Page 2 of Her Lion of a Duke (Dukes & Beasts #3)

It was precisely as Miss Punton had said; all ladies had secrets.

And she was no exception. There was so much about Cecilia Punton that Leonard did not know. But more than anything, he wondered if she remembered him.

He had never forgotten her after the night they met, and though she had changed after their first encounter and sharpened her wit and sworn off men altogether, she had never had an unkind thing to say to him, despite the rumors.

As he had expected, they had spread from the night his brother died. Leonard had killed him in order to take his title, done it in cold blood and without mercy, envious of his perfect older brother, who had everything he wanted.

It did not matter that Leonard had never been seen anywhere near where it happened, and even years later, he did not know precisely what had happened to Henry. It was more interesting if he was seen as the guilty party, so the ton never changed their mind.

Fortunately, the scandal was forgotten. Over time, he became known as the Duke who hosted wonderful parties, flirted with ladies, and was an excellent gentleman to befriend, even if he was not the most trustworthy.

“Have you seen this?” Mrs. Herrington asked as she bustled into the breakfast room. “I do not know how these writers invent such things so quickly.”

His housekeeper slid a scandal sheet across to him, and he looked at her incredulously.

“Mrs. Herrington, I have told you before that I do not care for idle gossip.”

“And I have told you that I would not show it to you unless I deemed it necessary.”

Leonard looked down at the words, scanning them quickly.

The Danton ball was a most fine occasion to begin the Season.

That is what you all expect me to write, so that you may applaud and congratulate one another on doing your due diligence and attending an event.

Unfortunately, dear readers, that is not why I write.

Then again, I suppose it is not why you gave that boy a shilling so that you could read this, is it?

No, my readers look for something more than mere scandal.

You want to hear something real, the true thoughts of someone capable of more than gawking at an unflattering gown or a misplaced step.

Such niceties can be reserved for your gossip sheets and your afternoon promenades.

I write for the people who dare to think for themselves.

And oh, it is good to make my return.

Felix Gray.

Leonard read the passage, then read it again. He could not tear his eyes away from the name written at the bottom. He recognized the author’s name in an instant, and he did not know what to do with it.

The memory came flooding back, and he forgot that his housekeeper was watching him.

“Is everything all right, Your Grace?” she asked. “I thought you might have liked to hear about his return. I know you always had his articles delivered to you.”

“Yes,” he muttered. “Yes, quite. It is wonderful to see that he is writing again.”

“You may now read something of substance again,” Mrs Herrington quipped, “rather than those scandal sheets.”

“They have their uses,” he argued. “Should there be any stories circulating about me, I would rather learn about them at the same time as everyone else.”

“I know, Your Grace.”

It had been years since Mrs. Herrington had started calling him by his new title, but he was still not used to it. She had always been a second mother figure to him and had always called him ‘dear,’ never by a title.

“I do not plan to have any scandals attached to my name this year,” he clarified. “There has been quite enough of that in the last few years, and I am looking forward to it coming to an end.”

“Does that mean that you are looking for a wife? That would help you greatly.”

“And yourself, but no. It is not the right time for that, and I do not plan to bring a lady into the mess that is this house.”

Mrs. Herrington looked around pointedly. “I would argue that the house is rather tidy, but if you are not happy with it—”

“Of course I am.” He chuckled. “I mean the family name. No gently bred lady would want to bind herself to such a strange dukedom or a supposed murderer.”

“Except that you had nothing to do with that.”

“No. But that is not what they want to hear, is it?”

Mrs. Herrington sighed and shuffled away, resuming her duties.

Leonard sat there for a moment; he knew that the time to find a wife was quickly approaching, and that if he had to find one eventually, then it was for the best that he did so sooner rather than later.

It would have indeed helped dispel the rumors. A joyous occasion, an extravagant wedding, would be a worthwhile distraction, as far as the ton was concerned. Though he had to admit that he had very little interest in his life as a bachelor, coming to an end.

He pushed the thought away, knowing that he had to save his energy for the musicale that evening. It was to be a famously terrible one, given the unfortunate sisters who were to perform, and it would be a long night of smiling sympathetically at them.

He had considered not attending at all, but he knew that Lady Cecilia would be there, and he did not want to make her sit through it all alone.

She was a friend to him, and he hoped that she saw him in a similar light.

As soon as he arrived, he heard the whispers. In truth, it was not the whispers themselves that he noticed, but the way they stopped the moment the other guests saw him.

There were eyes on him, and though he was very skilled at pretending not to care, he felt uneasy.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Lady Cecilia greeted brightly when she saw him, her cousin standing meekly by her side.

“Good evening, ladies. I trust you are prepared for this event?”

“My cousin shall not know what has hit her,” she quipped. “It is her first time here.”

“My cousin has told me it is quite marvelous,” Lady Clara revealed. “Especially the Dervaux sisters.”

Lady Cecilia snorted in a most unladylike fashion, earning a warning glance from her aunt, who stood nearby.

“Yes,” Leonard agreed. “They certainly have a particular style of their own. Will you both be joining me?”

“That would be lovely!” Lady Clara beamed, and he led them there.

What he noticed, however, was that Cecilia could not quite meet his eyes. She had never been that way, even when they had first met. It was something that drew him to her, as she was one of the very few people who did not cower at his gaze.

He would have asked her if she was well if not for her cousin, who was excitedly following them. She was harmless, but Leonard knew Cecilia. She rarely discussed her feelings, especially in front of an audience. He dismissed her odd behavior, at least for the moment.

As the Dervaux sisters began singing, he wondered if she had simply been wary of their performance. If that were the case, she had every reason to be. He watched as her cousin’s expression turned from excited to shocked to pained. It almost made the event worthwhile.

Almost.

“That,” Cecilia said breathily at the end, “was not pleasant.”

“I would say they have improved considerably,” Leonard joked.

But Cecilia did not respond.

It was as though something had changed on their way to their seats; it did not make any sense at all.

Then, he heard it—the whispers in every room they entered. He saw the eyes that followed them, and he quickly realized that none of them were on the two ladies accompanying him.

He was being watched and whispered about.

Suddenly, Cecilia’s aunt appeared and took Clara away. She attempted to drag Cecilia with them, but when the younger lady shook herself free, her aunt left her be, not wanting to cause a scene.

“Might you know anything?” he asked gently.

Cecilia bit her lip and left the room, and he followed after her.

They navigated the hallways until they found a secluded library, and they slipped inside.

“Why do I always find myself alone with you?” he sighed.

She laughed nervously. “We have a tendency to tempt fate, yes.”

“So? What is happening?”

“It is about your brother, Your Grace.”

Leonard’s head began to spin. Henry had never been anything short of perfect, and the idea that he could have done anything to stir gossip so long after his death was absurd.

“But Henry—”

“And Clara,” she added quickly, and he felt silent. “It is not only your brother who is facing scandal, but also my cousin.”

“What on earth do you mean? They have never put a foot wrong.”

“I know. That is what I do not understand. I have only heard whispers myself. I was hoping that you would know more, but I forgot that you do not read the scandal sheets either.”

“If only we were more like them,” he grumbled, leaning against a desk. “Do you know how bad it is?”

“In all honesty, we can make assumptions. You know the rumors about yourself and your brother. I can only think that my cousin is wrapped in all of it because I am still unmarried. The ton knows who I am, and they are all aware of my reputation. I could well have destroyed her chances before she had had a chance to try.”

She slumped against a low bookshelf and slid down to the floor, and Leonard crouched beside her. She sighed deeply, turning to look up at him.

Suddenly, he saw the young lady who had spoken to him all those years ago. She had not known who he was then, nor did she seem to care, and now that he was a duke, she remained quite unchanged.

He had always liked that about her: her lack of pretense. She was Cecilia Punton, and there was not much more to it.

“Do you think securing a match for yourself would ease things for her?” he asked.

“Likely. If I had a husband, it would reflect well on her, and she would be able to be out in Society as herself, rather than the cousin of a villain. If only I had not spent my entire time rejecting every suitor that crossed my path.”

“They would understand—”

“You heard me do it several times. You know that they would not speak to me a second time.”

Leonard laughed despite the situation. He remembered all of her replies to gentlemen who had shown their interest over the years, and how he had always expected the same rejection. One had never come, however, and though he never would have asked her, he had always wondered why that was.

And so he asked her.

“Why have I never received such scorn from you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You hate every gentleman who crosses your path, and yet I seem to be an exception. Why is that?”

“Oh, I was not aware. I could insult you now, if you wish.”

“No, I am not asking you to. I am simply curious.”

“Well,” she replied carefully, “I suppose it is because I have always respected you. You do not flirt with every lady you see, nor do you display behavior that I dislike. I also admire the fact that you tell your friends when they are being improper. Not a lot of gentlemen dare to do that.”

“Are you saying that you like me?”

She nudged him playfully, smiling. “You are a friend. I did not think I would need any more, but now that my lady friends are finding husbands, I have found myself in want.”

“Then I am pleased to be the one person you do not find awful.”

“You ought to be.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Leonard trying to find a solution to their predicaments. Suddenly, an idea came to him. Their issues were completely different, but the solution…

“Marry me,” he said abruptly. “You could marry me.”

She looked at him with wide eyes, as if she could not comprehend what she was hearing.

“You are not funny. You do not need to act like those gentlemen to test me.”

“That is not what I am doing. It makes perfect sense, does it not? I need to talk to my brother, and you need to make a good match to help your cousin. You need not fall in love with me, but if we were to marry—”

“The ton would have something else to discuss,” she finished for him, at last taking him seriously. “I do not know if that is such a good idea, though. They are not all fools.”

“Perhaps not, but the ones we need to believe it are. They will believe anything if it gives them something to discuss. You need not agree if you do not want to.”

“I did not say that. I simply need a moment to think of what all of this would mean for me.”

“I can tell you. You would have your freedom. It would be a marriage in name only, and you may do as you please. We ought to make appearances together once in a while, but other than that, I would have no expectations of you.”

“And you would like me to think the same of you?”

“Of course. You and I are friends, and that will not change. Think on it.”

They left the library separately, so as not to arouse suspicion. Leonard saw Clara with her mother, her face contorted in confusion. He wished to comfort her, but he didn't know what to say other than that he had tried to make things right for her.

Just as he was leaving, Cecilia appeared behind him, pulling on his sleeve.

“My answer is yes,” she said quietly. “Call on me tomorrow. Bring a ring with you, and we shall announce our engagement.”

Before he could ask her anything, she had left.

He did not know what had led to her decision, and part of him knew that she would never tell him. Regardless, she was his friend, and he respected her wishes.

Now, she would be more than a friend; she would be his wife.