Page 7 of A Duke But No Gentleman (Masters of Seduction #1)

Chapter Four

“Mama, I beg you to stop. I cannot catch my breath at this pace,” Imogene said breathlessly as she tried to pull free of her mother’s firm grip as they entered the ballroom.

“It is the least you deserve for your latest mischief. Just wait until your father hears of this,” the duchess hissed in her daughter’s ear.

“I told you it was an accident,” she protested.

“Ha!”

Undeterred by her mother’s disbelief, she pressed her case. “Why would I throw myself at a stranger? The man could have been a footman or valet—”

“Oh, that gentleman is not a servant.” The crowded ballroom forced her mother to slow down, a small respite for which Imogene was grateful. “Of all the potential bachelors in London, you had to throw yourself at him.”

The duchess shook her head in disgust.

Imogene glanced back to the entrance of the ballroom as her mother tugged her hand to prevent her from stopping altogether.

He had followed them. At least he had the decency to stop his pursuit near the doorway.

The handsome stranger casually strolled to one of the green marble columns and braced his shoulder against it as he surveyed the guests.

A tingle shot through her the moment his blue-gray gaze met hers.

Those beautiful lips formed into a knowing smile as the distance between them increased.

She glanced back at her mother, angry that she had been caught gawking at him.

It was one thing to be intrigued, but quite another for him to know it.

“Who is he? A fortune hunter? A murderer?” Imogene demanded.

Her mother expelled an exaggerated sigh before she suddenly halted and turned to address her. “I have no patience for your ill-conceived attempts at humor, my girl. Lord and Lady Kingaby have more sense than to invite a murderer to their house. I wish I could say the same for you.”

The insult stung. “For the last time, I did not—”

“I believe you,” the duchess said, effectively dousing Imogene’s growing outrage. “The gentleman you encountered is Tristan Bailey Rooke, the Duke of Blackbern.”

Imogene blinked in surprise. She assumed her mother would have been overjoyed that her daughter had caught the interest of a young and handsome duke.

Undoubtedly, there was something wrong with the gentleman. Perhaps even a hidden flaw in his character that could not be ignored by her mother.

“Oh, he is married,” she realized, feeling a cooling wind of disappointment. “Does he have a string of mistresses? Is that why you were so upset?”

“He is a bachelor,” her mother said, annoyed with her daughter’s questions. “However, I insist that you stay away from this particular gentleman. I am uncertain what has brought the duke to the Kingabys’ ball, but I can assure you that he is not here to find a bride.”

Imogene automatically sought him out, but there were too many guests blocking her view. “How can you be so confident in your opinion?”

“The duke and his circle of friends have garnered a reputation for their decadence.” Her mother’s face softened, and she stroked her daughter’s cheek with affection.

“Imogene, your father and I have high hopes for your marriage prospects this season, but direct your gaze elsewhere. The Duke of Blackbern is headstrong and too young at five-and-twenty to be considering marriage. Like many of his peers, he drinks and gambles beyond what can be viewed as respectable, and he keeps company with courtesans. While his bloodlines may be impeccable, there is little I can recommend when it comes to character. I beg you not to encourage any flirtation.”

Any residual anger toward her mother faded away. “Mama, if this gentleman is as notorious as you describe, I doubt he would be intrigued with me. I am nothing unusual, and my interests are rather mundane, do you not agree?”

“Not in the slightest. Your modesty will serve you well in catching a husband, but your beauty will draw all men to you, even the immoral scoundrels who think only of their pleasures. Your father and I will do my best to guide you, but you must heed our advice.”

“Of course, Mama,” she said, not understanding the pang of sadness in her chest. She had not spent enough time in the Duke of Blackbern’s presence to feel regret. “You and Papa only seek the best for me. You do not have to worry about me.”

“Yes I do,” the duchess said, laughing. “You and mischief have walked hand in hand for most of your life. I do not expect miracles from you, daughter. Now, come, I have a few people I would like to introduce to you.”

***

From his position, it appeared the older woman had forgiven her daughter for being found in a compromising embrace.

Arm in arm, the two women purposefully approached a small group of guests and were joyously welcomed.

Was this Imogene’s first season in London?

Her enthusiasm and shy glances indicated that her family had sheltered her on one of her father’s country estates.

Small wonder her mother had had an apoplectic fit when she discovered her innocent daughter in his arms.

“How did your meeting go?” Norgrave asked, circling around to the other side of the column.

Tristan’s gaze was fixed on Imogene’s elegant profile. An absent smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Quite satisfying. Have you beggared everyone with a hefty purse in my absence?”

“I did my best.” Realizing he did not have his friend’s complete attention, the marquess peered in the same direction as Tristan. “Who has caught your eye this evening?”

“No one,” he said, redirecting his gaze away from Imogene. He knew Norgrave better than anyone, and a young innocent lady from the country was easy prey for his friend.

“Nonsense. One of these silk canaries has plucked your heartstrings.” When Tristan snorted at the outrageous suggestion, his companion hastily amended, “Well, perhaps my aim was too high. Knowing you, Blackbern, any stirring likely originated in your breeches.”

Tristan and Norgrave laughed.

Too competitive to be dissuaded from the subject Tristan was content to drop, his friend scrutinized the guests around them. “Come now… point the lady out. Who is worthy of your notice this season?” the marquess coaxed.

“I hate to disappoint you, but the fresh faces this year are rather disappointing,” he lied.

“Truly? How very cynical of you, Blackbern. There are usually one or two ladies who are passable in looks.” Norgrave sounded unconvinced as he scrutinized the females in the ballroom. “Ah, there… what of that fine creature?”

Tristan yawned. “Which one? The redhead?”

The marquess tilted his head in contemplation. “She is quite fetching in an unconventional way, but I was speaking of the blonde.”

Naturally, Norgrave had honed in on Imogene even though there were at least fifty women in the ballroom. Tristan swallowed his annoyance. “The blonde in the green dress?”

“You never mentioned having problems with your eyesight,” his friend said, frowning. “The lady in the green dress bests both of us in age. I am referring to the lady in blue. Do you see her?”

He saw her. Clearly, he and Norgrave were not the only ones who were captivated by Imogene’s beauty. Two more gentlemen were hastening to join her growing collection of admirers.

“Oh, the lady in blue.” Tristan pursed his lips as he stared thoughtfully in her direction. “I will admit she is pretty.”

The marquess’s eyebrows lifted in incredulity. “Pretty? Such faint praise for a lady many would view as a goddess.”

“You only consider them goddesses until they fall at your feet,” he said, knowing his friend relished the chase. Once a lady surrendered, Norgrave quickly lost interest in his conquests.

“I prefer to have them on their backs,” his friend countered. “Or on all fours. As for the petite blonde, I long to try her out in all my favorite positions.”

Tristan shrugged. “If you say so.”

Norgrave’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, and it was then that he realized he had overplayed his indifference toward the lady.

“When did you meet her?”

His mild annoyance was not feigned. “I didn’t—”

“You lie quite well, Blackbern, and are capable of fooling most people, but not me. I have known you since we were boys. We have no secrets between us. So tell me, how the devil did you gain an introduction?”

Feeling cornered, Tristan combed his dark hair with his fingers in agitation. “We were not properly introduced.”

“Did her dragon of a mother snub you?” Norgrave’s eyes brightened with glee. “How dreadfully humiliating for you, Blackbern!”

“Enough.”

His friend was taking perverse pleasure in what he perceived as Tristan’s failure to impress a young lady and her mother. “Ho! How the mighty have fallen if your handsome visage and title could not sway the ladies.”

“I fear my reputation casts a long shadow,” Tristan admitted, not particularly distressed by the notion. He had always managed to work around such hindrances in the past.

Norgrave clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder in sympathy. “Well, no one can say that the stories about you and me are untrue.”

“Less entertaining as well.”

“There is that.” The marquess leaned against the column, and stared at Imogene and her mother as if they were a puzzle he desired to solve. “Not to boast—”

Tristan laughed. “When have you ever restrained yourself?”

“Never,” he replied without hesitation. “I should warn you in advance—I saw her first. Not only that, I know the lady’s name,” was Norgrave’s smug reply.

Imogene Constance . It was on the tip of his tongue to admit that he knew her name, however, there was a chance his friend was exaggerating. “You were in the card room. I doubt you had time to be introduced to the young lady.”

Because Imogene was too busy pressing her body against mine.