How to Dazzle a Duke (21 page)

befuddled, made his way to White’s.

6

AS it was just past eight o’clock, White’s was filled with welldressed gentlemen of the best families looking to start their eve

ning with a drink, a hand of cards, an
on dit
, a wager. When that

palled, they would find their way into salons and theaters across

Town. And when that palled, they would find their way back to

White’s, to bring up the dawn with a dram of whiskey.

How to Daz zle a Duke

147

It was a lovely, predictable, comfortable life. Or it had been.

The Marquis of Dutton was miserable, and he knew why. He

had been made a laughingstock by a woman. By two women,

quite possibly. Make that most assuredly. Sophia Dalby and her

pet project, Anne Warren, had, between them, made him look a

fool. It hadn’t helped his cause that he’d been struck a blow, a lit

eral blow, twice in this very room, by two different members of

the club, regarding two entirely different women, and that he’d

been involved in a rather famous public brawl outside of Aldreth

House. He had not, as was to be expected, come out looking the

better for such activities. Oh, it was perfectly fine to engage in a

fi ght or two or three, but not when one was continually found to

be the loser.

He had failed to find his way beneath Anne Warren’s skirts,

though why that should be so was still a vast mystery to him. He

was a marquis of some reputation, true, but not an entirely

bad reputation, and she was a widow of reduced circumstances

and highly unsavory pedigree who had nothing on the balance

sheet besides Sophia Dalby. Having Lady Dalby as a protector

of sorts had tipped every scale against him in his pursuit of Mrs.

Warren. He had been foiled. He had been reduced to ridicule.

He knew how to rectify all.

He would fi nd another woman.

Which woman?

He had yet to decide. Certainly there were more than enough

widows to keep a man busy. He did prefer widows; so much less

complicated, really. No husband hunt involved. No husband

banging at the door. A lonely, experienced widow was exactly

what he preferred in women. All he had to do was fi nd another

woman, willing and eager to share his bed, and his reputa

tion was restored to its former luster.

It was as Dutton was pondering women in general and wid

ows in particular that he happened to glance up from his whiskey

148 CLAUDIA DAIN

and see Mr. Prestwick enter the room, looking about with a mild

degree of urgency. Upon seeing the Marquis of Penrith lounging

in a corner, legs stretched out before him, Prestwick walked over

to him and sat down. As Dutton was nearly certain that Penrith

had placed a bet or two on White’s book at Sophia Dalby’s in

struction, Dutton felt no great affection for Penrith, not that he

was well acquainted with the man, but any man who would stoop

to being a tool for a very devious woman was not a man he cared

to know intimately, nor even cordially.

Penrith leaned his dark blond head forward to catch Prest

wick’s words. Prestwick shook his dark head once, gave a

negligible shrug, smiled, and then shook his head again. Upon

which Penrith laughed without noticeable sound, and the two

men got to their feet as one and made their way to White’s bet

ting book.

At that, Dutton stood and followed them. What wager was

currently afoot? And was there a way to salvage his reputation

upon its back? Certainly, there must be. A wager and a widow to

his credit? He’d erase the events of the past few weeks from all

memory.

On the book was the wager. Ten pounds that the Duke of

Edenham would propose marriage to Miss Penelope Prestwick,

only daughter of the Viscount Prestwick, by the end of the cur

rent Season. The wager had been taken up by the Marquis of

Penrith.

Did Edenham even know Miss Prestwick?

Why had Prestwick sought Penrith out?

To make the wager, almost certainly.

Penrith, Sophia Dalby, another girl on the market for a hus

band, and a wager. All the same pieces, though he could not

quite piece them together into a coherent pattern. But he

would.

Twelve

ANTOINETTE, the dowager Countess of Lanreath, was hosting a

soiree. She was doing it not to please herself, though it would not

displease her exactly, but to please her sister, Bernadette, the

dowager Countess of Paignton. Yes, rather a lot of dowager

countesses going on, but who would have thought that they

should each have lost their husbands so early in life? Of course,

Antoinette’s husband had been old, a friend of her father’s actu

ally, so it was not unexpected that he find himself dead one

morning in his kippers, but Bernadette’s husband had been in

the prime of life and killed in a duel, which as he was given to

dueling, was not as unexpected an end as it might have been.

As Antoinette’s husband had died in the normal way and

Bernadette’s had died in a scandalous way, Bernadette was

looked at askance by many if not most of Society and Antoinette

felt it was her duty to try and repair fences for Bernadette. Mostly

because Bernadette told her it was her duty. Since Antoinette did

not actually disagree, she did her duty.

She was giving a soiree. She had invited Bernadette. She had

also invited Camille, her next younger sister, who had yet to

150 CLAUDIA DAIN

marry and, therefore, yet to become a widow. She had not invited

Delphine as Delphine had not had her come out, much to Del

phine’s annoyance. At seventeen, Delphine felt she was well old

enough to mix and mingle with the men of Society. Antoinette

had married at seventeen and married well, in most lights, a man

thirty-two years her senior. Delphine could sit at Sheviock, their

father’s Cornwall estate, for another year. It would do her no

harm at all.

“Toni, what do you think of the Marquis of Penrith?” Berna

dette said, coming up softly behind her.

“I think he’s too young for you, Bernie,” Antoinette answered

without turning her head. The soiree was slightly dull, the guests

milling about almost tediously, fully half her list not yet arrived.

Where was everyone?

“In years? Ridiculous,” Bernadette said, twitching the hem of

her white muslin skirt.

“In experience, dear,” Antoinette answered.

They were a family given to pet names, as girls are wont

to do. As there were four of them and as their mother, the Count

ess of Helston, was rarely at Sheviock and their father, the sixth

Earl of Helston, didn’t care if he saw his wife or children beyond

the odd holiday, they had formed their own small family of

four. The results of such emotional independence had not been

entirely pleasant.

“I’m a widow, Toni, not an abbess,” Bernadette answered.

“Where are all the lovely men tonight? I had thought Penrith

to make an appearance. He did show such promise at the Prest

wick ball.”

“Before the conservatory, certainly,” Antoinette said. “After

the rose incident, every rumor states that everyone was so busy

gossiping and making wagers that the orchestra only served to

get in the way of the gossip.”

“Very true,” Bernadette said, twitching her skirts again. Bernie

How to Daz zle a Duke

151

had developed the habit sometime in her youth of doing little things

to gather attention unto herself. As she was only twenty-three now,

the habit might have been broken with some effort. Bernadette saw

no reason to make the effort. She liked attention. Why not get it

any way possible? “But who told you that? You weren’t there,

though I begged you to attend with me.”

“You’ve never begged for anything in your life.”

Bernadette smiled. “Oh, yes I have. Got it, too.”

Bernie was, without qualification, a woman of exotic good

looks and a definite erotic inclination. She had been a normal

enough girl throughout her unremarkable childhood, but upon

her marriage to a complete rake, who also happened to be an

earl, she had learned she liked men very much indeed. Her hus

band first and foremost, but as he had not stopped being a rake

upon marriage, she had found her own entertainment elsewhere

upon occasion. She and Paignton had lived recklessly, loved bru

tally, and he had died predictably. The Paignton estate and title

had passed laterally, that short phase of her life over. Not the

men, obviously, but the house.

It was hardly possible for Antoinette to have experienced

marriage, and indeed widowhood, more differently.

“I heard it from Lady Richard, actually,” Antoinette said,

watching the door for more guests, who did not appear.

“What? She wasn’t there,” Bernadette said sharply. “I’m

sure of it.”

And well she should say it sharply. Bernadette had indulged

in a not very discreet affair with Lady Richard’s husband. As

Katherine, Lady Richard, had loved her husband very much, it

had not been at all pleasant for her to share him.

“She heard it from her brother,” Toni supplied. Which ought

to have been obvious as Katherine’s brother was none other than

the Duke of Edenham and he had seen the whole thing, or very

nearly.

152 CLAUDIA DAIN

“Oh, very well then,” Bernie said, looking about the room.

There was no one to interest her at present. Toni quite agreed

with her. All the most remarkable men, no matter their age or

experience, had yet to arrive. “Is Edenham coming tonight?”

“He was invited,” Toni answered. “As was Lady Richard.”

She cast her sister a sideways glance. Bernie liked her men

well enough, but she did not like any entanglements they dragged

into bed with them, such as wives. As for Toni, she had not quite

decided yet how she felt about men. Certainly her husband,

while not odious in the extreme, had not been remarkable in the

extreme either. She was cautiously undecided and intended to

remain so until experience taught her otherwise.

“Oh, bother, Toni,” Bernie said. “Why? I thought you gave

this soiree for me. I have such trouble getting invited anyplace

anymore.”

“You were invited to the Prestwick ball.”

“Only because they invited everyone.”

“As did I. You don’t need to make it sound such an insult.

Who knows whom you might meet tonight? Perhaps you shall

even marry again.”

“Why ever should I do that?” Bernadette said with a

lovely pout.

A man across the room dropped his glass. As he was not quite

as young as a woman preferred, it might have been due to palsy

and not the pout. But it wasn’t likely. Bernadette was that sort of

woman, blatant, and not at all apologetic about it either. Half the

time Antoinette envied her, and the other half, she pitied her.

Paignton had done something to her sister, though she couldn’t

think what. Whatever it was, Bernie was not as happy as she

ought to have been. There was a restlessness to her that seemed

almost dangerous.

“Companionship? Children?” Antoinette said.

“Perhaps later,” she answered. “When I’m tired.”

How to Daz zle a Duke

153

That roused a laugh from Toni and from Bernie. It was not to

be helped.

“Is Lady Richard truly coming tonight?” Bernadette asked.

“I hope so,” Antoinette answered. “She needs to get out into

Society more. I don’t know how she fills her days, living with

Edenham as she does. The two of them, widow and widower,

alone in that house. Hiding away, is what it looks like. It can’t be

healthy.”

“Edenham may have been hiding before, but he’s not now,”

Bernadette said. “I think it’s something to do with Lady Dalby.

He appears to enjoy her very much.”

“That sounds rather sordid.”

“I know.”

“Perhaps he’ll marry again. Perhaps Lady Dalby will be the

next Duchess of Edenham,” Antoinette said.

“I can’t think why she’d want to marry Edenham. Her life is

perfectly ordered and well settled.”

“But you can see why Edenham would want to marry

again?”

Bernadette shrugged. “He’s a man. And he’s been married so

often now that it must feel very peculiar to him not to be married.

Why don’t you marry him, Toni? You enjoy his sister so much,

it would be quite nice for you.”

“You’re not afraid he’d kill me?” Toni asked with a grin.

“Not at all. Are you afraid he’d kill you?”

“I can’t think how. I can’t have children.”

Bernie made a most unattractive sound with her mouth; it

was very nearly comical. “You can’t possibly be certain of that.

Lanreath was nearly an old man. I would say I’m surprised the

marriage was even consummated, but I know what men are

capable of doing when they are inspired. I’ve no doubt you in

spired him beyond his normal capacity.”

“Bernie, you are grown coarse.”

154 CLAUDIA DAIN

“I notice you don’t deny it.”

“I could say the same of you.”

It was at that moment that, quite abruptly, the doors to the

Countess of Lanreath’s salon nearly burst in upon them and