Page 27 of Courting Scandal With The Duke

‘H ow are you enjoying London?’ Barbara asked Charles. ‘Are your business affairs going well?’

His brown eyes sharpened. ‘Not as well as I had hoped.’

‘Oh, dear.’

A look of distaste crossed his face. He turned his back to the guests in the box and lowered his voice. ‘Given that the estate owes a great deal of money, I have been unable to raise a mortgage.’

‘I am sorry to hear it. You do not deserve to be left with his debts.’

‘My brother was a fool when it came to money.’

‘Not a complete fool. He did have his claim to his estates upheld and a bit more besides.’ Her father had seen to it as part of the marriage settlement.

‘As was right and just,’ Charles said with a little more acid in his voice than gratitude.

She stared at him in surprise. ‘I gather it was no easy matter. ’

He smiled. ‘Naturally the family is grateful for your father’s assistance in that regard.’

His gaze rested on her necklace for a moment then flickered away, but there had been a possessive look in his eye that made her want to hide it from his view.

‘What are you two in a huddle about?’ Pettigrew asked, joining them. ‘Countess, if he is asking you to wager against Lucky Chance at Newmarket tomorrow, do not do it.’

Charles laughed. It sounded a little forced to Barbara’s ears. ‘Would I do such a thing? The horse is the favourite to win.’

‘One of the Duke’s horses? If it is anything like Lucky Lady, it will be as fast as the wind. I would certainly not bet against it.’

‘You have seen Lucky Lady?’ Charles asked.

‘Yes. I visited the Duke’s stables. They are not far from town.’

Charles was looking at her curiously. ‘I did not know you were interested in racing?’

‘I am not. Not really. But I like to ride.’ She grinned at him. ‘I had never ridden a racehorse before.’

‘You minx,’ Charles said, grinning back. ‘Why am I not surprised?’

Julian stared at her. ‘Xavier let you ride Lucky Lady? How extraordinary.’

Was he giving her the lie? ‘I assure you he did. Why don’t you ask him?’

Julian shook his head. ‘Oh, I believe you, Countess.’ But there was an odd expression on his face .

She had no time to question him further as the next play was about to begin.

Charles surreptitiously squeezed her hand and whispered as he bowed. ‘I will call on you tomorrow.’ In a louder voice he said, ‘I must return to my box or my friends will think I have deserted them.’

She glanced over at the box where she had seen him earlier. The young woman had her opera glasses trained on him. ‘That would be rude, indeed.’

And it seemed that her aunt was correct. Charles needed a rich wife.

What a shame that Helmut had been so feckless.

She returned to her seat. Derbridge did not return to his. It seemed he had exchanged seats with his friend Pettigrew. He was now seated between the other two ladies, leaning forward, whispering in their ears, eliciting giggles.

She wished him well of the gigglers.

No. That was beneath her. He was simply doing his duty as a good host. Wasn’t he?

And why would she care? Their relationship was nothing but a fling. After all, the man still had to find a suitable bride.

A strange hollowness filled her chest. A painful ache. A wish that she had met him when she had been young and innocent.

Good heavens! Next she’d be wishing to marry the man. And as she knew to her cost, once a woman married, she became the property of her husband. She was never going to let that happen again.

While they waited for the curtain to rise, she turned to Pettigrew with a smile.

‘You and His Grace are old friends, I think? How long have you known him?’

‘Since we were lads barely breeched. We were at Eton together, then university.’

‘A longstanding friendship, then.’

‘Indeed. There is no one more loyal to his friends than Derbridge.’

‘Yet he rarely smiles.’

Pettigrew pressed his lips together in a small grimace. ‘There is no denying he is a serious fellow.’

‘Has he always been so?’

Why was she asking all these questions? Because something inside her wanted to know more about the Duke than he was prepared to tell her himself. Even though every instinct told her it was a mistake.

Learning more about him might make it harder to part from him.

And that she must do. Eventually. What? Was she thinking she could delay?

‘He used to be more light-hearted,’ Pettigrew admitted in a low voice. ‘Though I hope you won’t tell him I said so. He changed when the responsibilities of the dukedom were landed on him. After his father’s death he was all work and no play. His great-uncle saw to it.’

‘How old was he when he inherited?’

‘About twelve, I think.’

So young. She knew what it was like to be alone at such a young age. Her heart contracted in sympathy for the small boy set so large a task.

‘He was lucky to have you as a friend during such an awful time.’

Pettigrew shook his head. ‘I wish I had been a better friend. I didn’t see him for three years. When he returned to school, he had changed. I do my best to cheer him up, but that’s when he took up boxing and got the sobriquet the dour duke.’

The Derbridge she knew was far from dour. At least, he was when they were alone.

‘Boxing?’

‘Didn’t you see the bruises?’

Men and their sports.

‘I suppose he spars for exercise.’

‘Hardly. If he wasn’t a duke, he’d probably be a champion. I was surprised to see that someone had actually managed to land a punch.’

Pugilism. She shuddered. She had not expected him to have such a violent streak.

‘This is a regular pastime, then?’

‘Everyone knows if you want to find Derbridge, go to the gymnasium first thing in the morning, unless he is out of town.’

The dour duke who boxed for pleasure.

She had thought she was beginning to understand her lover—now she had her doubts.

The curtain slowly rose.

Something across the theatre attracted her attention. A movement. A stir in the audience.

‘Well, well,’ Pettigrew said. ‘Someone has arrived in the Royal Box.’

Barbara strained to see who it was and then she knew.

Her stomach dropped.

Father.

With a woman she did not recognise. He wasn’t supposed to be arriving for another two weeks. Why on earth had he not let her know he was in town?

Why could she not learn that he didn’t give a fig for her?

The play began.

Heart racing, she tried her hardest to take in the events on stage, but all she could see was her father across the theatre while she felt the bars of filial duty closing in around her.

Xavier frowned at the dismay on Barbara’s face at the moment the curtain went up.

He sensed it had nothing to do with the play and everything to do with those who had entered the Royal Box.

He cast a glance over the occupants. None of whom he recognised. He did however recognise the Order of St Michael and St George on the chest of an older gentleman. A portly, balding man seated with a woman alongside another middle-aged couple. That man was a diplomat.

And therefore… He glanced over at Barbara. She was staring at the box. At her…father ?

Her expression said she was not at all happy.

She turned her head to look at Xavier, as if aware of his perusal. Their gazes met. He raised an eyebrow in question.

She gave a little shake of her head, which he could not interpret, and then studiously directed her attention to the stage.

After a moment or two, he leaned towards Julian seated beside him. He indicated the Royal Box with a jerk of his chin. ‘Who is that woman?’ he asked softly. Somehow, Julian seemed to know everyone.

Julian gazed across the theatre for a moment. ‘Why, it’s Maria Wells, if I’m not mistaken. Widow of a baron who lost his money in some investment scheme.’

‘And the gentleman with her?’ he whispered. ‘The one wearing Orders.’

Julian’s eyes widened. He darted a glance at Barbara. ‘Ambassador March. What—?’

Xavier put up a hand, forestalling his friend’s curiosity. ‘I thought so.’

His stomach sank.

What had he been thinking?

She was the daughter of a man who was clearly a friend of the King, or his son the Prince, or he would not be in that box. And he’d seduced her.

Against his better judgement.

Oh, he could tell himself that she had seduced him, pretend he was not to blame, but that would be utterly dishonourable. And inaccurate. He had wanted her. And had used all the means in his power to accomplish his ends.

A cold chill settled in his chest. If he was anything close to honourable, he would make her an offer of marriage.

He really was his father all over again.

Marrying an outrageous woman because she was beautiful and intriguing and all the things he did not desire in a wife, because his lust for her was out of control.

He sank back in his chair.

If Great-Uncle Thomas was looking down from the heavens he would be shaking his head.

You are too much like your father to make a good duke.

All these years he had set out to prove Uncle Thomas wrong, to make his uncle proud, to restore the honour to his family name, and what had he done?

He’d let his lust for the so-called black widow divert him from his path. Was that part of her attraction? The idea that she was dangerous.

And if word of their dalliance became known, there would be nothing for it but marriage.

Damn it all, why did that make him feel…hopeful? Was he really so besotted he hoped for an excuse to ask her to wed?

He must have lost his mind.

Not entirely, he hadn’t. After all, she was from a good family, she was beautiful and if she wanted to save her reputation by becoming a duchess, she would need toe the line of propriety from thenceforth .

As her husband, he would make sure of it.

He was not like his father.

It was strange that Barbara had not mentioned her father’s arrival in London. Although, as he thought about it, about her reaction, it seemed she had been surprised to see him.

While the play on stage elicited gasps and laughter from the audience, Xavier was too busy with his own thoughts to pay much attention until the curtain fell for the next intermission.