Page 6 of How to Enchant a Viscount (Lady Be Seductive #2)
Five
B rooks strode into the Duke of Thornridge’s study with all the confidence of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. He was not fool enough to believe that his charm would work effortlessly on his old friend, but that did not mean he would not try. He had a plan though and he needed Thornridge’s assistance to see it come into fruition. His acquiescence was vital in fact, and Brooks hoped the duke would be amenable to seeing it done. Otherwise, it would all fall to pieces before it even began. Wandering around the Thornridge estate and the land that bordered Maeve’s father’s estate would only get him so far. He had to make something happen that guaranteed her presence that did not rely upon random chance—even if that had worked in his favor thus far.
Thornridge, seated behind his mahogany desk, barely glanced up from the stack of correspondence before him. His dark hair was disheveled as if he had run his fingers through it repeatedly. “No,” he said in a flat tone that brokered no room for persuasion, but that did not deter Brooks. He could not allow it to.
Brooks arched a brow, completely unperturbed by Thornridge’s easy dismissal. “You don’t even know what I am about to say.” How had Thornridge even known he was about to ask for something. Was he that obvious in his intentions? That should bother him on some level, but he did not allow much to sink to deep inside his skin. It was how he survived all of life’s trials.
The duke lifted his gaze then, leveling Brooks with a look of pure exasperation. “I know you, Pemberton. Whatever it is you have come to ask, the answer is no.” His lips twitched at the duke’s response. He held the smile back that threatened to form though. It would not aid his cause.
He sighed and then settled into one of the dark leather chairs across from the desk. “I must say, Thornridge, your hospitality leaves much to be desired.” Perhaps he could goad the duke into compliance. Brooks had to play to his strengths, and he was as equally versed in the duke’s weaknesses, and he was in his. Two could play this game. The only difference was that Brooks intended to be the victor.
Thornridge leaned back, folding his arms. “You are still here, are you not? I could have very well ensured your welcome was rescinded.”
“You could have,” Brooks said breezily. “We both know you would never be that rude. It’s your inherent good breeding that prevents you from being so churlish.” He grinned and then kept speaking without missing a beat, “But as I was saying, I have come to propose the most brilliant of ideas.”
The duke’s expression remained impassive. “Since you are not going to leave, do tell me what this new brilliant idea of yours.” His tone held not even an speck of emotion. Almost as if he was already bored of the conversation and ready to move on to his next task.
Brooks held back a sigh and braced himself for the impending refusal. “You should have a house party.”
Thornridge pinched the bridge of his nose. “Absolutely not.”
“Now, now,” Brooks drawled. “Do not be so hasty in your refusal.” What would sway him to Brook’s way of thinking? He had to think fast or this would not work.
The duke’s brow furrowed. “You detest the country. You have complained no fewer than six times about the lack of diversions here, and yet now you wish for me to invite half of the ton to my home for an extended stay? What, pray tell, has possessed you?” He was not wrong… Brooks did loathe country living and he had been a bit bored. However, he did exaggerate a little. He might have complained that many times before he had met Maeve. But since then, he had not brokered any real issue with the lack of entertainment. Maeve had his complete interest.
Brooks propped one ankle over his knee, affecting a look of innocent amusement. “Perhaps I have found something—or rather, someone—who makes country life more tolerable.” He had made no secret about his interest, and it would not take long for the duke to deduce his real reasons.
Thornridge’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Maeve.” He sighed. “I thought we already discussed her and how you should not pursue her.”
Brooks smirked. “You wound me. You assume I have only one motive.” He did not deign to respond to his rebuke. As if he would forget about a woman as lovely as Maeve just because one of his dearest friends had married her twin sister. Thornridge ought to know better.
The duke stared at him his golden eyes nearly glowed with frustration.
Brooks sighed dramatically. “Fine, yes. I should very much like to spend more time in Lady Maeve’s company, and what better way than a house party?” Surely, he would appreciate the brilliance of having society right there to help act as a chaperone.
“No,” Thornridge said again, this time with a finality in his tone that said he was no longer discussing it. “If you wish to court Lady Maeve, then do so like a respectable gentleman. I will not turn my home into a matchmaking menagerie simply because you are too lazy to pursue her properly.”
Brooks clutched his chest. “You do me a grave injustice, Your Grace. I have never been lazy in my pursuits.” He had to make Thornridge understand. He could not properly court Maeve. If he did, she would have…expectations. Brooks had no intention of settling down and marrying. But he had to spend time with her. He could not explain it, but it was a need as visceral as breathing.
The duke rolled his eyes. “Out.” He met Brook’s gaze and held it. “Now.”
Brooks huffed, rising to his feet, but he had to give it one more go. One last attempt to sway the duke to do something for him. He could not go away defeated. “Very well. If you insist on being obstinate, I shall make another proposal. One that, I daresay, will be far more appealing.”
Thornridge did not look convinced. “I doubt that.”
Brooks leaned forward. “A summer ball.” At least at a ball he could hold Maeve in his arms as they danced. It would have to be a waltz. He would not tolerate anything else. He had to have her within his arms even if he suspected that would not be nearly enough to satisfy his needs.
The duke frowned. “I do not need to host a ball any more than I need to have a house party. Why the bloody hell would I find that more appealing?”
“No one needs a ball,” Brooks countered. “But think of the benefits. It would be a grand affair, a final celebration before the height of the season. The local gentry will be grateful for you providing much needed entertainment.”
Thornridge sighed, his aggravation seeping into his tone as he spoke. “I do not owe the local gentry anything, especially a way of them entertaining themselves. That is not a problem I have ever had or will care about.”
“Perhaps not,” Brooks conceded. “But a masquerade would be diverting, would it not?” This was his last chance to gain the duke’s assistance. He had to see the possibilities in this endeavor.
The duke’s frown deepened. “A masquerade?” He narrowed his gaze into slits as he studied Brooks. “A ball with hidden identities and clandestine meetings.”
“Precisely,” Brooks said, pleased that he had piqued his friend’s interest. “A night of mystery, of intrigue. Where no one need adhere so rigidly to propriety. A gentleman might dance with a lady uninterrupted, without the prying eyes of overzealous chaperones.”
The duke gave him a long, measuring look. “You wish to dance with Lady Maeve uninterrupted.” Brooks was not fooled. There was something in the duke’s gaze that belied what he really wanted. He hoped to dance with a woman without the eyes of the ton taking notice. He could guess who he wished to lead onto the floor or perhaps do other things with. Did the duke hope to lure Isla into some sort of clandestine encounter? Could it be as simple as that? “Without anyone preventing your schemes and seduction of an innocent lady.”
Brooks met his gaze and said in an even tone, “I am not going to seduce her.” He might steal a kiss or two though. But he would not admit to any such intention to the duke. Instead, he would play on what Thornridge desired. He leaned forward and placed his hands on the duke’s desk. He said in a softer tone, almost as if he were spilling a secret for the duke’s ears alone. “You too can take part in such an adventure if the urge is there. No one would know.” He had to tempt the duke with the forbidden, and Lady Isla Thompson was just that to him. Brooks did not understand why, but he knew it to be the truth. Thornridge desired her, but he had ended their courtship abruptly and without any explanation.
Thornridge groaned, rubbing his temple. “You are insufferable.” He might be protesting, but Brook’s knew better. He had him. The duke would agree to this because he wanted it as much as Brooks did.
“And yet,” Brooks said, “you tolerate me.” They had been friends for far too long for the duke to even pretend that he did not care. Their loyalty to each other ran too deep.
The duke shook his head. “Fine. One ball, no more than that. But I swear to you, Pemberton, if you cause any scandal under my roof?—”
Brooks held up a hand. “Perish the thought, Thornridge. I shall be the very soul of discretion.”
The duke looked highly skeptical. “I doubt very much that you are capable of any such thing.”
Brooks clapped him on the shoulder. “I shall take that as your full and enthusiastic agreement.”
Thornridge muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. Brooks merely grinned. The game had begun. And if all went to plan, Lady Maeve would find herself in his arms before the night of the masquerade was through.
The game had begun.
Brooks strolled out of the Duke of Thornridge’s study with a triumphant grin curving his lips, a victorious bounce in his step. Convincing the duke to host a house party had been a hopeless endeavor—he had known that the moment he suggested it—but the masquerade ball? That had been his true goal all along. A night of mystery, anonymity, and stolen moments. A night where he could have Maeve in his arms, if only for a single dance.
He had not lied to Thornridge when he had said the evening would provide ample opportunity for all to act more freely, but he suspected the duke had his own reasons for agreeing—ones Brooks had no intention of prying into. Yet.
For now, his focus remained on Lady Maeve Thompson.
He had no illusions that she would be an easy conquest. She was not like the women who often pursued him in London, the ones who batted their lashes and giggled behind their fans, eager for his attention. Maeve was different. She did not give a whit for his charm, nor did she care for his flirtations. If anything, she challenged him at every turn, seeing through his lighthearted veneer to something deeper. That should have irritated him, unnerved him. Instead, it intrigued him more than he cared to admit.
And that was precisely why the masquerade was a necessity.
A dance, a conversation unguarded by the usual expectations of society. A chance for her to see that there was more to him than the rogue’s mask he so expertly wore. And perhaps, a chance for him to learn more about her.