Page 7 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke (The Gentlemen’s Club #3)

CHAPTER SEVEN

V aleria looked exactly as Duncan had hoped she would. In truth, if he had been a betting man, he would have wagered most of what he owned on her not wearing the gown he had sent for her. It would have been a pity, for it was utter perfection: a beaded masterpiece of midnight blue, like the central eye of a peacock’s plumes or the sheen of a raven’s feather.

The entire gown, with capped sleeves and an overlay of brass-toned lace, glittered as she paced back and forth in front of the library fireplace. She had arrived before him, unaware that he was observing through the terrace doors, savoring the sight of her before he made his entrance.

How has no one married her yet? Are society’s gentlemen so blind? He knew the real answer, and it had nothing to do with her appearance, but everything to do with that acid tongue and frosty demeanor of hers. Lesser men did not appreciate a challenge, and greater men had no reason to approach when mothers were shoving their daughters into their paths.

He opened the door and stepped inside, chuckling as she jumped in fright.

“Were you expecting someone else?” he asked. “Do you often meet gentlemen in such clandestine places? Shall I, perhaps, leave the door open?”

She shot him a disapproving look. “The ladies you pursue might not flinch at your unannounced arrival, but I was not expecting you to creep in through the garden. You see, this is entirely new to me—skulking about in darkened corners of other people’s houses.”

He laughed as he strode toward her through the aisle of bookcases. “Are you truly always so severe, or are you occasionally soft?”

Her eyes pinched, as if he had startled her again. “I am… learning to be softer with gentlemen. With my friends, I am considered a delight.”

“Is that so?”

He paused a short distance away, admiring the glimmer of her gown, and the way it shaped her, making the suggestion of a pleasing figure without giving too much away. The style of the day allowed for plenty of imagination, and he had not strayed too far from that in his selection.

“Stop it,” she chided.

“Stop what?”

“Staring at me like that. We are not at a museum; I am not an exhibit to be gawped at.”

He smirked. “I would attend every day if you were.”

“If you cannot be serious, Your Grace, then I shall leave,” she said a note too quickly, her hand moving to her throat, fidgeting with the simple pendant there. “Do you have the list or not?”

With more diligence than he had expended on anything in quite some time, he had spent the last few days compiling the list she had asked for. It was right there in his tailcoat pocket. But seeing her in that gown, hearing her sharp retorts, watching her steel her courage, he no longer felt inclined to hand it over.

He had grown accustomed to ladies falling over themselves to talk to him and be near him. This was… refreshing, a stroke of color in the tedium that had become his existence. To her detriment, perhaps, he found that he did not want to rush the payment of his debt.

“I have been thinking,” he said, wandering around to the fireplace, viewing her from every angle she would allow. “What you need is a tutor, not a matchmaker. True, I could hurl a bunch of names at you, but what good would they be if you are incapable of securing the prize?”

Her eyes flared, her hands clenching into fists. “Excuse me?”

“I observed you just now, in the ballroom.” He circled her again, discreetly closing the gap between them until he passed just behind her.

Leaning in, tempted by the curve of her neck, he whispered, “How will you be the wife you wish to be when you drive away any man that dares to speak with you? If my resolve was not as strong as it is, I have no doubt that you would have chased me off too.”

“If you are referring to Martin Thorne, I have excellent reasons for ‘chasing him off’. I despise the man.” She folded her arms across her chest, her breathing shallow. “If you are referring to the other gentleman—I was distracted.”

He nodded, circling her again. “So, had you not been distracted, you would have entertained his introduction?”

She grimaced, keeping him in the periphery of her gaze. “Probably not, but, with a list, with information about each gentleman, I would find at least one who might be a pleasant suitor. I am better if I am able to prepare.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He chuckled. “Seven years is certainly a lot of time to prepare.”

“Things have changed,” she retorted.

“What things?”

She shook her head again, as she had done in her drawing room. “That is none of your concern.”

“Very well.” He stopped just behind her, captivated by the way the firelight danced across her auburn hair, making it blaze. “Tell me though, has there never been anyone who has… captured your attention in all those years?”

She said nothing, her back to him.

He leaned closer, knowing he could press his lips to the short gap of bare shoulder if he dipped his head a little more. “Did someone break your heart, my raven?”

“Never,” she half-gasped, though whether in shock or defiance, he could not be sure.

“I do not believe you.”

She sniffed, dropping her chin to her chest. “You do not have to, but it is the truth.” She hesitated. “Rather, no one man has broken my heart. All of them have.”

“ All of us?” He could not help it; he was fascinated by this strange and beautiful creature, who had barreled out of the darkness to save a young lady, inadvertently saving him from a trap instead.

She did not look back at him, though he wished she would. “I had… ideas about you gentlemen when I was younger. Hopes for what you might be, and daydreams of what I could expect. They were soundly dashed on the night of my debut and have never been put back together again.”

“Hopes and dreams should never be so fragile, Valeria,” he purred, longing to slide his arm around her waist, to pull her into a dance for them and them alone. “They cannot survive if they are not made of sterner stuff.”

“That is the point; they did not survive,” she replied curtly. “They were foolish, and I am glad they shattered. Now, after seven years, I have a new hope. You will be pleased to hear that it is made of solid steel.”

He stepped back to quieten the wayward wanderings of his mind, resting back against the mantelpiece while she continued to stare out at the terrace doors. At five-and-twenty, she was far more compelling than any of the debutantes out there in the ballroom.

“You look beautiful in that gown,” he said, enjoying each glint of the detailed beading and the raven’s wing sheen of the silk beneath.

“Did it come from your personal collection?” she retorted. “The color is rather apt, for when I donned it, I did feel as if I was heading to my own funeral. The funeral of my dignity, at least.”

Duncan clicked his tongue, tutting. “First lesson: learn to accept compliments instead of lashing them back in a fellow’s face.” He moved quickly toward her, dipping his head to her ear. “Especially when they are true.”

Reaching around her, careful not to press against her, he grasped her by the hand and pulled her around to face him.

“That dress is not funereal,” he told her, face-to-face. “On you, it is ethereal. We spoke of power, Valeria, but it seems you do not know your own.”

With barely a gap between them, she peered up into his eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly to the ragged sound of her breaths. His hand still held hers, and she made no move to yank it back.

“What power?” she murmured, her voice catching.

He lowered his head, his lips within an inch of grazing hers. “You could have every gentleman in England eating out of the palm of your hand if you wanted. You have beauty, wit, wisdom, experience, and a… unique charm that could drive countless men wild, if you tempered yourself.”

“Change, you mean?” Her eyes narrowed, as she pulled back a little.

Seizing her hand afresh, he tugged her closer again. “That is not what I said.” His gaze flitted to her slightly parted lips. “Who you are is what holds such tremendous power, but it is like fire: if it burns too hot, no one can come near. If it burns just enough, people will crowd around to warm themselves. Be yourself, but be a roaring fire in winter not an inferno that means to raze one’s house to ash.”

Those striking green eyes widened as if she understood, giving him an idea. True, he could set her loose in the ballroom then and there and be done with his debt, but he wanted that even less now. He was not at all finished learning the mysteries of Valeria Maxwell.

“Come to me tomorrow night,” he whispered. “We have work to do, my dear, dark angel. It shall be an education you will not soon forget.”

He let go of her hand and pulled away, flashing her a wink as he retreated, walking backward up the aisle between the bookcases. She scowled after him, her chest heaving in his abrupt absence, and as he headed back out into the gardens, closing the door behind her, he knew he had her exactly where he wanted her: flustered.

Valeria sagged into the nearest reading chair, struggling to catch her breath in the wake of Duncan’s departure. Even though he was no longer in the library, she felt his presence like the kiss of the wind as the seasons changed. She felt his intense gaze upon her, felt the phantom caress of his words against her skin, felt the brush of fingertips that had never touched her.

This is ridiculous!

She shook her head, dispelling the sensation. There was a reason that Duncan was such a renowned rake, and this was it; she could not fall for it, as who knew how many women had fallen for it before. Of course he made her feel like she was the most exceptional woman in the world—that was what he did to get what he wanted.

Silly girl, she scolded herself, furious that she had not struck him or berated him or chased him off as, like he said, she tended to do with every other gentleman.

Getting up and running her hands over the beading of her gown, in an attempt to sweep away the encounter, she headed for the library doors. Evidently, she was not going to receive her list tonight, if he ever intended to write one for her. As such, the night was over. She needed to be as far away from that ball, and him, as possible.

Why did he glance at my lips like that? Her stomach knotted at the memory, twisting again as her body recalled the pull of his hand, bringing her almost flush against him.

“No, Valery, this is the sport,” she muttered under her breath. “This is how he sneaks in and gets under the skin of women. You must remain impervious. You must be?—”

She let out a stifled gasp as she wrenched open the library door, to find two familiar figures walking past. The women, however, were chattering so loudly between themselves that they did not hear the door opening, nor the words that Valeria had been saying to herself.

“If he has promised, then where is he?” Iphigenia complained in a whiny voice. “I am desperate to dance, Mama. Even at my own ball, there are so few gentlemen who wish to partner with me. It is mortifying! But a dance with a duke would make things marginally better.”

Phyllis patted her youngest daughter on the shoulder. “He will dance with you before the night is over.” She paused. “And it is not your ball, darling. It is mine.”

Holding her breath until the danger had passed, Valeria waited a few minutes longer before slipping out into the hallway. She had no doubt that the Croston women had been talking about Duncan, and as she walked off in the opposite direction, she was surprised to find that it bothered her. The idea of Duncan dancing with Iphigenia, it irritated her.

Ruin yourself with him, Iphigenia. I do not care, Valeria told herself as she sought the refreshment room, and Mrs. Mitford. In fact, I hope you do ruin yourself with him, so you never have cause to be so high-and-mighty again.

What business was it of hers who Duncan had a dalliance with? What business was it of hers who he danced with or flirted with or stole away into gardens with, as long as it was not someone innocent? Indeed, as soon as the debt was paid and she was wed, her troubles all resolved, she never intended to see the man again.

Truly, that day could not come quickly enough.

But first, she had to meet with him tomorrow night… and she feared it would be a similar sort of meeting to the one they had just had. A clandestine thing that could get her into a great deal of trouble if she was not careful.