Duke of Arrogance, page 11
Until Arabella came along.
Unfortunately, he was committed to escorting his sister to ton events this Season. Knowing Elizabeth, she would need to be chaperoned on a daily basis because she would insist upon attending every affair under the sun.
He alighted from the carriage and offered Elizabeth his hand. Once she was on the pavement, he told his driver to park a few blocks to the south.
“I may be leaving tonight earlier than other guests and want to be able to get out with ease.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the coachman replied and flicked the reins with his wrist.
Offering his sister his arm, they began down the street toward their destination.
“You didn’t say a word in the carriage, Jon.”
“I suppose I had no meaningful conversation.”
She smiled. “Might you have been thinking of a certain blond of our mutual acquaintance?”
He arched his brows. “And if I were?”
“Then I would be exceedingly glad. I’ve told you. I like Lady Arabella. I am sure given the chance to know you, she will like you, too.”
“That’s the plan. She won’t be here tonight, though.”
“I know. And I heard you tell the coachman we might not be staying the entire time.”
“You know I’m not much on a musical evening, Elizabeth. If I am ready to go and you wish to stay, I’ll have George escort you home.”
They entered and found no receiving line, which was to his liking. Elizabeth saw a friend and excused herself as he spied Weston and headed in his direction.
“You look glum.”
“Elise is insistent in having me talk with . . .” His voice trailed off. “Whomever. I can’t even remember the names now.”
He laughed. “I am sure Lady Ruthersby would gladly remind you. If not, my sister or the Duchess of Colebourne have also been in on the selection process to find you a bride. They would be familiar with the names.”
“Hell and damnation!” Weston hissed. “I don’t care about the names. I don’t care about these women. I only care about Elise.”
“I saw how popular she was last night.”
Weston frowned. “George thinks I should wait a week and then offer for her.”
“What does George know?” Jon challenged. “He already landed his duchess. I say strike while your iron is hot and make sure she is yours.”
His friend nodded with grim determination. “Thank you for your support.”
“Elise is a lovely woman and will be your perfect match.”
Weston looked pleased hearing the words and then said, “What of you and the divine Lady Arabella? I enjoyed my dance with her last night. Are you still determined to make her your duchess?”
He nodded.
“Do you love her?” Weston asked.
The question startled him. “No, of course not. Am I attracted to her? Most assuredly so. She is beautiful to look at but there is also substance beneath that beauty.” He chuckled. “I will never be bored with her, I’ll tell you that. In or out of the bedroom.”
“Did I hear someone mention the bedroom?”
Jon turned, having already recognized the voice. He saw Lady Walton standing there. They had engaged in a brief, intense affair two Seasons ago.
“If you will excuse me,” Weston said, bowing to her and quickly exiting.
“That was rather abrupt,” Lady Walton purred, her fingertips sliding down Jon’s chest.
He turned away as if to watch Weston but it was an excuse to break the contact between them.
“I spent a night with Disrepute, you know,” she said, her voice sultry. “He is a masterful lover but he has nothing on you, Blackmore.” She sidled up to him and placed her hand on his sleeve. “I rather enjoyed our nights together. Are you still behaving yourself these days?”
“What do you mean?
“Oh, I heard tale that you’d calmed down a bit last Season. I suppose it was because your sister made her come-out and you thought you had to behave. She didn’t wed, though, did she?”
“No. No one caught her attention.”
“You certainly caught mine,” she purred, her fingers stroking his arm. “Then . . . and now. I assume you will want us to be discreet since Lady Elizabeth is still on the Marriage Mart.” She licked her lips sensually. “I suppose we could slip off to—”
“No, thank you,” he said abruptly.
Anger flashed in her eyes. “Don’t tell me it’s because you are involved with that Barrington woman. Everyone saw you dance with the chit last night. The two of you put your heads together for a good half-hour over supper.”
He didn’t want to cause more trouble for Arabella. “Yes, I danced with her. What of it? I danced with others, as well.”
“You really should think twice before doing so again, Blackmore. She was the object of a good deal of opening night’s gossip. That horrid gown she wore was enough to keep tongues wagging half the night. Did you know her father was a fourth son? Imagine him inheriting the title. Why, he will have no idea how to conduct himself. His daughter is simply common. You can slip the word lady in front of her name but she will never be one.”
Anger surged through him but he didn’t want to let Lady Walton see it and realize he had feelings for Arabella.
“Why are wasting so much time speaking of her then? She means nothing to you.”
“You are right,” she said. “We should be chatting about where we will meet later.”
“I don’t wish to renew our acquaintance again, Lady Walton. In—or out—of the bedroom.”
Jon nodded curtly and strode off. Women like her with too much time on their hands and too much money from their dead husbands could prove deadly. He knew there was already enough gossip that circulated about him that would eventually reach Arabella’s ears. He didn’t need his name to be coupled with Lady Walton’s again. He’d striven to keep his affairs quiet last year, for Elizabeth’s sake, and had no intention of engaging in any more now that he’d decided to make Arabella his wife.
“Blackmore, a word?”
He halted and frowned as Lord Farrow approached. The viscount had outstanding markers at two gaming hells and had managed to gain a substantial loan from the bank where Jon sat as a director. Instead of paying the debts off with the loan, he’d dug an even deeper grave by losing the entire amount.
“I say, Blackmore, I know you have a bank director’s meeting coming up.”
“What of it?”
“Well, I thought if you pressed the other board members, I might be allowed a bit more time in which to repay my loan.” Farrow paused and then said, “And possibly you could help me take out an additional one.”
“Why would I do that? You have gambled away the first one. The bank expects to be paid. I will vote with the majority, whom I am sure will call it in. No further loans should be expected, Lord Farrow.”
“But . . . I will have to sell my two unentailed properties to raise the funds to cover the loan. Surely, you can—”
“I have no intention of coddling you, man. Sell the land and pay your debts.”
The viscount’s eyes narrowed. “You are as cold-hearted as they say you are, Blackmore. Your soul is blacker than night.”
He glared at Farrow. “My friends call me Blackmore. You may refer to me as Your Grace.”
With that, he turned his back and continued across the room. He saw others were making their way to the rows of seats and slid into the next to last row, taking the seat on the end. He sprawled, forcing others to go to the other end of the row to fill it in. He didn’t care. He was a duke. Let them be the ones to move.
Musical evenings ordinarily seemed interminable but this one went on far too long. He left before the songstress finished her first set and wandered about. A late night supper was offered and he went in and ate quickly, not speaking to the people who joined him at his table. He saw Weston with a pretty girl who was not Elise and shook his head, wondering why his friend continued squandering time. As far as Jon was concerned, this entire evening had been a waste. He was bored and ready to go.
He rose and found George.
“Will you and Samantha see Elizabeth home?”
“Lady Walton still trying to sink her talons into you?” George asked.
“She tried and failed. I merely am weary of the entire evening. You know musicales are not my cup of tea.”
“We will be happy to make sure Elizabeth gets home safely,” George promised.
“Thank you.”
Jon left the supper room, coming across his hostess, who must be returning from the retiring room.
“Oh, Your Grace, have you enjoyed this evening’s entertainment?”
He knew she wouldn’t care for the truth so he smoothly lied. “The woman is a remarkable singer, my lady, however, I have another event I must get to.” He smiled charmingly. “I wanted to come to yours first because it was more important to me. You and your husband are always so hospitable.”
Her eyelids fluttered and she held her hand over her heart. “Oh, thank you, Your Grace. We are delighted that you could attend tonight.”
She was gracious enough not to point out that he’d been leaving without stopping by to let her or her husband know he departed. Dukes could be poorly behaved in every situation and still be forgiven for their lack of good manners merely because they were dukes. Arch would have loved being a duke, with his blatant disregard for rules. Jon, however, had tired of the games and the empty life of chasing skirts and juggling the parade of various lovers and mistresses. He wanted what George and Samantha had. What Andrew and Phoebe had. What he knew Weston would have with Elise.
The Eton Three had fallen hard and fast. He might not be in love as his friends were but he did know quality when he saw it. He would be proud to make Arabella Jennings his duchess. She was totally ignorant of men, however, and he knew he couldn’t offer for her too quickly, as he had encouraged Weston to do. Lady Ruthersby had had her Season and wed. She might be close to Arabella in age but Elise had much more life experience than the earl’s bluestocking daughter. He would have to take his time and court her properly before he asked for her hand in marriage.
The only thing he worried about was the fact that Arabella would certainly have other suitors lining up at her doorstep. Deciding when to offer for her would definitely be a balancing act. While he couldn’t keep eligible bachelors from calling upon her, he would—after a very short while—find a way to subtly discourage them until he was the only one courting her. For the first time in a long time, he was happy about being a duke. A raised eyebrow or condescending look and most bachelors would turn tail and run. If any were foolish enough to keep pursuing Arabella, then he would make certain they understood it was a duke who wanted this woman as his duchess. That would cause his competition to dissolve.
Jon left the townhouse and went to find his carriage. In the past, he would have gone to his mistress’ house or one of his lovers. He’d paid off the current mistress before last Season began and hadn’t retained a new one since. And there were no lovers he wished to tangle with in the sheets. He would go home and think about his upcoming drive in the park with the blond beauty who fascinated him.
And at tomorrow night’s ball, he would steal a kiss from her.
Not that he needed to know how she kissed. He doubted she had ever been kissed before. Kissing was an art form in which he excelled. He would teach Arabella everything she needed to know in order to please him and herself. No, he was gripped with desire and yearned to place his lips on hers. To taste her. Breathe in her scent. Skim his hands along her skin.
Smiling, Jon flung open his carriage door and hopped inside.
Chapter Fourteen
Arabella was too nervous to take tea, knowing the Duke of Blackmore would arrive within the hour.
“Papa, I think I will go to my bedchamber.”
“You don’t want any tea?” he asked. “Cook made some of the raisin scones you like.”
“No, you go ahead without me. I wish to change my dress.”
She would do that—and probably throw up from sheer nervousness.
As she made her way to her room, she worried how one man could have such an effect upon her. She had always lived in an orderly world. She liked a place for everything. She was highly organized. She made logical decisions based upon facts. Within a space of a few days, though, Blackmore had slammed into her life and made her question everything about herself. Usually, she brimmed with confidence. But around the duke, she found herself unsure about how to even hold her teacup. She knew she was his intellectual equal but he was so far above her socially. Not only in rank but in knowledge of the manners and unspoken rules of the ton.
She still found it a bit hard to believe that he wanted to woo her. She was the daughter of an Oxford don, even if Papa had since become an earl. She had no background in how to speak to such a man, much less move through the society he kept. Part of her believed he was simply toying with her and, because of that, she must guard her heart. At his core, Blackmore was an arrogant rake who might be trying to compromise her. Many men enjoyed the chase—or so she’d been led to believe by eavesdropping on some of the personal conversations at the college supper table. She did not want to be hunted. Teased. Embarrassed. In fact, today’s drive was probably a mistake because she would be seen in public with a notorious scoundrel. She should have thought of that and turned him down flat.
Yet how was she to say no to those dark blue eyes that drew her in? The Duke of Blackmore seemed to see through her, straight to her very soul. She seemed to have no willpower where he was concerned.
“Develop a spine, Arabella,” she told herself as she entered her bedchamber.
Annie sat, a needle in hand, working on another of Arabella’s gowns. This was the one she would wear to tonight’s ball. She hadn’t had a chance to investigate finding a modiste and should have asked either Lady Elizabeth or the Duchess of Colebourne at tea yesterday who created their gowns. With one wed to a duke and the other a sister to one, she doubted she could afford their modiste, no matter what Papa had told her. Obtaining a name from either woman, though, would at least be a start.
“How are you coming along, Annie?” she asked.
“Look at the two day dresses I’ve laid out on the bed,” her maid said. “A few embellishments was all it took, my lady. I think you’ll be pleased.”
Arabella went to the bed and gazed upon the servant’s handiwork. “Oh, Annie! You did such a nice job.” She lifted one from the bed and held it to her. Crossing the room, she looked into the mirror and said, “This is more like it.”
“This one’s almost done, too, my lady, but I still think you need to see a London dressmaker. I can only do so much with what I have to work with. You need more luxurious fabrics.”
“I have plans to ask a couple of friends tonight who they use to design their gowns. I’ll only need a few.”
Annie snorted. “You need more than a few. Most London ladies change their gowns five times a day.”
She sniffed. “I am not in the habit of doing so. Except for now. I think I’ll wear the yellow to go driving with His Grace.”
Her maid set aside the sewing. “I can work on this while you’re gone and it’ll be through in plenty of time for tonight. Let me help you change.”
Within a few minutes, Arabella wore the newly-adorned gown.
“I like the lace at the collar and upon the sleeves. It adds a bit of sophistication to it.”
“You need a few fichus,” Annie suggested. “They can help change the look of a gown.”
“I’ll remember that. You’ll have to accompany me when I land an appointment with a modiste.”
“Of course, I’ll go with you. I’m your maid, my lady. You must be chaperoned around London when you go places.”
“Except for this drive.”
“Yes. That’s different,” Annie said. “The duke is courting you. The park is full of swells at that time of day. You’ll be in the public eye. Just don’t go getting out of the carriage to investigate pretty flowers or something of that sort if he suggests doing so.”
“Why not?” she asked, baffled by the comment.
The maid shook her head. “You’re plenty smart when it comes to your books, my lady, but not very wise in the ways of the world. The duke could pull you behind a tree and try and kiss you.”
Arabella thought that sounded extremely interesting but kept her thoughts to herself.
“Let me fix your hair. Sit at your dressing table.”
She let the servant fuss over her and had to admit that she looked very good once Annie had finished.
“Be sure he gets you back here by six o’clock. I’ll have a tray for you to nibble something and then we’ll need to see to your bath so you can dress for the ball.”
She sighed. “I seem to spend a large portion of my time undressing and redressing. And bathing in-between.”
“That’s what ladies do.”
Crossing to the door, she opened it and found a maid with her hand raised, about to knock.
“My lady, His Grace is here. He’s in the drawing room with Lord Barrington.”
“He is? Why, he is early. He didn’t seem to be the early type to me,” she murmured.
“Maybe he’s eager to see you, my lady,” Annie called out from the chair she was again sitting in, needle once more in hand.
Arabella felt a blush stain her cheeks. “Thank you,” she told the maid and began making her way to the drawing room.
When she entered, she paused a moment. Blackmore was in deep conversation with Papa and she took a moment to study him. It was sinful how handsome the duke was. Everything about him appealed to her, which worried her.
And truth be told, it frightened her a little bit.
As Papa said, it would be hard to tell this man no. If he pressed her for a kiss, she would willingly allow it for she was curious about the process of kissing, especially with him. If he pushed her to go further, it would take a great deal of determination and control to tell him no.
