The Duke (18 page)

“I’ll be watching out for you,” Robert murmured as she climbed past him out of the supper box.

“I know.” She smiled at him, caressed his cheek, and joined the Lord Chancellor.

As they took their places for the ambling quadrille, she would’ve had to have been blind not to notice the countless women in the crowd who looked daggers at her. The censure of the Polite World filled her with a surge of angry rebellion.

As much as Dolph felt he owned her, likewise these Society mamas thought the duke of Hawkscliffe was their exclusive property, reserved for one of their daughters. Bel knew the type from her teaching days at Mrs. Hall’s. She hadn’t liked their pushy, conceited ways then; now she wished she could thumb her nose at all of them. Instead she turned on her most audacious, courtesan like smile and blew Robert a kiss as she waited for the music to begin.

He smiled wryly, watching her. She was wholly aware of his stare as she danced. Moving through the figures with Lord Eldon, she stole a glance at the place where Robert sat. Lord Alec had joined him. The eldest and youngest of the Knight brothers sat together in identical poses, their muscled arms folded over their chests, their heads tilted together as they conferred, both looking out at the dancers, both impassive and rather sly. She surmised Alec was grilling Robert about his apparent conquest of her.

A short while later the quadrille ended. She curtsied in answer to Lord Eldon’s bow. As the Lord Chancellor gave her his arm to escort her back to her table, Bel drew in her breath to see that while she had been dancing, the powder keg that was the situation between Robert and Dolph had given off a spark.

She should have known.

It appeared that Dolph had intended to intercept her when she returned from the dance floor, but Robert and Alec had come down to prevent him; seeing the dual threat to Dolph, his friends, in turn, had come to back him up. Now both sets of bristling males stood near the edge of the dance floor. Dolph was saying something to Robert. She could tell by Robert’s fierce stance and taut, angry stare that the situation hovered on the brink of violence.

Murmuring an apology to Lord Eldon, Bel dashed off and shoved through the milling crowd to reach her protector’s side, praying she would arrive before something terrible happened. Perhaps she could make Dolph calm down.

Argyll and Colonel Parker reached the scene at the same time she did.

Dolph looked at her in lustful hatred, but somehow held his tongue. Standing behind him, however, his friend was not so wise.

“Why, look, everyone, it’s the new Hawkscliffe Harlot.”

“What did you say?” Robert snarled through gritted teeth.

Alec took a step forward.

Colonel Parker pulled Bel back from going to Robert’s side. As she turned to scowl at the handsome officer, the fatal words were uttered.

“Everybody knows the Knight boys are just a brood of mongrel bastards.”

The music stopped. Every person within earshot froze and looked at the drunken, narrow-faced fop who had spoken to them.

Robert looked at Dolph.

Dolph raised his hands with an insolent laugh. “I didn’t say it.”

Then Alec moved, springing like a young lion on attack. He shoved Dolph aside, laid hold of the fop’s lapels, and yanked him forward off his feet. He punched him across the face. The man went sprawling backward onto the parquet floor as though shot from a cannon.

Pandemonium broke out.

“Outside!” Argyll bellowed.

“Parker! See to Belinda!” Robert roared, turning to look for her in the crowd. “Go with Colonel Parker,” he ordered, sending her a searing look through the mayhem.

She tried to protest, but he was already going after his brother, too late to stop Alec from picking his victim up off the floor and hitting him again.

“Take it outside, Alec,” he yelled ferociously.

Bel could barely hear him in the chaos.

“Come, Miss Hamilton.” Colonel Parker pulled her forcibly back to safety, where Harriette, Fanny, and Julia were looking on in astonishment.

“What’s happened, dearest?” Fanny exclaimed, embracing her protectively.

“Dolph’s friend called me Hawkscliffe’s Harlot and now they’re fighting,” she cried as the glut of men surged slowly toward the exit.

“The Hawkscliffe Harlot?” Julia asked in apparent amusement.

Harriette glanced at Bel, looking not the slightest bit ruffled by the brawl. “My dear, if that’s what was said, rest assured he wasn’t referring to you.”

“What?” she exclaimed, feeling like an hysterical amateur next to the Three impervious Graces. “Who else could he have meant?”

“You’ve never heard of the Hawkscliffe Harlot?”

“No! Who is that?”

Harriette slanted a nod in the direction of Robert and Alec. “Their mother.”

“Their mother,” she echoed in shock.

“Oh, yes,” Julia agreed. “Georgiana Knight—the eighth duchess of Hawkscliffe, you know. She lived for love. In her day she would have made
us
look like nuns.”

“What?” Bel cried.

“They say she was a fantastic, passionate, indomitable beauty. She had affairs with all the great men of her day.”

“From poets to prizefighters,” Fanny chimed in.

“I am in shock,” Bel gasped.

The brawlers had vanished out the door, leaving the hall abuzz with anxious chatter.

“Don’t you know the story of the Knight Miscellany?” Harriette asked, taking her slyly by the elbow and drawing her closer for the tale, for the only thing Harriette liked better than a rich man was a good scandal.

“No! Tell!”

“Robert’s father, the eighth duke, was too much of a gentleman
not
to acknowledge all his wife’s offspring as his own, but only your keeper is his true son. The other four brothers all have different fathers—though the little girl is supposedly of the true blood, as well—the result of their reconciliation just before the eighth duke died.”

“Oh, my dear heavens,” Bel uttered, marveling. She knew she should be above gossip, but she could not possibly help herself. “Who was Lord Alec’s real father?”

Harriette leaned toward, her eyes sparkling with glee at the delicious tidbit. “Supposedly, Alec was sired by a very notorious Shakespearean actor connected once with Drury Lane.”

Bel’s eyes widened.

Harriette laid her finger over her lips. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

“My goodness, how perfectly shocking!” Bel said, trying to take it all in. “Do they know they’re actually half brothers?”

“Well, of course, they do, dear. But that doesn’t matter to them. You will never find full-blooded brothers more loyal to one another than that pack of gorgeous rogues.”

“Robert’s not a rogue, he’s a paragon,” Bel sighed.

“No such thing,” Harriette snorted. “He can polish and shine and triple-starch himself if he likes, but underneath it—mark my words—he’s still Georgiana’s son, and her passion flows in his veins.”

Defending their mother’s honor was nothing new to Hawk and his brothers. They had been doing it since they were boys. They might fight like hellions among themselves, but whenever family honor was called into question, all five could be counted on to unite against the world if necessary.

Outside the general row continued under the stars and paper lanterns. Twenty or thirty men had gathered on the greensward between the Grand and South Walks to watch the brawl, if not to join in the free-for-all. Most were merely yelling cheers and making wagers, but anyone who had ever met the Knight brothers knew better than to bet against them.

With his flamboyant clothes skewed and long hair flown from its queue, Alec continued thrashing the fool who had insulted their mother, while Hawk guarded his brother’s back, merely trying to keep things under control, with limited success.

Fortunately the summons bell rang across all of Vauxhall, signaling that the time had come for the Cascade to flow. In the distraction, Hawk was able to pull Alec off of the nearly unconscious fellow.

As the crowd dispersed, drifting over to view the marvel of the artificial waterfall, the manager of the Pleasure Gardens stalked out and ordered Alec to leave. The belligerent little man then commanded everyone else who had been involved in the fight to do the same.

Hawk saw that his brother appeared not much the worse for wear after the tangle, except for the small line of blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth. A consummate dandy, Alec took out his handkerchief and wiped it away with imminently fashionable aplomb. “A good night’s work,” he lightly declared. “I believe I shall go visit some low gambling hell and take someone’s fortune.”

“I’m not leaving, I don’t care what that runt of a manager has to say. Belinda was having too much fun to drag her away. It’s only nine.”

“That petty fellow won’t make
you
leave, Your Grace. Enjoy your new toy. She’s a hell of an improvement over Lucy Coldfell.”

“Watch it,” he growled.

Alec sent him an insolent look then sauntered off with a few of his raffish friends.

Just then Hawk noticed Dolph leaving. He was not done with the baronet yet. He smoothly bribed the manager of Vauxhall so that he might stay, then walked after his enemy. “Breckinridge!”

Dolph turned. His friends did, too.

“A word with you, please. Alone.”

Dolph waved his followers on. They left, two of them carrying away the dazed instigator of the fight. Approaching in suspicion, Dolph jerked his square chin insolently in question. “What do you want?”

“I told you to stay away from her.”

Dolph gritted his teeth. “I didn’t go within ten feet of your slut, Hawkscliffe.”

“Don’t tempt me, Breckinridge. I’m not going to warn you again. Let me come right down to it. Obviously I have something that you want.”

Dolph’s spiteful gaze flicked toward the distant pavilion. Hawk followed his glance and saw Belinda standing by the entrance, illumined by the paper lanterns. To his relief she made no move to come closer, but remained there, watching and waiting anxiously.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Hawk murmured.

“I’ve seen better.”

Hawk laughed softly at the churlish reply. “As it happens, you have something that I want, as well, Breckinridge.”

“What are you talking about? What do I have?”

“I think you know.”

“I have no bloody idea what you mean.”

“I may be willing to make an exchange of sorts,” Hawk said, ignoring the shudder that rose up from his conscience as he made his cold-blooded proposal, even if it was only a false ploy.

“What kind of exchange?”

“Give me what I require and you shall have Belinda.”

Dolph looked toward the pavilion where she stood, then glanced at Hawk nervously. “I don’t know what you’re after, Hawkscliffe, but Belinda is of no interest to me anymore. She’s used goods.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Dolph’s nostrils flared. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe I didn’t acquire Miss Hamilton for pleasure’s sake, Dolph. Perhaps I had other reasons. Reasons concerning you personally.”

“You bloody cold fish, you mean you haven’t even managed to bed her yet?” he exclaimed.

“A gentleman never tells—but you know what the epicureans say. The sweetest morsels should not be gobbled up at the first possible moment, but savored longest, saved for last. You see, Dolph? There is still a shred of hope for you. If you follow my instructions precisely, you may still have her. If you botch it or attempt to cross me, then I will most certainly take her to my bed and press her skills to the limit.”

“What do you want?”

“Information.”

“About what?”

“I think you know.”

“I don’t know! Would you speak plain? God, you’re worse than my bloody snake of an uncle.”

“Mind your temper, Dolph. It will catch up with you one day.”

“Tell me what you want! I want Belinda back. What do you want in exchange?”

“She was never yours in the first place, Dolph. I would hardly be giving her ‘back.’ ”

“Hawkscliffe!”

“Ah, well, I can see the time is not yet ripe. You are not yet willing to own up.”

“To what?” he cried.

Hawk began casually sauntering back to the pavilion, hands in pockets.

“Hawkscliffe!”

“By and by, Breckinridge. I’ll be in contact with you.”

Bel watched Robert striding toward her, hands in pockets, returning from his fight victorious. A quick dusting off of his black superfine tailcoat and a slight tug of his pearly white waistcoat and cravat sufficed to put him back into impeccable order. He smiled at her with a soft, possessive glow in his dark eyes and offered his arm. Together they went back inside.

Though Dolph, the main target of their charade, had left, somehow neither of them wanted to cast off the masquerade. They feigned mutual attraction very well, she thought. She even lured him out to the dance floor for a waltz.