The Duke's Legacy (2 page)

Discarding her efforts to be censorious with a speed that belied any true conviction, Abbey indulged in a gurgle of laughter with her cousin. She kept her eyes trained upon Lord Denver as she did so, observing his every movement. It soon became apparent from the excited snatches of conversations reaching her ears, to say nothing of the sudden frenzied deployment of fans, that half the females in the room were similarly occupied.

“Anyway, Abbey,” Bea said, “you’re to be congratulated. I think you’re the reason his lordship has seen fit to attend this evening. In spite of his reputation he’s still invited everywhere. He’s too powerful a man to ignore, but he hasn’t shown himself until now.”

“Me?” Abbey was genuinely surprised. “But he doesn’t even know me.”

“No, but like everyone else here this evening, he most assuredly knows of you and is probably curious to have a peep at you.”

Abbey lifted her shoulders, totally bewildered. “Why, if he’s such a lost cause, would he be invited everywhere?”

“Because, silly, he’s rich, titled, handsome, and most importantly of all, eligible. Besides, some of the matrons might well invite him to their functions for reasons of self-interest, much as they site their unmarried daughters as their justification.”

“Bea, really!” Abbey didn’t bother to feign shock this time and simply joined her cousin in a fresh bout of laughter.

“It’s rumoured that he fought a duel earlier this season,” Bea said in a conspiratorial whisper, although how she could suppose they’d be overheard amid the din in the ballroom Abbey couldn’t imagine. “Lord Avery called him out after catching him in some indiscretion with his wife.”

“Who won?”

“Well, the weapons of choice were pistols but could just as easily have been swords. Lord Denver is widely regarded as a first-rate sportsman. He’s a top marksman as well as an expert with a rapier. I understand however that both gentlemen fired into the air.”

“Which means they were both willing to accept a portion of blame,” concluded Abbey, no longer surprised at her cousin’s seemingly unending stock of information regarding the infamous Lord Denver. “But do explain, Bea, what indiscretion did he supposedly commit?”

“Oh, I’m not sure.” She flapped one hand in an airy gesture. “The usual, I would imagine.”

“Well, you may be able to imagine but I can’t. That’s just the problem. I don’t know and no one bothers to enlighten me about such matters. Nor,” she added, waving an accusatory finger under her cousin’s nose, “do they answer any of my questions on the subject. I’m taught how low to curtsey according to whom I’m being introduced to. God forbid I should get it wrong! I’m taught which knife to use with each course, how to talk about nothing at all and make it sound like the most fascinating subject on God’s earth, and all those other things that make one acceptable in the eyes of society, but no one tells me anything about…well, about what I really want to know.”

“He’s also renowned in the gaming hells, so Gerald would have it,” Beatrice said.

Abbey sighed. Bea’s smooth change of subject and the imminent return of her fiancé with the promised lemonade meant Abbey wouldn’t learn anything more about the indiscretion in question.

“A gamester as well as a womaniser,” she said quietly, sounding more impressed than shocked. “I would have supposed a gentleman with such a formidable reputation to be more remarkable in the flesh, but he appears to have nothing in excess of the requisite number of limbs and I can’t see there’s anything special about him. In my opinion he thinks far too well of himself,” she added, watching him as he kissed their hostess’s hand. Abbey tossed her head, causing a tumble of corkscrew curls to dance about her face, and then turned her attention to the marquess’s companions. “Who are the gentlemen with him?”

“His greatest friends. Lord Jenkins is on the right and the other is Lord Trump. Lord Denver is believed to have rescued Lord Jenkins’s sister from abduction recently, as well as recovering jewels stolen from the Beaufort household. He has a reputation for handling such matters with the utmost discretion.”

“Of course! Now I know why his name sounded so familiar.”

Abbey fell into a contemplative silence while Bea’s attention was claimed by her beloved. Lord Denver could be just the person to help her with her own difficulty. But how could she, an unmarried girl who hadn’t even been presented, possibly approach such a person and apply to him for assistance without sullying her reputation beyond recall?

Her cogitations were brought to a premature end by the arrival of her partner for the next dance. Devising a means of gaining Lord Denver’s attention would have to be put aside until a more suitable juncture.

***

Sebastian Denver surveyed the crowded room and made little effort to disguise his boredom. Why he’d given in to his friends’ cajoling and agreed to attend this crush when he’d been comfortably ensconced in a game of cards at his club, he had not the slightest notion. They were anxious to have sight of the elusive heiress but Sebastian had no interest in juvenile chits fresh out of the schoolroom. His tastes ran to the more exotic.

Sebastian conceded that even by the standards for gossip set within the
ton,
Abigail Carstairs story was extraordinary. As sole heir to the late Duke of Penrith’s extensive fortune, vastly protected and seldom seen in public before tonight, her situation was already established in the questionable annuls of folklore surrounding
the quality
. Why that should matter to him was less easy to fathom and he already knew the evening would be a massive waste of time. He hated these assemblies and usually avoided them like the plague.

“It’s crowded very early,” he remarked to his friends.

“I suppose everyone else was keen to meet the young thing at the earliest opportunity,” Trump replied.

“Yes, damn it!” Jenkins thumped his clenched fist against his thigh. “We’ll never get a look in now, what with this load of jackals having stolen a march on us.”

“Care to have a wager on that?” Sebastian drawled, sensing there might be some sport to be had at this dreary affair after all.

“A monkey,” Trump said with asperity.

Jenkins perked up. “I’ll take some of that, too.”

“Agreed.” Sebastian disguised a yawn behind his hand. “A monkey says she’ll stand up with me before the night is out.” He removed his shoulder from the wall that had been supporting it and pulled himself up to his full, not inconsiderable height. “Which one is she?” he enquired languidly.

“That one there.” Trump pointed across the room. “The prime piece in blue, having her toes trampled on by Samuels.”

Sebastian raised a brow. “Not bad. However, she’s hardly likely to present
me
with much of a challenge.” He grinned at his friends. “Gentlemen, prepare to surrender your blunt to a worthy cause.”

When the dance came to an end Sebastian and his friends contrived to get close to Lady Abigail. Fortuitously she happened to be beside her aunt and thus the necessary introduction was seamlessly accomplished. Sebastian hid his surprise behind a sangfroid façade. The child was unquestionably attractive. Honey-coloured curls framed a lovely face dominated by laughing eyes that had clearly inspired her seamstress. Like her gown, they were of a sparkling blue randomly flecked with silver. Temptingly plump lips curved upwards in a sweetly innocent smile, hinting provocatively at passions just waiting to be released. Sapphire and diamond earrings adorned her ears and a small tiara—presumably part of the famed Penrith collection—sparkled in her hair.

Her position within society would cause any man with an ounce of sense to overlook any defects of nature, Sebastian mused, but he could discern none in the specimen before him. The body that her beautifully cut gown displayed to such advantage would be enough to entice the most discerning of his sex, fortune-hunter or no, and that could only bode ill for Lady Abigail if her uncle didn’t keep her well protected. All that money, expectation and responsibility resting on such slender shoulders caused Sebastian to feel a moment’s concern for the child. Realising it brought him to his senses. Since when did he waste sympathy on rich, over-indulged heiresses—or on anyone at all for that matter?

Sebastian executed an elegant bow and raised the girl from her curtsey. He released her hand again immediately and smiled only in the most perfunctory manner. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Abigail. I’ve heard much about you.” But he ensured that the statement sounded merely polite, bordering on the disinterested.

“Thank you, my lord.” Her calm response failed to hide her surprise at his casual manner, presumably because it followed so closely on all the flummery she’d had to endure during the course of the evening. Recovering quickly, her eyes lit up with amusement and, predictably, a degree of interest. “And I you.”

She turned towards his companions, who treated her with much greater civility, responding to them with a degree of maturity that surprised him. There was a marked lack of the giggling and simpering he might have expected, and for that he was grateful. If he had to stand up with the baggage for half-an-hour, the experience would be less painful if she could manage to conduct herself with a degree of decorum.

“Your parents were well known to me, Lady Abigail,” he said in an aside when the attention of the others was diverted. “I know they would be inordinately proud of you this evening.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Sadness briefly clouded her eyes but was quickly replaced by a dazzling smile. It was the last reaction he’d expected and left him feeling disadvantaged, especially when his body responded in the time-honoured fashion. “You know,” she said in a contemplative tone, “I rather believe they would.’

Sebastian inclined his head in the direction of the dancers. “I believe a quadrille is about to form up. If you aren’t already engaged, would you to stand up with me?”

Confident that she would acquiesce, he didn’t wait for her answer but merely reached for her hand.

“Thank you, my lord, but I’m not inclined to dance again at this juncture.”

Sebastian dropped her hand as though it had scorched him and looked at her askance, his temporary bewilderment soon replaced by feelings of abject shock. Did she just decline his invitation? Impossible! He must have misheard her. Sebastian couldn’t recall the last time a female had rejected his advances, whatever form they might happen to take. He looked at her with renewed interest. Jenkins and Trump appeared to be having difficulty maintaining their respective countenances. Lady Bevan let out a small gasp of dismay.

“I beg your pardon,” Sebastian said in a level tone. “Do I understand you to…”

Sebastian’s words trailed off, his eyes resting on the flowers at her waist as he attempted to come to terms with the fact that he’d actually been cut. His eyebrows snapped together as the truth struck home. He’d been cut direct, in the middle of a ballroom and in front of half the
ton,
by a mere chit of a girl.

He watched her as she impulsively made an embarrassing situation worse by plucking a loose bloom from the corsage at her waist. She stood on her toes and slipped it into his lapel. Lady Bevan groaned and clutched her daughter’s arm for support. Sebastian, who’d recovered his composure and now found the whole situation amusing, spared a moment’s sympathy for Lady Bevan. He was well able to imagine the thoughts that must be running through her mind as she observed her niece committing several
faux pas
simultaneously.

“So, my lady,” Sebastian said, feeling a stab of admiration for the child’s courage. “Do you really imagine you can fob me off with a mere flower?”

She met his gaze and held it, her remarkable eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then you damned well should be.” He lowered his voice. “I’m a very dangerous man.”

Sebastian could see she now understood the nature of her transgression but far from being contrite she appeared to be having trouble suppressing her mirth. For once a woman had wrong-footed him and he wasn’t sure how to regain the upper hand. No, not a woman, he reminded himself, but an unruly child.

It was unthinkable.

“I give you due warning, I don’t enjoy being bested.” He paused, fixing her with a significant look. “At anything.”

He issued his challenge with a raffish smile, not sure precisely what he meant by it. His interest in Abigail Carstairs was at an end. He’d lost his wager and that was that. Lady Abigail dropped into a curtsey and offered him the ghost of a sultry smile. God’s beard, did she really mean it to come across as being quite so flirtatious?

Sebastian bowed and walked away, accompanied by his friends. He tolerated their high-spirited joshing with an air of unruffled calm and then escaped in the direction of the card room, dismissing the incident with Lady Abigail from his mind.

Chapter Two

Sebastian was jolted awake when the curtains in his chamber were thrown back, flooding it with more daylight that his jaded constitution could withstand. He shielded his eyes with his hand and glowered at his valet.

“What in the name of Hades do you think you’re about, Graves? What hour is it?”

“A little after eleven o’clock, my lord.”

“Eleven o’clock?” Sebastian hadn’t returned to his establishment until daybreak. “I left strict instructions I was not to be disturbed until mid-day.”

“I’m perfectly aware of your instructions, my lord.”

“Then why the devil are you disregarding them?”

“A lady has called, my lord, and desires of an immediate interview.”

This got Sebastian’s attention. “A lady, Graves?” Who would be inconsiderate enough to call at such an early hour? Only his married sisters were likely to attempt it. If it was one of those sour-faced pusses intent upon berating him for his disinclination to marry, Graves would know better than to grant her admittance. “Does this lady have a name?”

“I dare say she does, my lord, but she declined to disclose it.”

Sebastian sat up, as naked as the day he was born, and rubbed his face vigorously with both of his hands. “Let’s see if I’ve got this straight,” he said in a minatory tone. “An unknown female has called in the middle of the morning and refused to leave a name or state her business. Far from showing her the door, you’ve seen fit to admit her into my house and are now disturbing me over the matter.”