The Trouble With Being a Duke (28 page)

Keep reading for a sneak peek

of Sophie Barnes’s next novel in the

At the Kingsborough Ball
series

T
HE
S
CANDAL IN
K
ISSING AN
H
EIR

Available January 2014

from Avon Books

Kingsborough Hall, Moxley, England

1817

D
aniel Neville, heir to the Marquisate of Wolvington, had removed himself to one of the corners of the Kingsborough ballroom—as good a place as any for a man who’d been labeled an outcast by Society.

Overhead, candles held by three large chandeliers were spreading their glow across the room, the jewels worn by countless women winking in response to the light. This was true opulence, and nobody did it better than the Kingsboroughs. Why, there was even a glass slipper sculpted from ice and a pumpkin carriage sitting outside on the lawn—a touch of fairy-tale splendor indicative of the theme that the dowager duchess had selected for her masquerade.

And what a masquerade it had turned out to be. Never in his life had Daniel born witness to so many feathers. They were everywhere—attached to gowns, on the edges of masks, and sprouting from women’s hair.

The ball gowns were marvelous too. These were not the boring dresses that were generally on display at Almack’s. Certainly, one could still tell the debutantes apart, due to their tepid choice in color, but they all had a bit of something extra, like crystal beads that sparkled when they moved.

It was refreshing to see, and yet as he stood there, watching the spectacle unfold—the etiquette that formed the backbone of Society being employed to its fullest—Daniel felt nothing but bland disinterest. It was only two hours since he’d arrived, but it felt more like four. God help him, but he’d never been so bored in his life.

Recalling the glass in his hand, he took another sip of his drink as he watched a group of ladies approach on their tour of the periphery. There were three of them, one of them being the Countess of Frompton. If Daniel wasn’t mistaken, the two young ladies in her company were her granddaughters—typical debutantes dressed in gowns so pale it was hard to discern where the fabric ended and their skin began. It would do them both a great deal of good to get married, if for no other reason than to be able to add a touch of color to their attire.

As they came nearer, Lady Frompton glanced in Daniel’s direction. Their eyes met briefly, then her ladyship quickly drew her granddaughters closer to her, circumventing Daniel in a wide arc that would have been insulting had it not been so expected. He’d known this would happen, for his reputation was so tarnished that he could probably have ruined a lady by merely glancing in her direction. Why he’d bothered to attend the ball at all, when the chance of enjoying himself had been as distant a prospect as traipsing through the African jungle, was beyond him.

Well, not entirely.

He needed to find himself a wife, or so his uncle had informed him last week. “You’re a bloody curse on this family!” he’d said. He’d then delivered a long list of reasons as to why he’d thought this to be the case. “It’s time you grew up, learned a thing or two about responsibility or you’ll end up running your inheritance into the ground after I’m gone. Heaven help me, I’d love nothing better than to disinherit you and allow Ralph to take up the reins, but—”

“My nephew?” Daniel had said, unable to help himself in light of the fact that his uncle would rather have entrusted his entire fortune to an infant.

“I doubt he’ll do any worse than you.” As deeply as the words had wounded him, Daniel had done his best to hide all signs of emotion. “Your sister’s a levelheaded woman, her husband too. I’m sure the two of them would be prepared to act wisely on Ralph’s behalf, but since the law prevents such an outcome, I rather think it’s beside the point.

“That said, your aunt and I have come to a mutual agreement—one which we hope will encourage you to get that head of yours on straight. You will cease your gaming immediately, or we will cut you off financially, which, to clarify, will mean that you will have to work for a living unless you wish to starve. Additionally, you will stop associating with loose women, engaging in haphazard carriage chases, or anything else that’s likely to embarrass the name your father left you. And finally, you will get yourself engaged within a month and married by the end of the Season.”

Daniel had stared back at his uncle in horror. The older gentleman, however, had looked alarmingly smug and satisfied with this new plan of his. Daniel had turned to his aunt, whose presence had only served to increase Daniel’s humiliation tenfold. “He cannot be serious,” he’d said, hoping to incur a bit of sympathy from her.

She’d glanced up at him, eyes crinkling at the corners as she’d offered him a sad little smile. “I’m afraid so, love, and I have to say that I am in full agreement with him. You cannot continue down this path, Daniel—it will be detrimental if you do. Please try to understand that we’re only looking out for your best interests, as well as those of the family at large.” Her eyes had been filled with disappointment.

Of course he’d understood, but he’d still been furious with both of them.

Raising his glass to his lips, Daniel took another sip. A wife—ha! As if finding one here was likely to happen when no self-respecting parent or guardian would allow their daughters and wards within a ten-foot radius of him.

No, Daniel was there because it had been Kingsborough who’d issued the invitation. They’d moved in the same circles once, and Daniel had always enjoyed the duke’s company immensely. Things were different now though. The duke had reformed, abandoning his rakehell ways in favor of supporting his family. There was much to be admired in the strength of character Kingsborough had shown, and Daniel had wanted to offer his friend some respect for everything he’d been through—the difficulty he must have endured in dealing with his father’s demise. But with so many people in attendance, the duke had only been able to speak with him briefly, as there were many others who craved his attention.

Oh well.

Daniel fleetingly considered asking one of the widows present to dance, but he decided against it. No sense in wasting time on fruitless pursuits, since none of them had any inclination to marry. They’d gained their independence and had every intention of holding on to it. The only thing he could hope to do with any of them was enjoy the comfort of their beds later, but that would hardly hasten his progress to the altar, nor would it improve his aunt and uncle’s opinion of him if they happened to find out. Knowing them, they’d probably decide he’d gone too far in thwarting their wishes and cut him off before the month was up—an unwelcome prospect, to say the least.

Across the floor, he spotted Mr. Goodard, another gentleman friend of his. They’d often gambled together, and Daniel decided to go and greet him. With wife hunting being a futile endeavor, sharing a bit of friendly banter over a game of cards would be a welcome distraction.

Squaring his shoulders, Daniel started to head in Mr. Goodard’s direction when a flutter of red met the corner of his eye. Glancing toward it, he took a sharp breath . . . and froze.

Who on earth is that?

Next to the terrace doors, partially concealed by a pillar and an oversized arrangement of daffodils, stood a woman unlike any he’d ever seen before. Her hair was black, and from the looks of it, exceptionally long, for it wasn’t cut in the style that was fashionable but piled high on her head in an intricate coif. It took a moment for Daniel to come to his senses and realize that he was not only staring openly at her but gaping as well. Quickly snapping his mouth shut, he cursed himself for being such a fool—it was just hair, after all.

And yet he suddenly had the most bizarre and uncontrollable urge to unpin it and run his fingers through it. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the woman it belonged to promised to be a tantalizing beauty if the fullness of her lips was anything to go by. Unfortunately, the upper half of her face was concealed by a mask, but if he could only get close enough, he ought to at least be able to see the color of her eyes.

On reflex, he began going over all the ladies he’d ever been introduced to, attempting to recall someone who shared her attributes, but it was to no avail. Clearly, he’d never encountered this woman before, and he found the mystery that she presented most intriguing.

Moving closer, he watched as she tilted her chin in profile, her jawline fine and delicate beneath her high cheekbones. A lock of hair falling softly against the sweep of her neckline had come to rest against the bare skin of her right shoulder, and the unexpected urge he felt to brush it aside and place a kiss there in its stead was startling. Daniel hesitated briefly. Women didn’t affect him, and whatever was said to the contrary was untrue, for the charm and soulful eyes he chose to display were no more than tools he applied in his endless pursuit of pleasure. He was methodical in his seduction. If he placed a kiss against a lady’s shoulder, it would be for a reason, not because he couldn’t stop himself. The fact that he’d felt a helpless need to do so now, however brief it had been, disturbed him.

Stepping up beside the lady, he took a closer look at her. Whoever she was, she couldn’t possibly be an innocent, dressed as she was in scarlet silk. He wondered if she might be somebody’s mistress, or if not, then perhaps a widow he hadn’t yet met—one who might be willing to marry? As unlikely as that was, he could always hope.

Knowing that the only way to find out would be to talk to her, he decided to do the unthinkable—ignore etiquette and address her without being formally introduced. After all, it wasn’t as if his reputation was likely to suffer further damage at this point, and considering her gown, he thought it unlikely that hers would either. Dressed in such a bold color, the lady could hardly be a saint.

One thing was for certain however—he needed a wife, and he needed one fast. If her reputation did suffer a little from his talking to her, then so be it. Perhaps he’d marry her and tell all the gossipmongers to go hang. The corner of his mouth lifted at the very idea of it. What a satisfying outcome that would be. Hands clasped behind his back, he leaned closer to her and quietly whispered, “Would you care to dance?”

R
ebecca flinched, startled out of her reverie by a deep, masculine voice brushing across her skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Turning her head, she caught her breath, her body responding instinctively as it flooded with heat from the top of her head all the way down to the tips of her toes. The man who stood beside her was nothing short of magnificent—imposing even, with his black satin mask that matched his all-black evening attire.

His jawline was square and angular, his nose perfectly straight, and the brown eyes that stared down at her from behind the slits of his mask sent a shiver racing down her spine—there was more intensity and determination there than Rebecca had ever seen before in her life. He wanted something from her, no doubt about that, and as nervous as that made her, it also spoke to her adventurous streak and filled her with excitement. “Good evening,” she said quietly, returning his salutation with a smile.

He studied her for a moment, and then he smiled as well, the corners of his mouth dimpling as he did so. Oh, he was a charmer this one, no doubt about that. “I hope you will forgive me, considering we haven’t been formally introduced, but I saw you standing here from across the way and found myself quite unable to place you. Naturally, I had no choice but to make your acquaintance—I am Mr. Neville at your service, and you are . . . ?”

Rebecca knew her mouth was scrunching together in an attempt to keep a straight face. So he was the curious sort. Oh, how she’d have loved to tell him exactly who she was. Would he stagger about with a look of horror on his face before dropping to the floor in a faint? she wondered. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to find out, for the risk of discovery was far too great.

For her plan to work, she would have to turn the head of at least one gentleman this evening—preferably some young pup who would become so smitten with her that he’d be eager to do anything to win her hand before the night was over. Not very likely perhaps, but she was desperate enough to give it her best try.

Gazing up at Mr. Neville, she doubted that he would suit. His confident bearing and debonair smile belonged to the sort of man she suspected would seek her company in the name of seduction only, not because he wished to find himself leg-shackled by morning. She ought to discourage him and send him on his way, but since she was happy to avoid venturing out into the crowd a little while longer, she decided to accept the distraction Mr. Neville offered. Until he’d come along, she’d been bored out of her wits anyway. Having arrived through the garden a half hour earlier, she’d spotted her aunt and uncle, the Earl and Countess of Grifton, almost immediately, and, unwilling to be discovered this early on, she’d hidden behind the pillar, waiting for them to retreat to the gaming room as she knew they eventually would.

As predicted, they’d done so over ten minutes ago, yet here she still stood with no idea of what to do next. Ordinarily, she would have tried to befriend some of the other young ladies, then ask them to introduce her to the various gentlemen. The only problem with that plan was the gown she was wearing. When her maid, Laura, had first shown it to her, Rebecca had laughed. She should have known that turning to Lady Trapleigh for help would have had such a shocking result, for she was a widow of the more notorious variety—it was no secret that she kept many lovers, for she spoke of them openly and in much the same way that other women might speak of their bonnets.