she said.

“But you do make an occasion of it.”

“An occasion? No, of course not,” she said.

“An exception then?” he said, slipping his finger inside the

top of her glove and pulling it down an inch, then two, then

three. Stupid glover, to make her gloves so ineffectual. She

How to Daz zle a Duke

175

couldn’t take her eyes off his finger in her glove. And she couldn’t

think why not.

“An exception?” she said softly. “That doesn’t make any sense,

Lord Iveston. Does it?”

And then she made the mistake, the wild miscalculation,

of raising her glance to look into his eyes. She floundered in a

blazing blue ocean of such quiet intensity that it quite took her

breath away.

“But of course it does, Penelope,” he breathed. “And I am the

exception. The inappropriate exception.”

He kissed her then, having given her all the warning in the

world that he would.

She let him. Worse, she participated. Not much, not to

any sort of disgraceful, distasteful degree, but still. She did

participate.

In fact, she raised herself up on her tiptoes and, it was horrid

to admit, actually leaned in to his kiss.

He appeared to like it very well.

He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her into him.

She liked it. She didn’t suppose there was anything wrong with

enjoying a man’s kiss, was there? He was, something of a shock,

quite good at it.

Quite
good at it.

His mouth was . . . oh, why be poetical about it? It was won

derful. His hands felt so large on her, quite encompassing her

ribs. She felt nearly delicate.

And she felt very definitely watery. Simply and completely

watery.

He lifted his mouth, nibbling at her lips, and then, every ges

ture declaring that he was having the most difficult time stopping

completely, which was slightly charming of him, murmured,

“You’ve been kissed before.”

“Which is why I do it so well,” she said, dropping back down

176 CLAUDIA DAIN

from her toes to her heels. She felt a bit wobbly, which was com

pletely unexpected. Watery and now wobbly. What worse could

befall her?

Lord Iveston looked neither amused nor pleased by her rev

elation. Again, peculiar. What man of logic and effi ciency would

want a skittish and ignorant bride? Of course she knew very well

that there were hardly any men at all who were logical and effi