The Dangerous Duke (16 page)

Devlin whirled away from her. He strode to the window and flung the curtains aside. “Yes, I wanted to speak to you, Miss Preston.”

“What about?” she croaked, unable to articulate properly.

“Your friendship with a man, whom I consider to be unsuitable company for any decent young woman.”

“What on earth do you mean?” A wave of indignation rose in her breast. Sir Marcus’ words came back to her. Of course, he was right; Devlin was trying to stop her associating with him.

“I am talking about that profligate. That libertine. That rake, Sir Marcus Solesby.”

Irate, Fenella drew herself up and said in glacial tones, “I find it difficult to understand your point of view since is he not an invited guest?”

“Not by me!” Devlin expostulated. “He is a friend of Lady Vane and not the kind of man appropriate for any kind of social intercourse.”

“That may very well be by your standards, but I find him entertaining, intelligent company, and his manners are impeccable—unlike the behaviour of some people I would not care to mention.”

Devlin reddened. “I admit we have had our differences and for that I have apologised. I am also aware that Lady Vane can be quite arrogant but that is not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Fenella was exasperated. “It is none of your business who I speak to and with whom I associate.”

Devlin glared at her. “Yes, it is! I am your employer.”

“No, you are not.” Fenella’s gaze was unflinching. “Her Grace is my employer and you have no right to criticize what I do when I am not on duty and attending to her needs. You are not the judge of my conduct.”

“Hear me, Miss Preston,” said Devlin, a dangerous note creeping into his voice. He tightened his lips. “I am the
only
judge of the conduct of those who reside under my roof. Sir Marcus Solesby is a known seducer of young women.”

Memories flooded into Fenella’s mind of how Devlin’s presence played daily havoc with her. The feeling of his lips against hers plagued her constantly. Worst of all was reliving the night when he had slid his hand under her nightdress and fondled her body—without considering the consequences. Yes, she had failed to stop him until liberties were taken, his unbridled lust was revealed and her blossoming sensuality exposed. She had stopped them both in the end. Not him. He should never have begun this dangerous game and now he had the effrontery to monitor her every move and decide with whom she should associate?

“Really? And what do you call yourself then?” Fenella’s whole body shook with suppressed fury.

Her barb hit home. Devlin went white with shock at hearing his conduct described as that of a roué and anger that this chit of a girl whom he could not control was daring to defy him in his own home. He clenched his jaw. “I forbid you to speak to that man!”

“Forbid? Fiddlesticks!” Fenella tossed her head.

“You are the most stubborn, insubordinate and aggravating female it has been my misfortune to meet.”

“And you are the most ill-mannered, domineering, selfish brute it has been
my
misfortune to meet,” Fenella retorted, stamping her foot, her cheeks red with rage.

Fenella felt strength she did not know she possessed rise from within; strength and a fierce sense of independence. She would not let him bully her, not after all that had happened between them. She saw from Devlin’s expression his struggle with some kind of gigantic force, towering emotions that consumed him. Was it rage, she wondered, almost faltering in her decision to stand firm. Had she gone too far? Perhaps her upbringing had failed her in the end: one certainly did not defy a member of the nobility. As Devlin opened his mouth, Fenella decided discretion was possibly the better part of valour and that she should make an exit while he was at a loss for words. She turned on her heel and flung open the library door to find an astonished Freddie standing in front of her, his hand raised.

“I was about to knock,” he stammered.

“Don’t bother.” Fenella ground the words through gritted teeth. “We’re quite finished here.”

* * * *

As she stormed off in search of the Dowager, Devlin stamped back into the library. He turned away as Freddie entered the room.

“I say, Dev, a little tiff with Miss Preston?” Freddie’s question was cautious, his eyes round with surprise.

“That woman!” Devlin exploded with suppressed rage, running his hands through his hair. “She is the most obstinate female I have ever encountered.” He yanked furiously at his exquisitely arranged cravat as if he could not breathe.

“What’s the matter?” asked Freddie, staring at the now ruined Deverell Knot. “You must have said something to upset her; she seemed in a very bad mood.”

“I didn’t say anything that didn’t deserve to be said. However, I concede that I may have expressed myself clumsily.”

The Duke sounded flustered in his explanation. Freddie looked at him with a raised, quizzical eyebrow. Devlin stalked back and forth in front of the library window.

“I am furious that Penelope had the damned effrontery to invite that despicable creature Solesby down here this weekend. However, the worst of it is that he has been bamboozling Miss Preston into going off with him unaccompanied. I told her she was not to have anything more to do with him, and she bit my head off in an extremely unladylike manner and flounced away in a temper.”

“Well, technically you haven’t the right to tell her with whom she may associate,” said Freddie, in careful, measured tones. “She’s a free agent in that respect.”

“Free agent be damned!” Devlin expostulated. “She’ll do as she’s told and stay away from him.” He strode up and down in front of Freddie, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Now, Dev,” Freddie warned. “That kind of behaviour won’t do with a woman and well you know it. They’re such contrary creatures that when you don’t want ’em to do something, pretend you don’t care. Then they’re not interested in pursuing the matter. But you have only to deny them something and they’ll break their heads to get it.”

“If you think I’m going to pander to the whims and fancies of a little chit who has entirely forgotten her place, then you’re a fool!” Devlin snapped.

“But what’s it to you anyway who she speaks to?” asked Freddie, gently probing.

For a moment, Devlin was nonplussed. “It’s my duty, that’s what it is. My duty as host and—” He stopped. “She needs to be advised about his reputation. She wouldn’t listen, just went at me like a…a harpy.” He looked at Freddie with something akin to hurt in his eyes. “Do you know she called me domineering and selfish—a bully!”

Freddie flung himself down on the sofa and languidly crossed his outstretched legs. “You know, Dev, you tend to get your own way with women because you’re such a handsome devil they can’t resist you, so you just don’t think about things from a woman’s point of view. That’s why Miss Preston standing up to you comes as such a—” Freddie was about to use the word
shock
, then substituted, “—surprise. I have sisters and I should know.”

Devlin stared at Freddie with narrowed eyes for a few moments as he digested Freddie’s unflattering words. “You’re right. I have been insensitive in my thinking. Nevertheless, she needs to be warned off. The man’s a conscienceless snake.”

Freddie waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t think even Solesby would be impertinent enough to try his luck with her, firstly; then secondly, he won’t put a foot wrong while there are so many people about. Thirdly, she’s not the type of woman he is used to. You cannot compare Miss Preston with any Cyprian around. She’s a lady, and that much is clear from first glance. It could be she’s a novelty for him; beauty and brains is quite a compelling combination. I don’t blame him for being fascinated. She’s so different that he’s interested in her, but too different from the kind of woman he usually tumbles into bed with for it to go any further.” Freddie finished his rambling explanation with a triumphant flourish and a wide grin.

Devlin allowed Freddie’s reasonable words to permeate his brain further.

“You’re right, I know,” he muttered, his forehead furrowed in a frown. He looked at Freddie with a rueful expression and then shrugged. “I have enough to deal with right now anyway; if she wants to talk to him, I cannot prevent her. However, if he makes any attempt to seduce her, I think I’m within my rights to throw him out.”

Freddie’s suggestion that he have a word with the headstrong Miss Preston was met with astonished delight.

“What a splendid idea!” Devlin declared. “You’re a true friend to offer. I am sure she’ll listen to you since you both get along so well, don’t you?” He looked at Freddie with questioning eyes. “I mean, you haven’t quarrelled with her, have you?”

Freddie shook his head.

“Excellent!” Devlin paced back and forth on the jewel-coloured carpet. “After all, this is for her own good.”

He gazed at Freddie for affirmation.

Freddie nodded vigorously.

“And I would hate there to be a scandal should that vile dog attempt to molest her in any way.”

Freddie nodded his concurrence again.

“That’s settled then.” Devlin ceased his pacing, clapped Freddie on the back and said, “Off you go now and make sure she understands this is what is best for her. I think she has gone to my mother.”

* * * *

“So you see, ma’am,” Fenella explained to the Dowager, having found her benefactress alone in the rose garden and with no sign of Cousin Eugenia lurking. “I don’t wish to be rude to His Grace, or appear to be forward with Sir Marcus, but in my view his manners are impeccable, his address unexceptionable and I don’t think his intentions are dishonourable. I see no reason for an acceptable association with him. However, I cannot tolerate His Grace’s overbearing and autocratic insistence that I may not speak to Sir Marcus, who is a guest here at the moment.” The last words came out all in a rush. “I’m afraid I was a little too outspoken in my response to the Duke.”

Her involved explanation over, Fenella bowed her head in shame. She looked stricken as if she now regretted her blunt retorts.

“Dear me,” murmured the Dowager, suppressing a smile. “I can’t imagine what you said that could have upset him.”

Fenella looked up at her employer. “I was very rude and called him an ill-mannered, domineering, selfish brute.”

“Now I know that would upset Devlin.”

Fenella was taken aback to see Devlin’s mother giggling, putting up her hand in vain to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Ma’am? You aren’t angry?”

“Of course not,” replied Devlin’s unfeeling parent. “I would have given anything to see his face when you delivered such a set-down. Devlin, as I told you when you first came to us, can be terribly selfish when he does not get his own way.”

“But ma’am, am I wrong to insist on my right to choose my associations? Is Sir Marcus truly an evil libertine who will ruin a lady’s reputation?”

The Dowager paused for thought. “It is true, my dear, that Sir Marcus is not the kind of man any decent young woman should encourage. Although I believe his scandalous reputation to be exaggerated, you should take care not to draw attention to your friendship. One could hardly construe normal social interaction as forward or fast behaviour when in a gathering of friends and family such as this. I am sure Sir Marcus, given his background and family connections, is well aware of what is expected of him as a guest at Deverell House.”

“What about the Duke?” Fenella looked anxious.

“Leave him to me, my dear.” The old lady patted her hand in reassurance. “He’s right to be anxious, of course, but completely wrong to approach you in such a brawling manner. I can’t imagine why he behaved so abruptly.”

“I cannot think,” echoed Fenella faintly, her thoughts returning to the electric magnetism they had both felt between them in the library.

“I hope you’re looking forward to Saturday night, my dear,” said the Dowager, deftly changing the subject.

“I am!” Fenella could not help her natural enthusiasm despite her severe words to Sir Marcus on the subject. “I suppose I shall wear the green dress.”

“You suppose wrong,” chuckled the old lady with delight. As Fenella opened her mouth in protest, the Dowager flapped her hands at her, shushing her protests. “It’s all arranged, and for once let me give you a strict instruction; you are to wear the dress I choose for you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Fenella replied meekly, her animated face betraying the excitement she felt at the prospect of yet another beautiful outfit. “You spoil me.”

“Nonsense,” was the brisk reply. “Now run along and send Harbottle to me. Moreover, I expect to see you at dinner tonight. Stop hiding away.”

Fenella left the Dowager sitting peacefully in the rose garden and made her way back to the house. At the sound of a halloo, she looked up to see Freddie striding with unaccustomed determination toward her. She waved and waited until he caught up with her.

“Mr. Perivale,” she beamed with deceptive docility. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Freddie’s face fell.

“Dash it!” he muttered dolefully. “I hate it when you call me
Mister
Perivale.” He exaggerated the Mister. “Makes me sound like a banker. I do wish you’d call me Freddie.”

“Very well,” Fenella smiled as she drew his arm through hers. “Freddie, then. What is it?”

His puzzled, and then guilty, look drew a giggle from her. “I gather you have come here with the express purpose of delivering me a strongly worded lecture on the pitfalls of associating with a known lecher.”

Freddie’s jaw dropped. “Damme—er…beg pardon, Miss Preston, but how did you know?”

Fenella frowned a little as she injected a severe note into her voice. “Much as I enjoy your company, dear Freddie, you looked singularly serious a moment ago, which is unlike your usual self, came charging along like a man on an important errand and seem determined to speak to me.” She waved her free hand in the air. “Thus I concluded you were about to deliver me a hideous homily that I suspect has more than a little something to do with the Duke.”

A blush of shame spread over Freddie’s face, extending even to his ears as he spluttered in response. “Oh, what the Hell—beg pardon—but you need to know that Solesby is not the right company for a young lady of quality and Devlin’s completely in the wrong to attack you on the subject but he does care that nothing will happen to you. And he also doesn’t want your reputation to be compromised.”

Fenella gave Freddie a cold glance and retrieved her hand from where it had nestled so comfortably in the crook of his arm. Freddie’s shoulders drooped. His experience had taught him to recognise the approach of a feminine storm.

When Fenella spoke, her voice dripped biting sarcasm. “One thing you do not know about your friend, the Duke, is that everything he says, does or wishes is entirely to do with satisfying his whims and, or, adding to his own comfort.”

Freddie’s twittering attempts at remonstrance died away under her quelling stare.

“And when you say he cares for my reputation,” Fenella continued icily, as if there had been no interruption, “I’m afraid it is more
his
reputation that concerns him than mine. His Grace has often been at pains to remind me of my lower status in the household, and I’m sure he does not wish to invite any scandal while there are a good many important and influential people here as his guests at the ball.”

“I don’t think that’s the case at all,” Freddie blustered. “Of course Dev’s got the household and guests to consider but I can assure you that his intentions are—”

He was unable to proceed any further in his garbled explanation of what he thought the Duke’s intentions were in the matter because Fenella whipped round, her face set and her jaw grim. She advanced upon him with an unforgiving look. Freddie took a few steps back until he stood on a stone and winced with pain.

“Please desist from interfering in my affairs, Freddie,” she said in a low tone that bespoke utter determination. “I have already expressed my opinion to His Grace on the subject of my friendships.” As Freddie opened his mouth for a final word, she floored him with her
coup de grace
. “And since I have the permission of my employer, Her Grace—whom I believe is still capable of running her own affairs and managing her own staff—to associate with Sir Marcus, I shall do as I please. Moreover, for your edification, Her Grace believes Sir Marcus’ reputation is grossly exaggerated, and she thinks a mere mortal as he is incapable of achieving such depths of depravity, so most of these stories about him are patently untrue. Thus, if you have any consideration for the continuation of our friendship, you will drop this subject.”

She turned on her heel and walked to the house. Freddie shrugged his shoulders in defeat and slunk back to the library.

* * * *

Devlin fared no better than Freddie did when he approached the Dowager regarding Fenella’s association with Sir Marcus. He was astounded to find his usually punctilious parent apparently blind to the facts as he strove to place them before her.

“Facts?” asked the Dowager, peering at her irate son through her lorgnette. “Devlin, my dear boy, here I am in the middle of preparations for one of the biggest events the county has ever seen, Cook is in an absolute tither over the menus, and you come to me to present
facts
about something as innocent as an early morning ride? When I am expecting over forty guests to dine tomorrow night and a further twenty to dance after that?”

“No, Mama!” Devlin growled, in very bad humour since he was sure his mother was pretending to be a querulous old lady, when they both knew very well that she was not. “I am telling you that Solesby is a rake, a renowned rake, and Miss Preston has been hoodwinked into believing he is a gentleman and subsequently went off unaccompanied with him this morning. When I commanded her to sever this undesirable connection, she was rude to me.”

His mother’s eyebrows rose in a questioning manner at the word
command
and a small frown appeared on her face. He checked himself and repeated, more calmly, “I say rude, but perhaps my manner provoked her.” He scowled down at his tasselled Hessians, lovingly polished by Jackson to a mirror-like finish.

“Perhaps your overbearing, domineering manner?” his mother asked, with a faint quiver of amusement in her voice. When Devlin’s head jerked up and he scrutinized her face to determine if she was laughing at him, the Dowager had schooled her features to reflect a sober attitude.

“Oh, yes,” he muttered. “I can see who came running to tell tales.”

“Not at all,” was her measured rejoinder. “I have to remind you, Devlin, that since I am Fenella’s employer it is up to me to decide whether I approve of her communicating with Sir Marcus.”

“But the man’s a scoundrel, a known womanizer!” Devlin’s voice rose in anger.

“No, he is a gentleman first, given his lineage, and I might add, an invited guest.”

Devlin scowled. “I didn’t invite him.”

“No, you did not but your lady friend did. And so you have to bear that burden and mind your manners,” was his mother’s tart reply. “Besides, I don’t think Sir Marcus is going to blot his copybook here at Deverell House, in front of some of the oldest and most respected families in the land. He is not stupid, let me assure you. What he does in his own time, in his less than salubrious club surroundings, has nothing to do with me or anyone else for that matter.”

She turned a stern eye upon her son’s unsmiling face. “Just as what you do in your spare time and where you do it, is also none of my business. This is really not the time to pick a quarrel with Miss Preston so perhaps you can be persuaded to put more serious matters to the forefront of your attention.”

Her tone was sharp and Devlin strode off glowering, with the opinion that everyone under his roof was conspiring against him in favour of that aggravating, obstinate female.

* * * *

Fenella had previously avoided dining with the other guests because she did not wish to draw attention to herself, nor did she care to invite renewed challenges from Lady Vane for Devlin’s affections. However, having discovered a new fortitude and having surprised both herself and several other members of the household, she vowed to stand her ground and make her own decisions in the matter of her friendship with Sir Marcus Solesby. She decided to attend dinner that evening as the Dowager had requested. Molly was delighted and made sure her hair was styled to perfection. Fenella slipped on the green gown, suppressing the unspoken, “Again!” that she felt and Molly undoubtedly thought. Molly once more performed wonders with fresh flowers and an elegant hairstyle, and her mother’s jewels added a touch of sophistication.

Molly tactfully admired the results and when Fenella swept down the stairs just as Blenkins sounded the dinner gong, she comforted herself with the knowledge that at least most of the gathered company would not have seen her in the same gown several times already. An amiable gentleman, with whom she had a nodding acquaintance, escorted her into the dining room.

The Dowager was delighted to see her and, for some odd reason Fenella thought, broke with protocol by placing her between Sir Marcus Solesby and a stout, deaf septuagenarian who was devoted to his plate and its contents. Sir Marcus did not hide his pleasure at the seating arrangements. Fenella, for her part, could not have asked for a more politely attentive and amusing dinner companion. His conversation was sparkling without being provocative; his range of interests was varied and he was up to date with current political trends. Actually, Sir Marcus both surprised and surpassed himself. The only flaw in this perfect arrangement was the fact that the Duke was sitting directly opposite her and Lady Vane opposite Sir Marcus.

Fenella ate and drank, chattering animatedly with Sir Marcus. Given that the deaf old gentleman on the other side of her nodded and smiled to himself and concentrated solely on each delicious course, Fenella could be forgiven for not attempting to engage him in conversation. Her laughter rippled through the buzz of voices at Sir Marcus’ extremely amusing anecdotes but since several other guests seated next to him were also part of the conversation, no one paid any particular attention to Fenella. She felt Devlin’s hard stare boring into her; she could sense his disapproval coming toward her in waves but she refused to glance in his direction. However, she could hear snippets of the conversation between Devlin and his lover.

Despite Lady Penelope’s ravishing dress in palest pink gossamer, so sheer as to be considered outrageous, Fenella was surprised that Devlin hardly gave his dazzling partner a second glance. He was paying close attention to Sir Marcus’ anecdotes. Lady Penelope pouted but he only grunted noncommittally whenever she attempted to lead him into a discussion. Finally, she plucked his sleeve and said, “What is so interesting across the table that holds your attention? The hired help?” Since Lady Penelope did not bother to lower her voice, Fenella heard this comment. Devlin looked up and met Fenella’s gaze, then he turned his head to address Lady Penelope.

“Not at all,” he remarked, his expression one of marked neutrality. “I’m enjoying the conversation. Your friend Solesby is putting on a sterling performance as the life and soul of the occasion. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him wax so lyrical nor so comical before. He tells a good tale. The one about old Lady Henshaw’s wig and the mouse in the opera box was particularly amusing.” He glanced at her furious face and gave a wry smile. “After all, my dear, it was your idea to invite him and I’m trying to make up for the extremely rude way in which I behaved yesterday.”

As the successful dinner ended, the guests were satiated and happy, and excitedly discussing amongst themselves the prospects of the ball the following evening when their numbers would swell even more. Ladies of single status were eager to seize the opportunities afforded for meeting more gentlemen. The men, having already struck up acquaintance with attractive damsels, were keen to expand their social connections and romantic possibilities. The gentlemen, as customary, began to drift to the library for port and cigars before rejoining the ladies in a while.

Fenella was determined not be caught in a situation where Lady Penelope could embarrass her. As the ladies began to move in a glittering cluster into the Long Drawing Room, Fenella felt a tug at her skirt. Glancing down, she was dismayed to see that the stout, deaf gentleman had trod on her skirt and ripped the lace from the bottom. Although Fenella was angry about the lace, she was relieved to have the perfect excuse to steal away. She was sure that in the crush of guests, no one would notice her absence. She would apologise to the Dowager the next day. Fenella slipped out of the dining room and was making her way to the stairs when a voice halted her.

“Miss Preston!”

She turned and saw Sir Marcus standing at the door, disappointment evident on his face. “Are we going to lose you so soon?”

“Alas, a clumsy accident,” she stammered, anxious to escape further socializing. “A torn flounce.”

“I am sorry,” he said, coming closer to her. “May I be of assistance?”

Over his shoulder, Fenella saw the Duke approaching; his face was thunderous.

“No, thank you,” she gasped. “The tiniest rent …of no consequence at all. I will pin it up and return shortly.”

Before he could utter another word, she darted up the stairs to the safety of the upper landing. Masculine voices floated up the stairwell, indistinct in their intonation, but clear in meaning. Fenella was so afraid of being caught eavesdropping that she quickly made her way to her room where a surprised Molly was there to help her undress.

* * * *

The two men squared up to each other, icy politeness masking their true feelings.

“I must ask you to desist in your obnoxious attentions toward Miss Preston.” Devlin’s tone was cold and hard.

Sir Marcus raised a scornful eyebrow. “Why? Has she complained that my attentions are obnoxious?”

“Damn you!” Devlin gritted his teeth. “She has not complained but I am complaining now.”

“I can assure you that in no way have I offended the lady nor have I approached Miss Preston in an unbecoming manner.” Sir Marcus stood his ground.

“Your very presence here is an offence,” said Devlin, “and well you know it. That is one thing I cannot change. However, I can and will prevent you associating with the lady.”

“How?” was the calm rejoinder.

“What?” Devlin gasped, his anger rising.

“If the lady has not expressed a disinclination for my company—limited though it has been—how can you stop her conversing with me or even dancing with me at the ball? I believe she will attend and I am looking forward to the pleasure of her company.”

“You swine!” Devlin stepped forward, his fists balled.