She Tempts the Duke (15 page)

“What have we here?” Tristan asked, his deep voice breaking the spell, sending Sebastian’s thoughts careening back to the reality of where they were, what they were. “My brother with three lovely ladies in his bedchamber? I could very well become jealous.”

“We’re not
in
his bedchamber,” Lady Alicia protested.

“Close enough, dear lady,” Tristan said as he strode into the room, his speculative gleam running over both Sebastian and Mary.

Mary stepped away, her hand leaving Sebastian’s skin, taking the warmth with her, sending a chill through him.

“Your brother is bleeding. If you’ll bring bandages, I’ll see to it.” Mary began tugging off her gloves and only then did Sebastian realize that she’d been wearing them the entire time. Her touch had been so gentle, so warm that he could have sworn it was skin upon skin.

“My valet can see to it,” Sebastian said. “Thomas, escort the ladies to their carriage.”

Mary spun around and glared at him. “I’m not leaving until I know what happened last night.”

Stubborn wench! “How did you even hear of it?” They hadn’t told anyone, had planned to keep it quiet. No sense in having rumors bandied about until they knew the truth of what had transpired.

“Unfortunately, it’s all over London,” Tristan said before Mary could answer. “That’s why I’m here. I thought you should know.”

“Yes, I heard of it at the dressmaker’s,” Mary confirmed.

“The dressmaker’s?” Sebastian repeated.

“Mary was being fitted for her wedding gown,” Lady Alicia explained.

He hadn’t been questioning why she was at the dressmaker’s, only that the gossip was being spouted in the corner of small shops. But now to know what she was doing, to be reminded that she would be married soon—

“We may have a problem there,” she said quietly.

“I should say,” her aunt suddenly announced. “Apparently you kissed her in the garden, Your Grace, and that bit of news shall no doubt be known throughout all of London by nightfall.”

Mary slammed her eyes closed and her cheeks burned red. “Oh, I have mucked things up.”

“Well,” Tristan drawled, “life in London just got more interesting. And here I was thinking of setting sail, but how can I leave this behind?”

“T
he rumors are that you were attacked by a soldier from your regiment who says men died because you were a coward.”

Standing in front of the cheval glass, Sebastian could see his brother’s reflection as he lounged in a nearby chair. Even when Tristan was sprawled over furniture there was an alertness to him that suggested he could enter into the thick of a battle before he drew his next breath.

Sebastian was hoping for at least a day’s reprieve from the business of securing his title. He wanted to take a large dose of laudanum and return to his bed. His side ached unbearably. His valet had changed the bandages and was now helping him to dress so he could visit with his guests in the parlor.

“Why are there rumors at all when we said nothing, and no one saw us?” he asked.

“I suspect Uncle had a hand in that. He’s striving to discredit you. He wants the lords to back the petition he’s preparing that urges the queen to grant the title to him because you are undeserving.”

“If being deserving were a criteria, a good many lords would find themselves without titles.” With a grimace, he moved as best he could to assist his valet in putting on his jacket. It was a dark blue, very conservative. Still he looked to be a man who was not at his best.

“You think Uncle is responsible for the attack?” Sebastian asked.

“Were you a coward on the battlefield?”

“Do you have to ask?”

Tristan arched a brow. “Others will. While I can’t see you being a coward, I must admit that I don’t know you as well as I might have otherwise.”

“No, I was not a coward.”

“Then yes. I think Uncle is responsible, and having failed, he is striving to make the best of a poor situation, perhaps to reflect suspicions from him. He either hired an incompetent or did it himself. Could it have been him, do you think?”

Sebastian cursed. “I did not see him at all. I struck him, but I couldn’t judge his height.”

“I’d wager it was him.”

“Even if he were to have success convincing Queen Victoria that the title should not be mine, you are next in line. Discrediting me does not make him the next logical choice.”

“I suspect he plans to cross that bridge when he gets to it. Quite honestly, I doubt Victoria would be pleased to have as one of her noblemen a man who was once a pirate. And Rafe is also of questionable character. I suspect Uncle sees you as the only one who needs to fall. The rest of us will follow.”

Sebastian dismissed his valet. Once he’d left the room, he turned to face his brother. “How involved were you in pirating?”

Tristan laughed darkly. “You are either a pirate or you are not. There are not degrees. Just as a lady’s reputation is neither slightly ruined nor terribly ruined. It is simply ruined. The question is: what are you going to do about it?”

He knew Tristan was referring to Mary and the kiss in the garden. He could overlook it when it was a secret, but now if others knew . . .

Measures would have to be taken to protect her.

T
he only sounds in the parlor were the clinking of teacups on saucers and the ticking of the clock on the black marble mantel. A young female servant had brought in the tea, and Aunt Sophie had seen to preparing and serving it. She’d not spoken a single word since they left the duke’s bedchamber. Mary assumed she was at a loss for words regarding her niece’s uncharacteristic brazen behavior.

Mary knew that a proper lady did not barge her way into a gentleman’s bedchamber unannounced and uninvited—or even invited for that matter. But the butler had been unwilling to provide any information regarding the duke’s condition. And a lady certainly didn’t approach a man who wore no clothing save his trousers.
And
she never, ever touched her fingers to his bare chest. Even though she wore kidskin gloves, she still managed to feel the fire radiating from his flesh warming hers, the rapid thudding of his heart against her palm, the subtle vibrations coming from his throat whenever he spoke.

For the first time no shadows had played over his features. He’d been too stunned to turn the marred side of his face away from her. Not that she would have let him. In the confines of his bedchamber, she’d imprisoned him in that corner and had been truly able to see all the damage that had been done to him on a faraway battlefield. She’d wanted to press her lips to every scar in order to ease the hurt. If they’d not had an audience, she wasn’t certain even he would have had the power to stop her, although she could well imagine the one word he would have spoken in a raw voice:
Don’t.

He’d have not welcomed her pity, sympathy, or empathy. He’d have assumed she detected weakness when all she saw was strength. She wasn’t certain she’d truly realized how much courage it took each time he made an appearance in Society. Now she understood that his scars went far deeper than the surface.

Her reputation would soon be as scarred as his flesh, and yet his wounds reflected a noble tapestry because he had suffered them in defense of country.

“Something seems different here,” Alicia finally said, drawing Mary from her musings. “It’s changed since the ball, and I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.”

“The rightful duke is at long last in residence,” Mary said.

“You were quite bold in your actions regarding him in the bedchamber,” her aunt said, clear censure in her voice.

“He was in need of assistance.” He would hate her saying that. He was so proud, so determined to make his own way.

“It was not your place to provide it.”

“I could not stand by and watch as he struggled to regain his dignity.”

Her aunt shook her head. “He’d have never lost it if you’d not charged into his bedchamber without thought or proper regard.” She heaved a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately, your boldness apparently did not begin there. By nightfall, I fear everyone will know about your scandalous kiss in the garden, and your father shall be put out with me for not keeping a closer watch over you.”

“Perhaps Ladies Hermione and Victoria will keep that news to themselves,” Alicia said.

“Yes, I’m quite sure that’s a possibility,” her aunt snapped, “and I shall awake twenty years younger in the morning.”

Mary hid her amusement. Under the circumstances, her world on the verge of calamity, she knew she shouldn’t find a moment of relief in her aunt’s acerbic tone, but she did. As long as she could still smile, perhaps all was not lost.

The brothers walked into the room, Sebastian moving more gingerly than Tristan. She didn’t know why so many others always had such a difficult time telling one from the other. Even though that was no longer an issue, the brothers had never looked exactly the same to her. Sebastian had always been the more serious, now even more so.

“Ladies, my apologies for not being able to welcome you properly earlier,” he said.

“Our apologies for barging in on your privacy,” her aunt replied.

“I believe I was the only one who actually barged,” Mary pointed out, and she could have sworn that a corner of Sebastian’s mouth twitched. She wondered what it would entail to make him smile fully once more.

“Yes, well, I see no point in splitting hairs,” Aunt Sophie said. “We are gratified that you seem to have escaped death’s clutches.”

“As am I.”

Sebastian took a chair far from Mary, while Tristan selected one nearer. His gaze seemed to challenge his brother, and she wondered what that was about. As lads they’d always seemed to know each other’s thoughts, but she suspected that the years apart may have changed their relationship somewhat. She despised their uncle for all the tragedy he’d visited upon them, for everything he’d stolen—so much that could not be easily identified.

“So what exactly happened last night?” Mary asked. “Where were you attacked?”

“In the garden. After—” He slid his gaze to her aunt before returning it to Mary. “—we parted. I was heading for the mews, intending to walk home. I heard a sound, turned, and became acquainted with someone’s knife.”

Both her aunt and cousin gasped in horror. Mary, however, noted that he told the tale with no emotion, as though it had happened to someone else. She wanted to know if he’d been angry or frightened or if he’d thought he might die. Where would his last thoughts travel? To regrets, to his youth when he was happy, to men he’d fought beside, to women he’d known? To her? She considered that her last thought might be of him. How unfair to Fitzwilliam.

“Fortunately, Tristan found me,” he continued. “We thought to leave without anyone being the wiser but it seems rumors are running rampant nonetheless.”

“You hold your uncle responsible?” Mary asked.

“We’re not yet ready to cast accusations.”

She was impressed with his restraint. Who else except his uncle would wish him harm?

“Lady Mary,” Tristan began, “did you happen across anyone in the garden last night?”

It was too late to save her now so she might as well acknowledge the truth. “His Grace.”

Tristan gave her a wolfish grin that she suspected would win over many a lady. “Besides my brother.”

“Not really. No. I heard whisperings in the shadows and couples were strolling about of course, but from a distance, I couldn’t identify them. And my thoughts were occupied elsewhere.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Tension tightened her shoulders with the implications of his words. He turned his attention to Alicia, and Mary thought her cousin might be on the verge of swooning. She seemed to be having difficulty drawing in a breath. “Did either of you ladies take a stroll in the garden?”

“Absolutely not,” her aunt said. “I speak for both of us. We did not leave the ballroom.”

“Yes, I can imagine Lady Alicia was far too busy dancing.”

“Not so busy as you might think.” Blushing, she lowered her gaze to the tepid tea in her cup.

Mary shifted her attention to Sebastian to determine what he might think of this little exchange, and nearly dropped her own teacup when she saw how intently he was studying her. She considered setting the cup aside but her hands had begun to tremble and she didn’t want to have a rattling saucer give away how disconcerted she was by his study of her. She wondered if he was upset that she’d unintentionally let the cat out of the bag about him kissing her. He’d obviously regretted pressing his lips to hers or he’d have not stormed off. If she’d not taken the coward’s route and scurried back to the ballroom, she might have seen who attacked him.

“I don’t suppose we’ll ever discover who attacked Keswick,” Tristan said.

“Unless he returned to the ballroom bloody. I did manage to land a blow.”

“I can’t imagine that it was a lord who attacked you,” Aunt Sophie said. “Lords do not attack other lords. It was no doubt some ruffian. Although what he was doing there is beyond me. Perhaps he meant to rob you.”

“Perhaps.”

But Mary heard the doubt in his voice. He suspected his uncle of foul play. Not that she blamed him, because she did as well.

“We’re much relieved to see you were not too terribly hurt,” her aunt said, setting her teacup aside and rising. “We should be leaving now.”

“I would like a moment with Mary,” Sebastian said.

Her aunt sat. “Of course.”

“Alone.”

“Hardly appropriate.”

“I’m in no condition to take advantage.”

“Still—”

“Aunt, my reputation is no doubt in tatters by now anyway. What harm can come of letting us have a few moments of privacy? The door may remain open. You can stand in the entryway and peer in.”

“If Fitzwilliam were to discover—”

“I’m not going to tell him.” Besides, once he heard about the kiss, it would all be over anyway.

“Very well.” She rose again. “Alicia, with me.”

Both ladies began to walk out. Tristan shoved himself out of the chair.

“I’ll keep the ladies out of mischief.”

Mary smiled at that. She suspected it had been a good many years since her aunt had caused any mischief and Alicia was too mindful of her reputation to do anything untoward. Pity Mary could not claim the same. After everyone disappeared through the doorway, she said, “You’ve grown paler.”