The Duke's Cinderella Bride (15 page)

‘Miss Jane Smith has become quite the darling of the evening, has she not?’ Lady Pamela commented dryly.

‘What?’ Hawk turned to bark tersely.

His friend and neighbour arched teasing brows at his obvious irritation. ‘I was commenting on the fact that Miss Smith seems to hold my husband entranced, my son beguiled, my brother amused and the Duke of Stourbridge mesmerised,’ Lady Pamela drawled.

Hawk frowned at her. ‘You are imagining things, Pamela.’

‘I do not think so.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘Can it be possible that the elusive Duke of Stourbridge has at last settled on his choice of bride…?’

Bride?

Could Pamela possibly be referring to Jane…?

‘Do not be ridiculous, Pamela.’ He snapped his impatience at the absurdity of her suggestion that he could seriously be contemplating making Jane his Duchess. ‘Jane Smith is my ward, not my future bride.’

‘Really?’ Pamela drawled derisively. ‘In that case, Hawk, and unless you wish others to make the same assumption I did, I would advise you not to spend quite so much of your time staring at her in that hungrily devouring way.’

‘Now you are being deliberately provoking, Pamela,’
Hawk bit out harshly, before emptying his wine glass and motioning for it to be refilled.

‘And you are drinking far more wine than usual this evening, too, Hawk.’ As a friend of his mother, and his closest neighbour these last thirty years, Lady Pamela felt no hesitation in speaking her mind to him whenever she chose.

Hawk bared his teeth in a humourless smile. ‘When I wish for your advice, Pamela, be assured I will ask for it!’

She gave a softly indulgent laugh. ‘Be assured, Hawk, you will receive it whether it is asked for or not!’

Hawk gave a rueful shake of his head, knowing that there was no point in arguing with Pamela—that since the death of his own mother Pamela had chosen to take on that role for herself.

Could there possibly be some basis for her observation concerning the way in which he had been watching Jane?
Had
his gaze been ‘mesmerised’ and ‘hungrily devouring’…?

Surely not?

Admittedly, he had not liked Whitney’s attentions to her earlier, and nor did he particularly care for the way that Pamela’s own son was paying Jane such marked attention, but surely that was no reason for Pamela to imply that his own interest was any more personal than any guardian for his charge?

No, of course it was not, he assured himself determinedly. He was merely concerned for Jane, that was all. Because she was young and innocent, and could have no idea of the danger a man with Whitney’s reputation represented to that innocence.

It was an ignorance Hawk had every intention of cor
recting as he made his way immediatately to Jane’s side once dinner was over, when she and all the other guests were making their way to the small ballroom where dancing was due to commence.

Unfortunately for Jane, an hour of watching as both Jeremy Croft and the Earl of Whitney seemed to become more and more captivated by her every word had not diminished the force of Hawk’s temper in the slightest.

‘I think it might be as well, Jane, if for the remainder of the evening you were to refrain from flirting with every man in the room under the age of sixty!’ Hawk bit out harshly as he glared down at her.

Jane gave a gasp, her face paling at the unexpectedness of the Duke’s attack. In fact she had been quietly congratulating herself on having successfully negotiated the intricacies of social behaviour, and now the Duke was accusing her of doing the opposite.

She returned his glare unblinkingly. ‘I have not yet had the opportunity to flirt with
you,
Your Grace!’

‘Neither will you, if you know what is good for you!’ Those gold eyes glittered warningly.

Jane looked up at him challengingly. ‘Could you possibly be threatening me, Your Grace?’

His jaw was clamped tightly together. ‘I am trying to assist you, Jane—’

‘By insulting me?’

‘By advising you.’

‘I was mistaken, then, Your Grace. For your advice sounded distinctly like an insult to me!’ Jane breathed indignantly.

Hawk’s nostrils flared angrily. ‘You—’

‘Sorry to interrupt your little
tête-à-tête
with your
ward, Stourbridge, but perhaps I might have your permission to invite Miss Smith to dance?’ the Earl of Whitney interrupted smoothly.

Hawk turned a quelling glance on the older man, having every intention of telling Whitney that he most certainly did not have his permission to dance with Jane. Or indeed to do anything else with her!

‘I do not need the Duke’s permission to dance, My Lord.’

Jane was the one to answer before Hawk had a chance to do so, not sparing Hawk so much as a second glance as she took the other man’s arm and allowed herself to be taken onto the dance floor.

Leaving Hawk no choice but to stand impotently by and watch as the rakish Earl of Whitney took a hold of Jane’s hand and led her confidently into the dance.

An unpleasant image that was reflected back at Hawk many times over from the mirrors that adorned the walls of the small ballroom at Mulberry Mall.

‘I am so pleased to see that Jane is enjoying herself.’ Arabella spoke softly beside Hawk.

Hawk turned to scowl at his young sister—who, as hostess, should have been on the dance floor herself. ‘Whitney is hardly a suitable companion for her to be enjoying herself with!’

Arabella looked up at him steadily for several seconds, before allowing a knowing smile to curve her lips. ‘So, Lady Pamela was right in her assertion that you are far too interested in your young ward,’ she murmured with satisfaction.

‘I—’

‘I must admit I was a little taken aback when Lady
Pamela described Jane as such,’ Arabella continued lightly. ‘I had not realised. Exactly
when
did Jane become your ward, Hawk?’ She arched blonde brows.

‘You are being deliberately obtuse, Arabella,’ he snapped dismissively.

‘I do not think so.’ Arabella shook her head.

Hawk gave an impatiently snort. ‘Obviously I made that distinction for Jane’s sake. It simply would not do for our friends and neighbours—for the ton—to realise that an unmarried young lady with no family connection to us is staying here at Mulberry Mall under the protection of the Duke of Stourbridge.’

‘Perhaps you should have given some thought to that possibility before bringing Jane here…?’

‘Given a choice, I would not have brought Jane here—’ Hawk broke off as he realised he had been provoked into being indiscreet for the second time this evening. Something that, as the haughty Duke of Stourbridge, he never was. Or at least he never had been before Jane came crashing into his life.

‘If you had been “given a choice”, Hawk?’ Arabella echoed curiously. ‘You never have fully explained to me how you came to be acquainted with Jane, or your reasons for bringing her here. Perhaps—’

‘I do not think now is the right time for us to discuss this, Arabella.’

‘Will there ever be a right time?’

Hawk’s mouth thinned. ‘No.’

‘I did not think so.’ Arabella shrugged. ‘But you must admit that captivating the Earl of Whitney would be a marvellous feather in Jane’s social cap…’

‘I admit nothing of the sort!’

Arabella turned towards the dancing couples. ‘They do look very well together, do they not…?’

Hawk turned to follow the direction of his sister’s gaze, his own eyes narrowing ominously as once again he found himself looking at Jane as she danced assuredly with the Earl of Whitney.

Arabella was quite right in her assertion: Jane and Whitney did look well together. The two were of a similar height, one so blond while the other a fiery redhead, and their movements were both light and graceful. And when the dance allowed, their conversation was softly exclusive.

Hawk frowned darkly as he wondered what subject two such mismatched people could possibly have found to talk about so earnestly…

‘H
ave you been Stourbridge’s…ward for very long, Miss Smith?’

Jane had been lost in the enchantment of the ‘small’ ballroom, as Arabella called it. Dozens of candles illuminated the room, and the dancing couples were reflected in the ornate mirrors that covered the walls. A warm breeze came in through the open doors that led out into the garden beyond.

Now she looked up frowningly at the Earl. ‘Why do you ask, My Lord?’

He raised mocking blond brows. ‘Possibly because Lady Arabella describes you as her companion, and the Duke as his ward. I wondered which of them spoke in error…?’

Jane stumbled slightly in the dance—a slip the Earl deftly masked as he matched his steps to her own. ‘Perhaps neither of them, My Lord,’ she finally dismissed smoothly. ‘There is surely no reason why I cannot be both ward to the Duke and companion to Arabella?’

‘None at all,’ the Earl conceded. ‘But neither description tells me who you really are.’ All humour had now left that handsome face, and he stared down at her with that same intentness of purpose that Jane had found so disconcerting during dinner.

Jane withstood the intensity of that gaze as she gave a rueful smile. ‘I am nobody, My Lord. Absolutely nobody.’

‘One thing Lady Arabella and the Duke do seem in agreement on is your name…Jane Smith…?’

For all that the Duke had warned her the Earl was reputed to be a charmer and a seducer, Jane was finding his persistence in asking her personal questions irritating in the extreme.

The Earl shook his head. ‘I am sorry to disagree, Jane, but I really cannot accept any loving mother with the surname of Smith baptising her child Jane.’

‘Then perhaps she did not love me!’ Jane snapped, still trying to come to terms with her emotions towards her mother after discovering that Janette had married a man who was not the father of her baby. ‘She died on the day I was born,’ Jane explained flatly, as the Earl continued to look down at her speculatively.

His expression instantly changed to one of frowning regret. ‘Please forgive me if I have caused offence, Jane.’ He sighed. ‘My own wife and child died many years ago, too,’ he added, with a grimace.

It was an explanation that at once touched Jane’s tender heart, and perhaps explained many things about this man’s rakish reputation…‘You did not cause any offence, My Lord,’ she assured him huskily.

‘You may call me Justin, Jane,’ he drawled.

‘I would rather not, My Lord,’ she came back firmly.

The Earl gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘You do not seem to be part of the artifice that makes up the world of the ton, Jane…?’

Perhaps that was because Jane did not belong to this world. She was merely an intruder, there on sufferance only because the Duke of Stourbridge had decided it should be so!

She gave him a sharp look. ‘That is the second time this evening that you have spoken so disparagingly of your peers, My Lord.’

He gave a humourless smile. ‘Perhaps because for the main part that is how I choose to think of them…’

‘Why?’

The Earl shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I doubt you would understand the reason for my cynicism, Jane.’

‘Perhaps if you were to explain your reasons to me…?’

His gaze became quizzical at the earnestness of her expression. ‘Talking about one’s past does not make it any less painful, Jane. Nor does it make it possible for the ton to forgive those past indiscretions,’ he added harshly.

‘Not even if one is genuinely repentant?’

‘Ah, but there lies the problem, Jane. For, you see, I remain totally unrepentant.’

‘Then you cannot expect forgiveness.’

The Earl gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘Have things always been so black and white to you, Jane?’

She nodded. ‘My father—a parson—brought me up to be honest, I hope.’

‘He did indeed.’ The Earl gave a hard smile of acknowledgment.

‘But a lack of artifice and guile is unusual in any
woman, I have found, Jane, let alone one so young as you,’ he added.

‘Indeed, My Lord?’ she said dryly.

‘Oh, yes.’ His smile became derisive. ‘But perhaps your own honesty is due in part to the fact that you have no interest in becoming my Countess…’

Her eyes widened. ‘I certainly do not, sir!’

The Earl gave an appreciative chuckle. ‘And so you intrigue me even further, Jane!’

‘I can assure you it was not my intention to do so,’ Jane told him primly.

‘Perhaps it is for that very reason I find you so interesting, Jane,’ he murmured tauntingly.

Jane moved back slightly to look up at him. ‘Are you flirting with me, My Lord?’

‘As it happens…no, Jane. I am not,’ he assured her hardly. ‘Strangely, you bring out a protective element in me that I have not felt since—’ He broke off abruptly, his frown dark. ‘Why is that, do you think, Jane?’

‘I have no idea, My Lord.’ Jane was tired of this enigmatic conversation, but she was even more annoyed with the way the Duke stood at the side of the room, glaring at her so disapprovingly. As if he feared that at any moment she might do or say something to embarrass him or one of his guests. She curtseyed to the Earl as the dance ended. ‘If you will excuse me, My Lord? I believe I would like go outside for some air.’ She turned in the direction of the open French doors.

‘An excellent suggestion.’ He fell into step beside her.

Jane turned to frown at him. ‘My suggestion was not an invitation for you to join me, My Lord.’

‘I am well aware of that, Jane,’ he acknowledged unconcernedly.

She gave a tight smile. ‘But you choose to accompany me anyway?’

‘I do, indeed.’ He gave an inclination of his head as he took a light hold of her arm. ‘I am not yet ready to relinquish my…interest, you see, Jane.’

‘But I am not trying to interest you, My Lord!’

‘Now you are starting to repeat yourself, Jane, and I really would prefer that you not become as boringly predictable as all the other ladies of my acquaintance.’ He grimaced.

It was much cooler outside on the terrace, the sun having set, leaving the surrounding gardens dappled in the half-light between night and day.

But Jane wasted no time on appreciating the beauty of her surroundings as she turned to face the Earl, her chin determinedly high. ‘I do not care, one way or the other, My Lord, in whether you find my company boring or intriguing.’

He shrugged stiffly. ‘I have not conversed for this length of time with a lady so young as you for a very long time, or so frankly,’ he repeated frowningly. ‘Where do you come from, Jane? Who are your family?’

‘I have already told you that I am nobody—’

‘But I do not believe you, Jane. There are Smiths in the Lakes, Kent and Bedfordshire. Can you be related to any of them…? I warn you, Jane,’ he added softly, ‘you will only deepen my interest further by your determination to remain a mystery…’

Jane frowned her consternation; having yet another person curious about her was the very last thing that she
wanted or needed. ‘Release me, sir.’ She was breathing heavily in her agitation.

The Earl’s narrowed gaze studied her face searchingly for several long seconds, before his handsome features relaxed into a wolfish smile. ‘I have already told you, I am not ready to do that, Jane.’

Her eyes widened as his fingers tightened about her arm, that single movement enough to make her aware of how alone they were out here on the deserted terrace.

She had been foolish in allowing the Earl to accompany her outside, Jane realised belatedly. Not that he had really given her any choice in the matter, but even so…

‘Do not look so concerned, Jane,’ he taunted softly. ‘You really are far too young for me to be genuinely ena-moured of you. But perhaps it is you who explected a light dalliance in the moonlight—’

‘Whether that is Jane’s wish or not, it most certainly is not mine!’ An icily furious voice—the Duke of Stourbridge’s icily furious voice!—cut in at the same instant Jane felt herself being pulled from the Earl’s grasp and back against the hard strength of the Duke’s chest.

The Earl’s pale gaze glittered challengingly in the moonlight. ‘Is it your intention to spoil
all
Jane’s fun this evening, Stourbridge?’ he taunted mockingly.

Fun? Until Hawk’s appearance, this man’s conversation had been far from light or flirtatious!

Did the Duke believe otherwise?

One glance over her shoulder at the chilling expression on Hawk’s face and Jane knew that was exactly what he believed!

Hawk drew in a harsh breath as he glared coldly at
the older man. ‘I have not given you leave to call her by her first name!’

‘Perhaps the lady herself has allowed me that liberty?’ the Earl taunted derisively.

Hawk’s mouth tightened. ‘As was explained to you earlier, Miss Smith is unfamiliar with the ways of the ton. She is especially naïve, Whitney, when it comes to men like you,’ he added insultingly.

Jane felt as light as thistledown as Hawk held her firmly against him, as slender as a nymph, with the softness of her bright curls brushing against his chin. But as Hawk’s most recent memory of that slenderness was of Jane standing far too close to the Earl of Whitney, he found he was in no mood at this moment to appreciate any of her womanly charms.

‘A man like me?’ the Earl repeated softly. ‘I will have you know, Stourbridge, that I have called men out for lesser insults!’

Hawk was well aware of the other man’s reputation for duelling, even though it was no longer approved of—either by the ton or the Crown.

Hawk, a master swordsman an an excellent shot, had never been involved in such idiocy himself, but he would be willing to make an exception where the Earl of Whitney was concerned!

‘Yes?’ he challenged hardly, even as he put Jane firmly out of harm’s way.

The Earl thrust his face close to Hawk’s, his eyes glittering coldly. ‘If you would care to name a time and a place I will have my seconds call upon yours—’

‘Now, really!’ An indignant Jane interrupted impatiently. ‘You cannot seriously intend to challenge each
other to a duel over such a trifling matter?’ She looked incredulous.

Having been sure that Whitney was about to take Jane into his arms, no doubt with the intention of kissing her, was no ‘trifling matter’ as far as Hawk was concerned. In fact, it had made him feel more than a little murderous.

‘And how else would you suggest we settle this, Jane?’ Hawk demanded scathingly, even as his gaze remained unwavering on the older man.

‘Settle what?’ she gasped incredulously. ‘You are both behaving like children rather than two titled gentlemen who should know better!’

‘My dear Jane, this is exactly how two titled gentlemen settle their differences,’ the Earl told her dryly.

‘I have warned you against calling her by her first name!’ Hawk reminded him chillingly.

The Earl quirked mocking brows. ‘You reserve that privilege, for yourself, eh, Stourbridge?’

Hawk’s hand clenched into fists at his sides. ‘Explain that remark, if you please!’

‘Do not explain that remark—or indeed any other!’ Jane instructed impatiently, and she put out her hands and rested one on either man’s chest, her face flushed with anger, green eyes glittering warningly as she glared at them both. ‘Really, I have never encountered such nonsense in my life,’ she continued fiercely, keeping her hands on the men’s chests in order to hold them at bay. ‘You will
not
name a time and a place,’ she told the Duke disgustedly. ‘And you, My Lord—’ she turned impatiently to Whitney ‘—you will not challenge the Duke to a duel for mentioning a reputation that I have
absolutely no doubt you took great delight in acquiring and which you have long enjoyed!’

Whitney gave an appreciative grin. ‘How well you have come to know me in such a short time, dear Jane. But nevertheless…’ He sobered as the Duke gave a warning snort of impatience ‘—it simply is not done for a gentleman to cast aspersions upon another’s reputation—’

‘I do not believe they can be called aspersions when they are the truth,’ Jane cut in disgustedly.

‘From a lady they might be considered the truth,’ the Earl conceded. ‘From another gentleman they are an insult,’ he assured her. ‘In Stourbridge’s case deliberately so, I am sure.’ He looked at Hawk from between narrowed lids.

‘Nevertheless,’ Jane said determinedly, ‘I absolutely forbid either of you to continue with this foolishness.’

Hawk looked down at her as she stood between himself and Whitney, a hand still on each of their chests. A completely ineffective gesture when both men were inches taller than she, with powerfully muscled chests and arms that could easily have put her tiny form to one side before they continued with their argument.

That neither man chose to do so was due in part, Hawk knew, to the fact that Jane looked so magnificent in her outrage. The red vibrancy of her hair seemed almost to crackle like flame, her eyes glittered like emeralds, her normally full lips were thinned to a disapproving line, and those creamy breasts were quickly rising and falling in her agitation.