When Seducing A Duke (7 page)

She was such an idiot.

Standing to the side of Lady Shrewsbury’s ballroom, Rose waved her new bamboo-and-silk fan to cool the flush under her skin, cursing herself for behaving as she had earlier with Grey.

It had been stupid to ask him about gamahuching. Stupid to let him see what she was reading. He probably thought her a terrible, loose woman now. Never mind that he was the one who had made her loose in the first place. He didn’t know that.

Perhaps he was the stupid one.

Regardless, she didn’t think she could continue with this ridiculous masquerade. It hurt too much to see him in her daily life and not be able to touch him, or kiss him. They rarely spent any time alone, and when they did, he treated her like a stranger. How could he do that when just the night before he admitted to wanting her? Surely telling her “other” self that he wanted to call her Rose could mean nothing less.

She was jealous of herself. Jealous of the woman she pretended to be, who could make that proud, beautiful man tremble with a touch. He treated her like something beautiful and desirable within the walls of Saint’s Row, but outside, in the daylight, she was nothing more than his responsibility, and though he might want her, he obviously couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

If only she’d never snuck off to Saint’s Row in the first place. If only she’d never hatched that rotten scheme! If only her mother had caught her and talked some sense into her.

If only Grey hadn’t done exactly what she wanted him to—with the exception of revealing his feelings to her. He had revealed them to an extent, but only when he thought she was someone else.

It was time to stop playing games. Bedding him hadn’t lessened her feelings, and it certainly hadn’t made it easier for her to find a man to marry. And she had to marry. Being a spinster wasn’t an option for someone of her class, despite the awful rumors of her father’s ruination and death. Rose refused to believe any of it. It had been an accident; her mother said so.

As much as she hated to admit it, Rose’s feeling for Grey went beyond physical, beyond the gratefulness she felt that he had taken them in when her own father’s family would not. He fascinated her, made her want to protect him—made her want to defy her father even more than she already had and be Grey’s forever.

And there was the rub. He had already made it abundantly clear that he would never marry. And even if he broke that vow for her, she would be miserable spending all of her evenings at home, even if those evenings were spent in bed. How long would it take before she began to long for company? How long before she began to resent his reclusive nature and called him a coward to his face?

Care for him as she did, Rose had no illusions about Grey. It was pride that kept him from society. He never used to hate it at all. In fact, she could remember a time when her father commented on Grey being out every night of the week for more than a month.

Grey blamed society for his scars. It was so much easier than blaming himself. She didn’t hold that against him, but did he think it was easy for her, being out in public when every one knew that she’d be as penniless as a church mouse without Grey’s help? That it was easy knowing that people still speculated about her father and would judge her for it? Yet, here she was, because unlike Grey, she didn’t blame society for her situation, and she was determined to make a better one for herself.

And if that meant confronting Grey and telling him how she felt, then she would do that. Better to give him the opportunity to reject her than to continue on pining and wishing he would change. One thing was certain, she would not be keeping their engagement for the following week. This time she meant it.

But that was six days away, and right now she was at her first ball of the Season, and she was wearing a gorgeous Worth gown of cobalt blue that had cost Grey a small fortune. Too bad he wasn’t there to appreciate her in it.

A squeal to her right made her turn her head, a smile jumping easily to her lips. She’d know that sound anywhere.

Eve rushed up to her and embraced her with great enthusiasm. The slender blonde was dressed in icy green satin edged with cream lace and delicate rosettes.

“You look beautiful!” her friend gushed, golden curls bobbing around her ears. Her hair style was terribly intricate—only something Eve could wear with ease. Rose kept her own hair more subdued, but still she was very pleased with the twist Heather had woven her thick locks into. Her hair was piled high on her head, smooth and glossy with nothing but a large diamond comb for ornament. She wore her mother’s diamonds at her ears as well—the two pieces of jewelry she’d managed to hide. Managed to keep.

“So do you,” Rose returned. She glanced around the crowded, warm ballroom. “Is your Mr. Gregory here?”

Eve rolled her fine blue eyes heavenward. “He’s not my Mr. Gregory. At least not yet.”

It was whispered about in certain circles that Bramford Gregory, a well-known up-and-coming politician, had his eye on Eve for his future bride. Not once had Rose heard it referred to as a poor match despite the difference in station. Everyone knew he was expected to become prime minister one day. And then Lady Eve would be married to the most powerful man in England. In fact, everyone seemed to think the entire affair a done deal. Only Mr. Gregory had yet to propose.

“But is he here?” Rose pressed. In all of her years as Eve’s friend, she’d yet to meet this mysterious would-be suitor.

“Yes.” Her friend smiled coyly. She gestured over Rose’s shoulder with her fan. “He’s the tall gentleman with blonde hair standing with Lady Shrewsbury.”

Rose turned to look. Her gaze fell upon an older—much older—gentleman who was indeed talking to Lady Shrewsbury. In fact, he seemed to be charming her with remarkable ease. He had a confident but kind smile, and a face that the years had obviously been kind to. She judged him to be in his early forties, fit and full of life.

“He’s very handsome.”

“Yes,” Eve agreed. “He is. I shouldn’t mind being his wife at all, if he ever asks me.”

It was at that moment that Mr. Gregory looked up and caught them watching him. He smiled and raised his glass of champagne to them.

Eve smiled in return before turning to snatch a similar glass for each of them off the tray of a passing footman. “See? He catches me staring and he barely reacts. Most men would be halfway across the floor already.”

Rose took a sip from the flute her friend had given her. “Perhaps he is so confident in his intent to have you that he feels he needn’t exert himself.”

The blonde made an indelicate sound. “He’d better reconsider exerting himself, otherwise I’m likely to find someone with less confidence.”

How Rose wished she had that kind of self-value.

The orchestra began the opening strains of a waltz, and suddenly Kellan was there beside her, dressed in impeccable black and white, his thick hair brushed back from his handsome face, a teasing smile upon his well-formed lips. “I believe this is my dance, Lady Rose?”

She grinned. How could she not when faced with such good humor and good looks? “Indeed it is, Mr. Maxwell.”

“Excuse us, Lady Eve,” he said with a bow before leading Rose onto the dance floor. As they joined the other dances, she caught her mother’s attention from where she sat with other chaperones. One look at her partner, and her mother’s face lit up like a Christmas candle. It was all Rose could do not to chuckle at the sight.

“You look lovely tonight, my lady,” Kellan said for her ears alone as he took her into his arms—not too close, of course.

His flattery pleased her but did not discompose her as Grey’s did. Rose smiled sincerely in response. “Thank you, sir. Might I say that you are in very fine looks as well.”

“You always know exactly the right thing to say to woo me, Lady Rose.” He grinned as they moved through a turn. “Have a care, else you’re likely to break my heart.”

“If it is so easily broken, perhaps you should hold it a little more dear,” she advised archly.

He winced, but it was apparent that he had taken the remark with the humor she intended. “She mocks me.”

“You are mistaken, sir. I am merely thinking of your best interests.”

They shared a smile and were silent for a turn.

“I am surprised that Ryeton allowed you to come tonight.”

Rose raised a brow. “The duke does not dictate where I can and cannot go.” Grey might be her benefactor, but he was not her guardian.

“That is good to hear,” Kellan replied, ignoring the edge to her tone. “So he cannot prevent you from taking a drive in Hyde Park with me tomorrow afternoon.”

She chuckled. “No, I suppose not. But first, you might want to ask me if I care to take a drive with you.”

“Do you?”

She did. Did that make her awful? Just a few minutes ago she’d been missing Grey and thinking about how much she cared for him, and now here she was flirting with Kellan and fluttering over the prospect of going for a carriage ride.

It wasn’t fickleness, she told herself. It was practicality. She was doing what she was supposed to do. Kellan had yet to lay any claim to her feelings or her heart, but she owed him the opportunity to try. She would never get over Grey and find love if she didn’t try as well.

And it wouldn’t hurt Grey to see another man take interest in her. Perhaps a little jealousy would do him good.

“I would be delighted to accept your invitation.”

Her partner didn’t bother trying to conceal his pleasure. “Excellent. I shall call for you just before five.”

Ahh, the fashionable hour, if her memory served. She hadn’t been to Hyde Park since before her father’s ruination. She’d always loved it there, and looked forward to seeing it again—and being seen there with the man who had walked away from her before. Would people mock her for allowing him into her life once more? Probably. But for Kellan to approach her again after all this time, it had to mean he regretted his previous behavior. After all, he needed neither her money nor her pedigree, and could get either from any other single lady in London.

The dance ended far too soon, and Kellan escorted her to her mother, but not before making Rose promise to favor him with another later in the evening. She agreed, but if he asked for a third, she would refuse. No sense in giving the gossips more fodder than they deserved.

She danced with several other gentlemen before having to take a break for the ladies’ retiring room. She made use of the facilities, washed her hands, and pressed cool, damp clothes to the back of her neck and chest to cool and refresh herself.

“It’s ungodly hot, isn’t it?” remarked an attractive slightly older woman standing beside her at the mirror.

Rose nodded. “It is. I do hope this isn’t a portent for the rest of the Season.”

The woman ran a smoothing hand over her neat, honey blonde chignon. “Doubtful. Lady Shrewsbury insists on burning candles rather than using gaslights like the rest of the civilized world. No doubt your next ball will be much more comfortable. I’m Lady Margaret Devane, by the way.”

Rose looked at the hand extended toward her like a snake crawling out of the grass. The dowager Marchioness Devane. One of the women suspected of being behind the attack on Grey. Suspected. It had never been proven. Rose thought she would be older, less attractive.

Swallowing, she accepted the handshake. She couldn’t afford to be so rude as to cut a woman of her stature. “Lady Rose Danvers.”

Lady Devane’s green eyes widened. “Charles and Camilla’s daughter?”

“Yes,” Rose replied with a slight nod.

The older woman clasped her other hand around Rose’s as well, destroying any chance she might have had of breaking contact. “I was so sorry to hear of your father’s passing.”

She sounded so sincere, it made the backs of Rose’s eyes burn. “Thank you.”

And then, a bit slyly, Rose thought, “You are under the protection of the Duke of Ryeton, are you not?”

Rose stiffened at Lady Devane’s use of the term protection. Did her ladyship think Rose so green and stupid that she wouldn’t know a euphemism for mistress when she heard one?

“His Grace has been a great friend to my mother and me.” Rose pulled her hand free. “I think of him quite as an older brother.” Lie, lie, lie! But an effective one.

Lady Devane appeared duly chastised. “Oh, my dear girl! I meant no offense. I simple meant to say that Ryeton had appointed himself knight errant of yourself and your dear mama.”

That took some of the sting out, and relaxed Rose’s backbone. “No offense taken, Lady Devane.”

“I don’t suppose he will be joining us this evening?” There was an edge of hopefulness to the older woman’s tone that Rose would have to be a simpleton to miss.

“No. He will not.”

Lady Devane didn’t look surprised, but her disappointment was genuine, unless she was a better actress than Rose wanted to give her credit. “That is too bad. You will tell him that I send my regards?”

She dared ask such a favor, this woman who might very well be responsible for the scar that ran down his face?

But of course she dared. She had been Grey’s lover once upon a time. If that didn’t give her leave to be so arrogantly intimate, what did?

“Of course,” Rose replied with false warmth. “I will see him at home later this evening and I will gladly relay your message. I’m sure he’ll be touched by your consideration.” She hadn’t meant to put an edge to the words, but it slipped out anyway. Lady Devane did not miss it.