When Seducing A Duke (23 page)

Chapter 19

G
rey kept his word. He not only showed her the Ryeton jewels, he handed them over for Rose to wear as she wished. The stones were amazing, the settings exquisite. She wore a parure of diamonds—and nothing else—to bed that same evening just so Grey could watch her sparkle.

She wore those same diamonds to the party at Lady Frederick’s the next week. They went divinely with the silver and black Worth gown she wore.

He also kept his word and didn’t attend the party with her—not that she ever imagined he would. And it was just as well, since Rose knew she would have to face Kellan—something better done alone.

But even if it weren’t for Kellan, she wouldn’t be upset with Grey for not being there with her. She knew how stubborn he was when she married him, and didn’t expect him to change overnight. She also was beginning to get a good idea of why he chose to hide away from society.

At first she thought it was because of his scar, and that people would talk about what had happened to him, but Rose suspected that a larger component of her husband’s reclusiveness lie in the “hypocritical” nature of society he’d gone on about in the past. She suspected that Grey feared returning to the world that once coddled and kowtowed to him, would cause him to revert to his once abhorant behavior.

Personally, she didn’t believe that would ever happen. He had changed too much and become too good to ever be that man again, but she would be lying if she didn’t admit to feeling some trepidation herself. She couldn’t bear to lose him.

But other than that, she refused to think about whether or not he would ever accompany her socially. It was too depressing.

So here she was, arriving alone at Lady Frederick’s. It felt odd to attend a party alone, without chaperone or some kind of supervision. She was a married lady now, and needed no one looking after the preservation of her virtue.

Not that it had worked when there had been someone doing just that.

“Good evening, Your Grace.”

Rose paused on the wide steps. Holding her skirts so they didn’t collect drag, she turned to see a beaming Eve coming toward her as Lady Rothchild alighted from the carriage.

“Eve!” Rose cried, holding out her arms for an embrace. “How good to see you!”

“You’re so beautiful,” Eve told her as she hugged her. “Marriage obviously suits you.”

Rose couldn’t help but blush a little—either from the praise, or the memory of all the things she and Grey had done to each other in the short week of their marriage. One week and a day to be exact.

“You know, I believe it does,” she replied, stepping out of the embrace.

Eve’s smile turned hopeful. “In two months we shall see if it agrees with me as well.”

Rose cast a brief glance at Lady Rothchild who had yet to join them, then turned her attention back to her friend. “Gregory proposed?” She wasn’t surprised as it had been expected, but she had thought her friend would share the news with her in a more private setting.

The blonde nodded, the moonlight turning her hair silver. “We have yet to affix an exact date, but shortly after Parliament dissolves, I expect to become Mrs. Bramford Gregory. They say Victoria plans to bestow a title upon him, you know.”

Rose’s brows drew together. She couldn’t tell if her friend was happy or not. “What about your mystery gentleman?”

Eve shrugged and looked away. “He’s gone. Gregory is here, and my family has expectations of me.” Her gaze locked with Rose’s once more. “It’s a good match.”

Which of them was she trying to convince? Rose nodded. “Of course it is. And Gregory adores you. I’ve no doubt you will be very happy.”

Her friend only nodded. Anything else she might have said was left silent as Lady Rothchild met them. There was a hint of censure in the older woman’s gaze as she regarded Rose. Of course, she didn’t say anything. Rose knew Lady Rothchild liked her, she always had, but she obviously did not approve of Rose’s marriage—or the manner in which it came about. And it was obvious that she did not want her daughter touched by scandal.

Of course, a little scandal could be a good thing, and actually improve one’s social standing. Everything in moderation. What a strange world it was.

Rose greeted the countess with polite ease, starting a little when Lady Rothchild dipped a slight curtsey. That was right. She was a duchess now. Regardless of what Eve’s mother thought of her, Rose’s rank was higher.

That was enough to put a big grin on her face.

The three of them entered the house together, and when they reached the ballroom, the footman there announced them. It wasn’t Rose’s imagination—when her name and title echoed across the room, a silence fell, followed by a hushed buzzing as she stepped across the threshold.

Whispers. They were whispering about her.

She couldn’t stop the flush that spread across her chest and up her neck to her cheeks, but she held her head high as every set of eyes watched her entrance. She even managed a slight smile. Some people watched her with contempt—although those were few. Others watched her with interest or thinly veiled pity. And there were those, of course, who seemed curious—those were the ones to watch. Those were the people who would speculate over every little tidbit until they found a story they could believe and, of course, share with others.

Gossips.

Surely all these whispers couldn’t be over her marriage to Grey? They weren’t the first couple to have been caught together and then married. Certainly a few of the guests present had similar origins for their unions.

Of course, they were the first to fall this Season. Bronte’s erstwhile elopement had been reined in and stifled, so Rose and Grey would be all the rage until someone else gave them something to talk about. Wonderful. With any luck someone would do something scandalous soon.

Eve stepped forward, chatting gaily as though nothing was amiss. Of course, Rose knew better. Her dear friend was simply trying to distract her, and Rose loved her all the more for it.

“Good evening, ladies,” came a familiar male voice.

Rose turned and saw Kellan standing beside them. He looked very dashing in his black and white evening dress, his gold cravat lending a touch of boldness to the otherwise stark ensemble. He didn’t look the least displeased with her. In fact, when his dark gaze met hers, Rose thought he looked rather concerned.

“Mr. Maxwell,” she greeted with a smile. “How lovely to see you.”

He offered his arm. “May I escort you to the refreshment table, Your Grace?”

Right now a friendly face was just what she needed. Rose slid her hand around his arm and asked that Eve and Lady Rothchild excuse her. Then, she allowed Kellan to direct her across the room.

“I must confess I’m surprised that you are speaking to me,” she told him softly as they walked. She was keenly aware of many eyes watching them.

There was nothing but friendship in his expression. “Have you wronged me in some way?”

“I thought…” Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I was obviously mistaken.”

His free hand patted the one she had on his arm and chuckled. “Forgive my impertinence, dear lady. Allow me to ease your conscience. While I might have had certain notions as to where our friendship might head, I never had any expectations. Nor do I feel that you led me to believe otherwise. You may rest easy on that account.”

It was all she could do not to sigh in relief. “Oh, I am very glad to hear that.”

At the refreshment table, he poured them each a glass of punch, and then pulled her aside, through the balcony doors and out into the night where they might talk with more privacy. But, gentleman that he was, he made sure they stayed in the light, where anyone might see them.

“Rose, forgive my familiarity, but I must speak to you.”

There was something sharp in his tone that had her brow furrowing. “You may speak freely with me, Kellan. I hope you know that.”

Her use of his Christian name seemed to comfort him. He gazed down at her with eyes as black as the night around them but twice as bright. He was a lovely man, but her heart belonged to pale blue eyes and sardonic lips capable of great tenderness.

“I want you to know that if you are ever in need of a friend you can come to me. I will always make myself available for you.”

Rose’s frown deepened. “I appreciate that, but why do you say this? Is there something you know that I do not?”

He angled himself so that his back was partially toward the house. No one watching could see his face, or attempt to discern what he was saying by watching his lips. “I will be blunt. Rose, I know what Ryeton is like. I’ve seen how he treats women.” He held up his hand when she would interrupt. “I do not wish to speak ill of your husband, whom I know you care for dearly. I only want you to know that if you ever find yourself in the position of needing protection, I will give it.”

“Protection?” Rose repeated dumbly. Obviously he wasn’t offering her a carte blanche—not with an expression so tormented. “If I didn’t need protection before, why should I need it now?”

His eyes darkened, if that were possible. “Before you had your mother to watch over you. I just want you to know that
if
you ever need to leave your husband’s house, if you should find yourself in some kind of personal danger, you can come to me. I cannot say it any plainer than that without casting aspirations upon the duke.”

Rose gaped at him, and there was nothing refined about it. Her jaw dropped and her eyes were so wide and unblinking they began to itch. Finally, she managed to close both. “I’m touched by the gesture, but I have nothing to fear from my husband.” The fact that he thought she did irked her.

Was that the reason for all the whispers, people felt sorry for her?

“Of course.” He didn’t sound convinced, which irked her even more. How dare he presume to know Grey better than she? How dare he assume Grey to be a scoundrel of such low account!

Her temper would not be denied, though she struggled to keep a tight rein on it. “Do you honestly believe I would have married him if he were the kind of man I should fear?”

Kellan glanced away. “I do not know the exact circumstances of your marriage, only what I have heard and I place little trust in them, but the duke would not be the first man to overwhelm a young lady with his attentions.”

A snort of disbelief tore from her throat. “Trust me, Mr. Maxwell.” No more Christian name familiarity for him! “Greyden Kane has never had to ‘overwhelm’ anyone.” He was overwhelming enough on his own.

It was too dark to tell for certain, but she thought Kellan might have flushed. “Since we are speaking plainly, I must express my surprise that you would fall so readily into the clutches of such a man.”

Rose’s eyes narrowed and she took a step toward him as the flames of anger leaped to life within her breast. “By ‘such a man’ you refer, of course, to the duke. The very same man who came to my father’s aid when his so-called friends abandoned him. The same man who took my mother and I in after my father’s death and kept us from a life of poverty and no prospects. The very man who was a friend when others—including you—turned their back.” Rage tightened her jaw and clenched her fingers into fists. “I would rather fall into his “clutches,” Kellan, than depend on your friendship, which has proven itself far less palatable than this swill Lady Frederick calls punch. Excuse me.”

She shoved the glass into his hand, not caring that some of the sugary liquid splashed over his fingers. And then she whirled on her heel and left him standing alone, and went back inside to face the stares with as much dignity as her anger would give her.

“How is marital bliss treating you?” Archer asked as he and Grey sat together in the matching wing-backed chairs in Grey’s study, chatting over a glass of brandy. “Blissfully?”

“It’s all right,” Grey repeated—without as much enthusiasm as he should have.

Archer frowned, dark brows pulling together over his bladelike nose to give his usually convivial face a fierce appearance. “It’s not yet been a fortnight and it’s ‘all right’? That’s rot, Grey.”

Instead of sighing, or perhaps slapping his brother in the head, Grey drained his brandy and reached for the bottle to pour himself another. “I’m not discussing my marriage with you.” What he wasn’t going to discuss was that his beautiful wife had changed somehow and he blamed himself for it.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but ever since Rose had gone to the party at Lord and Lady Frederick’s, she had begun to spend more and more time at home. Granted, as Archer so eloquently pointed out, they hadn’t quite been married a full two weeks, so perhaps he was just being unreasonably suspicious.

Still, Rose seemed to be more selective over her invitations. When she wasn’t with him—and he wasn’t complaining about her wanting his company—she attended events that were smaller, more intimate. And she spent a great deal of time with her good friend, Eve Elliott.

“I think the gossip has been hard on Rose.” There, he said it.

Archer’s expression was something of a mocking grimace. “You
think?
Even you are not that obtuse. Of course it’s been difficult on her. I heard the entire gathering went silent and then started whispering when she walked into the Fredericks’s soiree. No one’s surprised that you bedded her, they’re all amazed that you married her. All of London’s wondering what’s so special about her while you hide your face like a guilty man and feed the speculation. Christ, the entire
ton
thinks you’re like the beast in that fairy tale.”

Except the beast eventually turned into a prince once again. That wasn’t going to happen in this case. He’d never been a prince and never would be.

And of course, Rose hadn’t told him about the party. If he’d known…What? What would he have done? By then the damage had happened. There was nothing he could do to change it.

Still, he felt damned rotten knowing what his reputation did to her. He could only imagine what they said, the speculations they snickered over.

Grey sighed. “If I showed up at one of these parties it would only make it worse.”

“How could anyone knowing you have the bollocks to face them make things worse?”

“Because Rose would know that at least half of the women there have shared my bed. She would know that the men despise me. She would know what a…
‘beast’
…arse I was. Am.”

Archer shook his head before raising his glass. “I think she knows all of that already. Seems she likes you regardless. Do you think she’s a little, you know, touched?”

For a second, Grey’s temper flared. Until he saw the amusement glittering in his brother’s bright blue eyes. He laughed. “She has to be for marrying me, don’t you think? Personally I’m grateful for it.”

Archer smiled. “I’ll have Mama invite her to the theater Tuesday night. A little family support will help. Plus, you know how Mama is. She’ll force others to bend to her will with a gentle smile on her face.”

That was indeed true. “Thank you. I’m sure Rose will appreciate the gesture.”

His brother took another quick sip of his drink, his gaze dropping. “There’s something else.”

Grey frowned. “About Rose?”

“About Bronte.” Archer seemed to have trouble meeting his gaze. “About the wedding.”

It was still weeks away. The last of the banns would be read this Sunday. “What of it?”

“She’s asked if I would walk her down the aisle.”

Grey schooled his features, but it was hard. Christ, that hurt. All the more because he had expected it. He had suspected that his sister would be embarrassed—perhaps even ashamed of him. And he would never want the taint of his past to ruin what should be the most wonderful day of her life. But thinking she wouldn’t want him to stand for their father, and finding it to be true were two different things.

“Well,” he said. His voice was hoarse and raw. “That is certainly her decision and I will honor it.”

“It’s not her, Grey, it’s Lady Branton. Bronte only wants to please her new in-laws.”

Grey forced a smile. Archer might wish that true, but he heard the lie in his brother’s tone. His sister hadn’t been hard to persuade. “Of course she does. It’s no matter, Arch. You’ll do a much better job of it. You are much more graceful than I am.”

Archer regarded him with such a sorrowful, guilty expression that Grey had to blink and look away. There was a strange burning feeling behind his eyes.

“You wanted to do it, didn’t you?” Archer asked quietly. “You were going to stand up in St. George’s and say to hell with all of them for her, weren’t you?”

He could do little more than nod. He should have cared more about his family. Should have thought about how his actions and scandals would reflect upon them. As the head of the family he should have taken better care of them.

His gaze lifted, meeting Archer’s. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

It was as though the younger man knew exactly what he meant and heard all the other things he wanted to say but couldn’t put into words. “I know. I’ll talk to her. Once she knows—”

“No!” Grey’s head jerked up, eyes burning now with something he recognized—determination. “You’ll say nothing. You will escort her to her groom as she asked. Do you understand me? Say
nothing.”

His brother’s displeasure was obvious, but he nodded in agreement. “Fine. I won’t say a word. You’re an arse for forcing me to do this, though.”

That he was an arse seemed to be the general consensus of the day.

“You will be making our sister’s wedding all the more pleasant for her. There’s no shame in that, Arch.” What was next? Would Bronte ask him not to come at all? Because he knew why Lady Branton hated him so badly, and she might not stop at denying him the pleasure of giving his baby sister away on her wedding day. How far could a woman scorned spread her influence over an impressionable young woman? Bronte loved him, but she loved Alexander more—and she knew Grey would do whatever she asked.

Well, Georgiana—Bronte’s future mama-in-law—would be in for a surprise if she thought she could deny him the joy of seeing his sister happily married. If Bronte asked him not to attend the wedding, Grey would go straight to the source. She’d back down in an instant if she thought he might tell her husband about that time at Drury Lane when Grey had fucked her in his private box during a staging of
Othello.

If memory served, the lady in question came like a banshee during Desdemona’s death scene. Grey had to smother her screams with his hand, laughing as he did so.

The memory left a sour taste in his mouth. There was no sweetness in shame, and that was what he felt when he thought of his past. He was not a nice man. Certainly not the beautiful man Rose thought him to be.

But then, what did an innocent like Rose know about men? Perhaps a little more than he wanted to credit her with. Her naughty magazines might not spend much time dealing with human emotion, but they did spend a great deal of time revealing just how much men were led by their pricks.

Archer finally relented and agreed not to say a word to Bronte or Alexander about any of it. And then he took his leave, having made plans to call on Lady Monteforte.

“Does Lady M know it is her you are determined to have?” Grey asked as he walked his brother to the door.

Archer grinned. “I’m not sure. I suspect she thinks I’m trolling after her daughter. Either that or she’s afraid of my manly allure.”

Grey laughed aloud—a large guffaw that felt good as it tore from his throat. “No one in their right mind would be afraid of a runt like you.” Of course it was a joke. Archer was leaner than Grey, but he was the same height if not a little taller.

“The ladies are,” Archer lamented. “They’re always afraid that I’ll ruin them for another man.”

“I’m sure you would at that.” Grey pushed his brother out into the drizzly afternoon. “Go frighten hapless women and leave me alone.”

When his brother finally made his way down the steps to his waiting mount, Grey went in search of his bride. He found her through the aid of the housekeeper, who informed him that she was in the stillroom sampling some soaps and creams her lady’s maid concocted.

She was a delicious mess. Her gown was rumpled from God only knew what, and bits of hair had escaped the chignon on the back of her head, to wisp around her dewy face. Pots bubbled on the stove, filling the room with the scent of flowers, cloves, and other olfactory delights.

“Smell this,” she commanded when he entered the room. She shoved a small jar under his nose. “Do you like it?”

It
smelled something like bay rum, only richer. “I do.”

“Good. It’s a new shaving soap for you.” She set it down on the counter and brushed hair back from her face. “Has Archer left already?”

Leaning his forearm on the counter, Grey smiled at her as he leaned closer. She really was the most delectable little thing. “He has.”

She returned the smile with a half one of her own. “So you were bored and decided to come looking for me?”

He trailed a finger over the exposed part of her upper chest. “Something like that.”

Blushing prettily, she brushed his hand away, but not before giving his fingers a squeeze. “Well, I’m busy, so unless you want to help Heather and me in our endeavors, you will have to find some way to amuse yourself.”

Grey sighed. “All right, I’ll go, but only because I’m likely to ruin whatever beautification potions you two lovely witches are brewing.”

Behind Rose, the maid Heather giggled. Grey grinned at Rose’s wide-eyed disbelief as she looked at first her maid and then him. “Have you always charmed women so easily?”

Grey’s humor faded. “I’m afraid so.” And then softly, “If it offends you…”

She shoved her palm into his shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot. Flirt with my maid all you want. But I don’t want to hear anything from you when I smile at the footmen.”

God she was amazing. He slipped his arms around her, not caring that the maid could see, even though she made great pretense of not looking. “Are you going out tonight?”

Rose pushed against his chest. “Grey, I’m all sweat and grime.”

“I don’t care. Answer me, are you going out?”

She arched a brow. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No.” He held her gaze as he lowered his head, but he didn’t kiss her. He simply let the words drift across her sweet lips. “I’d keep you here every night if I could.”

She shivered delicately. Christ, he could kiss her. He could make love to her right there. “All you have to do is ask.”

“I won’t have you give up your society for me.”

Something flickered in her dark eyes. “It wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice.”

Because of the gossip? How long before she began to resent him for it? He could just push her away and be done with it—tell her to go out and find herself a lover, but he would rather carve up the rest of his face than do that.

Instead, he took the coward’s route. He didn’t ask for an explanation. He didn’t want to know what she’d heard about him or what they’d said about her. He simply smiled and decided to take advantage of what time he had left. Because he loved having her with him, and spending what had always been lonely hours in company better than any he might have deserved or ever wished for.

“You are sweaty and grimy,” he murmured in his most seductive tones. “And now I find I am as well. Shall we meet in the bath in, say, twenty minutes? I’ll scrub your back if you’ll scrub mine.”

Of course, when she joined him later, and their naked bodies came together in the hot, soapy water, all thoughts of scrubbing disappeared. And so did—for a brief while—all of Grey’s misgivings.

But he knew they’d be back.