How to Dazzle a Duke (5 page)

“What is it? Something costly? But of course it would be.”

“I shan’t show you. If you want to see it, you’ll have to traipse

over to Dalby House to see it,” Cranleigh said. Iveston rose to his

feet, looking imminently ready to go.

Cranleigh sighed. “Wait ten minutes, will you? I don’t require

an escort, which is surely what she will conclude.”

“Why should you care what Sophia Dalby thinks?”

Cranleigh snorted and stared up at him. “Not Sophia. Amy.

I can’t have my wife thinking I didn’t go willingly, can I? If it

doesn’t seem my idea, she’ll get the notion that she can compel

me to do anything.”

Iveston, who knew very nearly everything as it pertained to

the courtship of Amelia and Cranleigh, found it almost impos

sible not to laugh outright. He did chuckle, but that was to be

expected, wasn’t it?

“And she doesn’t have that notion already?” Iveston said.

28 CLAUDIA DAIN

If Cranleigh hadn’t been holding a very costly Chinese some

thing-or-other, he was quite sure Cranleigh would have given

him a black eye. Or tried to, anyway.

“You’re determined to come, aren’t you? Just dying to fi nd a

laugh at my expense,” Cranleigh said as they walked across the

music room side by side.

“Well,” Iveston said slowly, “yes, actually. I can’t see how

you’d disappoint me in that, can you? A gift for Sophia,” Iveston

said, grinning. “I quite think she must deserve one.”

“I’m quite certain she would agree with you,” Cranleigh

grumbled.

Iveston could see the gleam of humor in Cranleigh’s eyes; he

was not fooled. It was as they were walking into the blue recep

tion room that Mr. George and Miss Penelope Prestwick were

admitted to Hyde House by Ponsonby.

“Ten minutes, Iveston,” Cranleigh murmured as they walked

across the spacious room. “After that, you must face Miss

Prestwick on your own. I’ll not be waylaid in my own home.”

Nevertheless, Cranleigh bowed crisply to Miss Prestwick’s pretty

curtsey, accepted Mr. Prestwick’s felicitations on his marriage,

and said most cordially, “And how are your roses today, Miss

Prestwick? Quite as lovely as they were when I last viewed

them?”

Miss Prestwick, her dark eyes glittering, said a bit stiffl y,

“Most assuredly, Lord Cranleigh. Give them not a moment’s

worry. Whatever befell them, they have made a full recovery.”

“How stalwart of them,” Cranleigh said, “or is it your sure

hand with roses, Miss Prestwick?”

“I should say the credit should go to the roses, in this in

stance,” Mr. Prestwick said, smiling cordially. His sister did not

appear to think him cordial in the least, to judge by her chilly

demeanor.

How to Daz zle a Duke

29

As Iveston had developed the habit of spending the better

part of his days avoiding the rabble that was the ton, he had not

met Miss Prestwick before the night of the ball her father, the

viscount, had hosted. She was, either fortunately or unfortu

nately, not quite like the other women of his scant acquaintance.

In concert with her bold coloring, there was something about her

manner that was equally bold, very nearly masculine in force. It

was quite intriguing. In point of fact, he had never been looked

over by a woman with quite so appalling a lack of subtlety since

reaching his majority. In some strange fashion, it was very nearly

refreshing.

Iveston, who was by no measure a fool, knew he was the most

eligible man in Town. He was of good house, good family, good

fortune, good health, and good teeth. He was heir to a dukedom,

and quite a nice one. He, without being obnoxious about it, had

it all. Naturally, women being what they were and Society being

what it was, nearly every unmarried woman below the age of

forty and above the age of fifteen would be delighted if he showed

them the slightest interest.

It was not to be supposed that Miss Prestwick was any

different.

“As interesting as I find my roses to be,” Miss Prestwick said,

glancing coolly at her brother, “I’m quite aware that others don’t

share my passion for horticulture. I can see that you are on your

way out. Please don’t allow us to keep you. My brother and I had

hoped to see Lady Amelia, to return the shawl that was . . . that

I . . . that she . . .” Miss Prestwick looked quite at a loss. Iveston

had a most difficult time not laughing outright.

“How very thoughtful, and indeed generous of you, Miss

Prestwick,” Iveston said into the stilted and sudden silence.

“Quite as generous as when you made loan of your lovely shawl

when Lady Amelia was so in need of it.”

30 CLAUDIA DAIN

Cranleigh, it should be reported, looked quite red about the

neck. As well he should, as he had been responsible for Amelia

needing the shawl in the first place, her muslin gown quite torn

to shreds, very nearly literally.

“The shawl belongs rightly to you, Miss Prestwick,” Cran

leigh said, shifting his package from hand to hand.

“I feel that, as things stand,” Miss Prestwick replied, ignoring

whatever attempts her brother made to enter the conversation,

“the shawl should remain in her care. Permanently.”

“Goodwill gesture, you might say,” Mr. Prestwick said in

slightly cheeky fashion. Iveston found it all rather amusing. Cran

leigh, by his expression, not as much.

“However it is phrased,” Miss Prestwick said firmly, “we

shall not keep you. As you are so readily available, will you

not take the shawl, Lord Cranleigh? I will feel so much more at

ease knowing it is in the proper hands.” Clutching her own red

shawl about her shoulders, she looked nearly ready to sprint for

the door.

Odd. Should she not be making some more determined effort

to stay? And to win his attention? It was completely irregular.

Here he was, caught out, one might say, an heir apparent who

was known best for not being readily available to callers. Yet here

he was, available, facing a quite attractive girl with dark hair and

eyes and fashionably pale skin.

It was beyond question that she would be very delighted to

marry him. They all were, weren’t they? He had what every

woman wanted in a man, and he was not such a dullard that he

didn’t know it.

Of course, she was a bit peculiar. That might explain it.

Wasn’t she just slightly too forceful? Too direct? It wasn’t at all

what a man looked for in a woman, not if he had any sense. His

mother was entirely too direct and very nearly forbiddingly

forceful, so he was very clear about what he wanted in a wife,

How to Daz zle a Duke

31

when he bothered to think about it at all, which he rarely did. He

wanted a wife he could manage without any effort, he knew that.

Most women looked pleasant enough from a distance, but get to

know them in any degree of polite familiarity and they became

positive dragons. Not that he would ever call his mother, the

duchess, a dragon; however, the duke did have a bit of a time

with her, not that he ever complained. On the contrary, his father

seemed remarkably content with his situation, but Iveston was

nearly certain that it was possible to be even more content with

a less energetic wife.

Miss Prestwick, now that he had got a good look at her, seemed

to boil with energy.

Entirely unpleasant. He was completely put off.

He stood in a relaxed posture of attention and said not a word,

shutting her out and showing her that he was not in the least in

terested in her. Of course, he watched for her response.

Proving that she was peculiar and not at all aware of how to

behave, she barely glanced at him. And when she did, she was

quite obviously dismissive.

In all his twenty-nine years, nearly ten of them being feted

and pursued by every mama to every girl above the age of four

teen, he had never been dismissed so thoroughly. In fact, not at

all. Not a bit of it. He’d been hotly pursued, as was entirely ap

propriate, if annoying. This chit, this little nothing of more

money than breeding, was discounting
him
?

Gad, she was peculiar. Very nearly mad, by all appearances.

“We must be off, Cranleigh,” he murmured, ducking his head

slightly before looking at Ponsonby, communicating without words

that the Prestwicks could be shown to Amelia or out the door, so

long as they were shown away from his presence. Ponsonby, quite

well trained in that sort of thing, understood completely. “Your

pardon, Miss Prestwick. Mr. Prestwick. My brother and I have an

appointment we must keep.”

32 CLAUDIA DAIN

“I shall inform Lady Amelia that you are calling,” Ponsonby

said. “If you will just wait here?”

“Oh, not at all necessary,” Miss Prestwick said, eyeing the tall

clock against the wall. “The shawl is safely in your care, Lord

Cranleigh, and that is all that can matter.”

“You do not wish to stay?” Ponsonby asked.

Cranleigh and Iveston, against all sense, stood somewhat

mesmerized at being so ruthlessly managed by this slip of a girl.

Her brother looked entirely accustomed to it, proving Iveston’s

point neatly.

“I’m afraid we can’t. We have an appointment of our own to

keep,” Miss Prestwick said.

“We do?” Mr. Prestwick said somewhat comically.

Miss Prestwick did not look at all amused, which was some

what delightful. Such a stiff sort of girl. One could not but wonder

what it would take to unbend her.

“Of course we do, George,” she said tightly, rearranging her

perfectly arranged shawl. Did Miss Prestwick fidget when her

plans were questioned? “And we must hurry.”

“Excuse us,” Mr. Prestwick said amiably, “we must hurry.”

And with only the barest of cordial formalities, the two were

out the door and back onto Piccadilly. Cranleigh looked nearly

as befuddled as Iveston felt.

“Remarkable girl,” Cranleigh said. “I never thought to see

one like her.”

“Remarkable? How?” Iveston said as Ponsonby arranged for

their coats to be brought down.

“She’s the only unmarried woman I’ve yet to see who didn’t

fall all over herself in trying to gain your attention. She had it,

by all appearances, and she threw it right back at your feet.”

“She did not have my attention,” Iveston said curtly, taking

his hat from Ponsonby.

How to Daz zle a Duke

33

“No?” Cranleigh said, his hands full with his mysterious gift

for Sophia Dalby. “Then I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

“No, I’m quite certain it doesn’t,” Iveston said as they walked

out onto Piccadilly.

And it didn’t. Though Cranleigh found it all very amusing, to

judge by his laugh.

Four

THE Duke of Edenham entered Dalby House fully ten minutes

before his appointed time. He was no fool. A man who wished

to remain on Sophia Dalby’s good side paid attention to details

of that sort.

He was shown directly into the white salon, where the blanc

de Chine cup that was the reason for the salon was missing. In

its place was a celadon vase of quite exquisite design. Edenham

knew the origin of the blanc de Chine cup; he did not know the

origin of the celadon porcelain. He was not a man who endured

being kept in the dark about important changes such as these,

with a woman such as Sophia Dalby.

“You’re early, darling,” Sophia said as he took a seat oppo

site her on one of the matching sofas in the room. “There is

nothing more charming than a man who so promptly pays off

his wagers.”

“In ready money, too,” he said, handing her a small bundle

of gold coins. “Count it, if you wish.”

“Oh, I shall,” she said with a twinkle in her dark eyes. “There

How to Daz zle a Duke

35

is nothing quite so delicious as the feel of gold between my

fi ngers.”

They sat opposite each other. The celadon vase gleamed on

a low table between them, a spark of color in a room nearly glow

ing white.

“I see you have a new bit of porcelain, Lady Dalby,” he said.

“Another payment for another wager?”

“Not at all,” she said, putting the bundle down next to the

vase, her bodice dipping slightly as she leaned forward. Edenham appreciated the effort, and indeed, enjoyed the view. “It was

a gift.”

“For services rendered?”

“Edenham, you are too coarse by half. Why, I do wonder

where you get such ideas.”

“Do you?”

Sophia smiled and leaned back against the cushions. “Darling

Edenham, if you want to know something, why not simply ask?

I have very few secrets.”

“But the ones you do have are so very intriguing,” he said,

studying her face.

He’d known Sophia for years. They were close in age, though

not at all close in experience, either shared or otherwise. He had

never known the sweetness of lying betwixt her legs; indeed, he

had no wish to. He was, perhaps, one of the few men who

could say that, not that he would ever admit so publicly. No, he