To Pleasure a Duke (9 page)

“I suppose it is,” she said, with a mischievous smile.

He leaned against the tree trunk at her side, gazing down into her face. “You are making me wonder why you would want to ask so personal a question. Most young ladies of gentle upbringing would consider such a topic of conversation an abomination. They are taught not to notice such things and if they do to look the other way.”

“Then I am not like most young ladies.”

“No, Eugenie, you are unique.”

His eyes delved into hers. He was very close now, and once again she felt that frisson. She was beginning to think it was a perverse sort of excitement. He was pursuing her in earnest now and Eugenie would have to make a decision soon. Did she want to be caught?

He reached out, his thumb against her skin, stroking her cheek. She sighed at his touch, closing her eyes the better to enjoy it, while his voice brushed over her like another caress.

“I am wondering, Eugenie, why you would ask such a question if there wasn’t a reason for it. So I ask myself why would you want to know if I have a mistress? Can you be imagining yourself in that enviable position?”

His words penetrated her haze of pleasure. She stiffened and abruptly her heart turned leaden and heavy. The game had become serious. Of course she had known that eventually he would take this direction; it was the only direction he could take. Sinclair was a duke and Eugenie was . . . well, a nobody.

Sinclair was watching her, a frown between his brows. He seemed to know he’d said the wrong thing. His hand dropped to his side. “You appear shocked,” he said, with a humorless laugh. “As the descendant of a royal mistress I would have thought you more broadminded, Eugenie.”

She
wasn’t
shocked. Not really. She was disappointed. She had been enjoying herself and now she would have to put an end to this game between them.

“Wait!”

Eugenie realized with surprise that she was already several paces across the clearing.

“Please, listen to what I have to say. Eugenie?”

He sounded ruffled, shaken. As if she’d pushed him into speaking of things he wasn’t ready to speak of. As if he was in a position he had never been in before and didn’t quite know how to handle it.

She waited, standing with her back to him, hearing his approach. He waited a beat, and then his hands rested lightly upon her shoulders. She felt his breath stirring her curls and longed to lean her head back against him.

“I accept you are a well brought up young lady of gentle birth, but even you must admit, Eugenie, that your family is far from top drawer. Your father is in debt, and when he does have money from one of his doubtful deals, he throws it away.”

“You do not have to tell me what my father is capable of,” she said angrily. “I do not want to speak of him.”

“Forgive my careless words, Eugenie.”

He took a breath, as if he would say more, but whatever it was he thought better of it. Instead he bent his head and kissed the nape of her neck, making her shiver. Again his tenderness tempted her to stay with him, but she reminded herself that he’d disappointed her. In another moment he’d be asking her straight out to be his mistress and suddenly she didn’t want that. She didn’t want their budding romance spoiled by such worldly considerations.

She moved toward the horse, and he allowed his hands to drop from her. She didn’t look back. “Can you take me home now, Your Grace? Or do I have to find my own way?”

For a moment she thought he might be going to tell her just that, and then he was helping her up onto the horse. His face, the brief sight she had of it, looked closed and troubled, his lips white and thin. Perhaps she had insulted him as badly as he’d been about to insult her, but she didn’t care. To be his mistress wasn’t what she wanted. That wasn’t what the Husband Hunters Club was about.

And yet Eugenie understood just how naïve she had been to believe even for a heartbeat that she could ever marry a man so far above her in station. Just because he liked her—and yes, he did like her—and just because he obviously desired her, did not mean he would dream of marrying her. It would not even occur to him.

As they rode back in silence, she still found herself hoping despite all evidence to the contrary that he might realize that to ask her to be his mistress would be a mistake. That, like a beam of sunshine falling on him, the truth would be revealed to him and he would throw aside all that held him back, and ask for her hand.

But it was another of her silly daydreams and Eugenie knew that this was one occasion when she could not twist the ending to suit herself. He was a duke and dukes took mistresses, usually dancers or actresses, women far below themselves on the social scale. That was how he saw her. As a woman far beneath him in every way.

When they reached the place in the lane where he’d abducted her, he stopped and set her down. Subdued, she thanked him and turned away. He did not speak and after a moment she heard him ride off.

Her heart still felt heavy and she knew it was partly due to disappointment and partly an acknowledgment of the cold, hard facts of life. But it was also because she’d become fond of him. She enjoyed his company and his conversation and the feel of his arms about her.

Eugenie clenched her jaw and told herself she would not cry. She would not! But a tear slid down her cheek, and then another one. Life was not fair. But at least she knew it now. She would make a new plan, and this time she would be practical about it.

Chapter 8

T
erry Belmont glanced sideways at the girl beside him. Lady Annabelle’s face was streaked with drying tears and her mouth was turned down at the corners. Although he would have loved to take her into his arms and comfort her, he didn’t. He knew she wouldn’t want him to. They were friends, companions in adversity, and it would be wrong to cross that boundary. If she thought he was just another rake trying to inveigle his way into her affections—or out of her fortune—then she would no longer turn to him for help. She would no longer trust him.

And Terry found he valued Annabelle’s trust more than anything.

“I can’t bear the thought of marrying Lucius and living in his house in London. I do not say he is a cruel man or—or cruel to me. He is a gentleman, but when I tell him all the things I want to do, he smiles at me as if I am a—a child. There is so much more to my life, so much to do. I never wanted to marry him, but my mother tells me I must and . . . She and Sinclair want me to be someone I do not want to be. Just because they only live for the Somerton name and care for nothing but our position in society, they think I should be the same. But I’m not, and I won’t!”

Her passion spent, she mopped her eyes with her lacy sleeve like a child.

“What can you do?” Terry asked. “You say the wedding arrangements are all in place. Can you really back out now?”

Her dark eyes were almost wild. “I have a friend in Scotland, a girl I knew at school. We write often. She is married now, but she has promised to shelter me, if only I could get to her.” She took a shaky breath, and reached to grasp his forearm, her fingers painfully intense. “Will you help me, Terry?”

Terry felt something major shift inside him. No one had ever asked him for help before. His younger brothers all turned to Eugenie if they were in need of help, while Eugenie never seemed to need help from anyone, especially not Terry. She still saw him as a little boy, someone who needed guidance and scolding, in equal measure. But now Annabelle was asking him for help as if he was the only one in the world she trusted.

“Of course I will help you,” he said, and meant it with all his heart.

Her lips trembled into a smile. “Thank you,” she sighed. “I wish I wasn’t so ignorant of the world and how to make my way in it. I would run off to Scotland alone, but I fear I would lose my way or make some foolish error, and then I’d be captured and brought home to Somerton, and then they’d watch me so closely I would never have another chance.” She gave him a confident look. “You know how to get to Scotland, don’t you, Terry?”

Terry wasn’t sure he did but he wasn’t going to tell her that. He gave a worldly wise shrug. “Of course.”

“Good. I’d better get back to Lizzie before she tattles to my brother.”

Lizzie Gamboni had seemed small and insignificant to Terry, someone who needed looking after rather than someone inclined to cause trouble.

“I’m sure Miss Gamboni wouldn’t tattle,” he said without thinking, and then wished he hadn’t when Annabelle gave him a narrow look. “I meant to say, she seems very loyal to you.”

“Yes, well, I won’t have to worry about her much longer.” She sighed. “I’m so glad we met, Terry. I don’t know what I would do without you to help me.”

Terry felt like a hero—he was the soldier who took the hill fort single-handed, and saved the day. It was only later, on his way home to Belmont Hall, that doubts began to set in. He supposed, when she asked for help, he should have refused. That was the sensible course of action. Helping the duke’s sister could only mean trouble for someone like Terry.

But how could he refuse? She needed his help and he needed to give it. Somehow he would have to get her to her friend in Scotland. Because Terry knew he couldn’t tell anyone else. Eugenie would only scold him and insist he explain himself to the duke. And if he told his father . . . Mr. Belmont would rub his hands together and inveigle him in some devious scheme to make money from Annabelle’s misfortune. No, there was no one he could tell. He must deal with this himself.

As he opened the door to Belmont Hall, Terry could hear the twins arguing interspersed with his mother’s long-suffering wails. Avoiding them, he hurriedly climbed the ramshackle stairs to the room he shared with his brothers. Jack was there with his injured magpie sitting on his shoulder, his head buried in a book on horses.

“Benny and Bertie are at it again,” he said, without looking up. “They decided to decorate the sitting room with some black dye they found in the washhouse. They thought Mama would be pleased.”

They grinned at each other in horrified glee.

“Don’t go down there unless you want to scrub walls,” Jack advised, turning back to his book.

Terry had no intention of getting involved in the terrible twins’ antics. He flung himself down on his bed, and stared up at the ceiling. With Annabelle he had a chance to show what he was made of, to be the sort of man he’d always wanted to be.

“Jack,” he said. “If you were asked to help someone, someone you liked, someone who really needed your help, would you do it? Even if by helping them you might get yourself into lots of trouble?”

Jack thought about it while his brother waited. Although Jack was young, Terry had always thought him the cleverest of them all. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “I would.”

Terry smiled and lay down again. That settled it. He and Annabelle were going to Scotland . . . as soon as he sorted out how to get there.

L
izzie knew something was afoot. Annabelle made excuses and avoided her eyes, but she’d slipped away for an hour today and Lizzie was certain she’d had an assignation with Terry Belmont.

Surely she wasn’t in love with him?

Annabelle, for all her spoiled and headstrong behavior, was at heart a girl who was very aware of what was in her own best interests. It pleased her to startle and upset her family by declaring all sorts of opinions that weren’t really hers, but beneath all that she was really quite conventional. Or so Lizzie had thought until now.

Lucius was a perfect match for her, and she must know it, despite her declarations that she would die of boredom once married to him. Terry Belmont was not in her sphere when it came to the important decisions of love and marriage. Why, thought Lizzie, he was far more suitable for someone like . . . like herself.

But of course he would never notice her, no one ever did. She was like a little vicarage mouse, invisible, while all eyes were full of Annabelle. Not that she was resentful—she’d long ago accepted her fate. She just wished that for once in her life a man she liked would see her.

Really see
her
.

Chapter 9

W
ednesday was market day in the town of Torrisham, and Sir Peter had persuaded Eugenie to come with him and help with the sale of a horse he had been training up. “A fine lady’s mount,” he insisted, although Eugenie doubted any “lady” would be able to sit upon the beast for longer than a minute without being thrown into a hedgerow.

Usually it was Terry who went with their father to sell horses, but when it came time to leave he couldn’t be found. “Probably with his friends at the Five Bells,” Sir Peter muttered. “Never mind, Genie, you’ll bring in more customers than Terry could. Just give them one of your smiles, and let me do the talking.”

Eugenie wasn’t so sure Terry was at his favorite hostelry. He had been different lately, absent in his thoughts as well as in body, and she had her suspicions he was up to something. Although, whatever it was, he wasn’t telling her, and Eugenie had her own troubles to keep her occupied.

She hadn’t heard a word from her duke since his “abduction” of her. And although she’d told herself she wasn’t going to think of him again, she found herself replaying the scene over and over in her head. In hindsight she knew she should not have allowed matters to go so far, so quickly. Her only excuse was that she was enjoying herself too much to stop.

At least she’d prevented him from saying the fatal words. He hadn’t actually come out and said them to her face. Not yet, anyway. But Eugenie knew that it wouldn’t be long before he did. The duke seemed determined to have her—to own her, like one of his horses. It wasn’t as if he even knew her, not properly anyway, but he was evidently one of those men who made up his mind in an instant.

Eugenie could understand that. She’d done it herself when she’d seen a hat or a shawl she liked. But this was so much more intimate. Sinclair wanted to put her into some little cozy love nest he could visit, with Eugenie waiting patiently, perfectly dressed—or undressed—ready day or night in case he might pop around.

Eugenie knew she would never be able to bear such a hole-in-the-corner sort of existence. And what about when . . .
if
he grew tired of her and she was left with the truly awful choice of seeking another benefactor? She could not even imagine how one did that. Was there a special employment agency where discarded mistresses went? She tried to picture a line of women in doubtful dresses, their cheeks rouged, waving their handkerchiefs to attract the attentions of another line of gentlemen in need of new mistresses.

She shuddered.

No, far better to do as she’d decided in the lane as he rode away from her, and free herself of the whole mess and start again, this time with a proper plan.

But she would miss kissing him! Being with him was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her.

Her father, sitting beside her in the trap as they bowled along, the horse trotting behind them, gave her a quizzical look. “You’re glum today, Genie,” he said. “What’s up, girl? Was it the letter you received this morning? Not bad news?”

That was another thing. She’d had a letter from Averil asking how her husband hunting was going.
I have been perusing
The Times
—the engagements section—but haven’t seen any news yet. Do tell me what is happening between you and the duke!
It was possible Averil was teasing, but maybe she was not. Whenever Eugenie thought she was about to escape the foolish vows she’d made about the duke fate conspired to dig an even deeper hole for her. Now she would have to write back and explain it was all over and the duke had broken her heart.

No, Eugenie thought.
She
had broken
his
heart.

“Just thinking, Father.”

“Well, your thoughts don’t seem to be making you very happy, do they? What were you thinking?”

“I was considering my future.”

He chuckled. “Were you now? I’ll tell you something to cheer you up. If we sell the mare for a good price today I’ll buy you and your mother a new dress each. She’s still in low spirits over the twins’ shenanigans with the black dye and a new dress always cheers her up.” He beamed at her. “What do you say, Genie?”

Eugenie knew only too well that there were unpaid bills galore but here was her father wanting to buy new dresses for his womenfolk, to cheer them up. She should remind him of his responsibilities, but what was the point when he’d never listened to her before? It was not as if he was ever going to change.

And suddenly Eugenie longed for a new dress.

“Thank you, Father,” she said gratefully.

He nodded, pleased to have pleased her, and reached over to grasp her in a rough hug. “You’re a good girl, Genie.”

Eugenie wondered if that epitaph would go on her headstone when she was dead and buried.
Eugenie Belmont, a good girl.
Despite all her good intentions a wayward and wicked thought slipped slyly into her head: Did she really want to be a good girl? If being a bad girl meant kissing Sinclair?

T
orrisham, with its golden stone buildings and narrow laneways, was a bustling place, especially on market days. Her father found the horse stalls and set about brushing down the mare and cleaning her hooves. The creature rolled its eyes but managed to control the urge to kick.

“Father, are you sure this is a lady’s mount?” Eugenie said, eyeing it uneasily.

“You’ve ridden her.”

“Yes, but I know what to expect.”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of spirit,” he said jovially.

Eugenie was about to say you could have too much of a good thing, when she happened to glance across the market square and spotted a tall and very familiar figure.

“Oh good Lord, it’s him,” she gasped.

“Who’s ‘him’?”

“The duke!”

Her father shot her a curious look, and then followed her gaze. “Ah, Somerton!” he called, as if they were the best of friends. “How do you do? Come to look at the horseflesh, have ye?”

If the duke had been planning to walk past then he could no longer do so without appearing rude. She watched him hesitate, considering his options, but he’d been seen and spoken to and he was not a man to turn and run—even if that was what he quite clearly longed to do.

He strode toward them, removing his hat as he bowed in greeting. Eugenie gave a quick curtsey, avoiding his eyes, keeping just behind her father as if he might save her.

“Sir Peter, how do you do? Miss Belmont, I trust you are well?”

He sounded awkward, and she could see that telltale flush on his tanned cheeks. No doubt he was replaying the scene in the woods, just as she was. Then his gaze slid over the mare, whose tether was in her father’s hand. “You are selling today, I see. Is she any good?”

“A fine lass,” Sir Peter said, enthusiastically. He stepped closer, assuring Sinclair in an undertone that he was only selling because he was a little “light” in the pocket, while Eugenie inwardly cringed. “Does your sister need a new mount? Something with a bit more go in it? I saw her riding a gray gelding last month—looked like it was one step away from dog food, if you don’t mind me being frank with you, Your Grace.”

Clearly Sinclair did mind.

“Lady Annabelle is perfectly happy with her gelding,” he said shortly. “She is not an expert horsewoman.”

“Not like my Genie here then. She can ride anything with four legs. If I had the funds I’d set her up with the hunt. She’d put the rest of them to shame, she would.”

Sinclair’s gaze flickered to Eugenie and away before she could read his thoughts. He probably knew that her father had attempted to join the hunt himself once, only to be refused, and it wasn’t because of his lack of funds but rather his lack of good character.

At that moment her father’s attention was claimed by another buyer, an elderly man who’d brought along his granddaughter, and Eugenie breathed a sigh of relief.

“Do you always participate in your father’s schemes?” Sinclair said quietly, a note of deep disapproval in his voice.

“Terry was busy and Father needed someone to help with the mare,” she said lightly, hoping he’d say goodbye and move on.

Because she knew exactly what he was thinking. She was a hoyden. She could not be expected to behave like a gentlewoman, like his mother or his sister. The curl of his lip said it all. Well, she told herself, let him think what he liked, she no longer needed to pander to his good graces.

Some children ran past, shrieking, and Eugenie spent a number of nervous moments quieting the mare. When she glanced up again Sinclair was still there, only now he was watching her, and his expression was a mixture of puzzlement and regret. Her own hurt and disappointment began to wane.

“I find myself missing your company,” he spoke abruptly, and then seemed embarrassed he’d blurted out the words aloud. His explanation was equally clumsy. “I thought I’d apologized for anything I may have said to upset you.”

“You did, but I find myself wondering how long it will be before you upset me again.”

He frowned. “You are speaking in riddles, Eugenie.”

“Last time we met I had the impression you were glad to be rid of me,” she said.

“There, see! You say exactly what you think when I am surrounded by people who say what they think I want to hear. I miss your bluntness, Eugenie.”

She laughed, she couldn’t help it. “I never claimed to be diplomatic, Your Grace. I am not to everyone’s taste.”

“You are very much to my taste.”

How could he do that to her? Make her stomach dip like that? Just when she was trying to convince herself she hated him he made her like him again.

He smiled, took a step closer, and she felt the power of his personality. “Do you think we could meet again? If I promise to mind my manners?”

Nervously, Eugenie glanced at her father, who appeared to be engaged in negotiations as to price. Sinclair took the opportunity to move even closer, and his voice grew more intimate.

“I want to set you a dare, Miss Belmont. It must be my turn, after all.”

“I think I am reckless enough, Your Grace, without needing to prove it. I am through with dares.”

“Nevertheless I dare you to meet me at the ruined manor on Goyen Hill. Friday at eleven.”

“I am sorry but I must decline.”

“Are you such a coward?” he growled. “You started this game, Eugenie. It is too late to back out now.”

Eugenie opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, just as her father finished with the elderly gentleman and turned to them with a beaming smile and a handful of cash.

“Now, Your Grace, I’m sorry we couldn’t come to some arrangement about the mare, but such a fine lass was certain to be snapped up. I do have other horseflesh almost ready for sale. Give me a day or two and I’m sure I can find something to suit Lady Annabelle.”

“Father, the duke does not want to buy one of your horses,” Eugenie murmured warningly.

“Thank you, Sir Peter, but your daughter is right. I have no need of a horse. Now, I will leave you to your business. Good day.”

Sinclair tipped his hat again, giving Eugenie a meaningful look as he turned away.

She wanted to run after him and tell him there was no way in the world she was going to meet him tomorrow, but again she was prevented. The elderly gentleman was collecting his mare and Eugenie needed to quietly question him about his granddaughter’s riding skills. Relieved, she discovered the girl was no novice. “She likes a firm hand,” she said quietly and meaningfully, nodding at the mare. “Once she knows who’s in charge she will settle. Oh, and she dislikes bright buckles, so tell your granddaughter to wear plain footwear when she’s riding. And sometimes puddles . . . I think the reflections startle her.”

Feeling more comfortable about the morality of the sale, she was able to spend the journey home worrying about Sinclair and his dare and Averil’s letter and the mess she was in.

Was Sinclair still intending to ask her to be his mistress? All that talk of minding his manners and behaving himself was very well, but did she believe him? Well, he would have to learn that when it came to Eugenie Belmont he had met his match. Husband Hunters Club or not, she refused to be any man’s mistress.

S
inclair finished his soup and nodded for the servants to bring in the next course. His dining table was full tonight with local worthies and friends of his late father come visiting from London. Not exactly riotous company, but a necessary evil for a man in his position and with his social status to uphold. He was the Duke of Somerton and people expected him to throw the occasional lavish dinner. An invitation gave them something to boast about to their friends.

Besides, the lack of stimulating conversation enabled Sinclair to dwell on a subject that was constantly in his thoughts: Eugenie Belmont.

She was beneath him in every way. If he hadn’t known it before then he knew it now, after seeing her at the horse fair acting like a Gypsy, helping her father sell that wild mare to some poor unsuspecting fool. All of that should have given him a distaste for her, and yet it hadn’t.

If anything his passion for her was hotter than ever.

“When will you be coming down to London next, Somerton?”

Sinclair gave the old gentleman some offhand answer. London wasn’t on his agenda; he preferred the countryside. Would Eugenie take up his dare? And if she did, then she must know what he intended. Would that mean she was willing to listen to his proposal after all?

Sinclair knew after the abduction dare that he’d made his move far too soon. He hadn’t been able to help it. He was a man who knew what he wanted. Where was the point in dilly-dallying? Eugenie was that rare jewel, a woman he enjoyed spending time with, a woman he could talk to and who made him laugh. And then there was the wild passion he’d developed for her. He couldn’t remember meeting another like her and he didn’t need to wait about to make up his mind.

He was a duke, he needed a mistress, and Eugenie was perfect.

In Sinclair’s mind the offer he intended to make was absurdly generous. She would have everything she wanted, certainly a great deal more than she had now, and it wasn’t as if she had a great deal to lose. Even so he would be careful with her reputation, such as it was, protecting her as much as he was able. Ensuring her life—and the lives of her family—were as comfortable as possible.