Page 6 of The Duke Who Stole Me (Stolen by the Duke #4)

Chapter Six

T he sun had begun to set when Vincent and Somerton arrived at Hawthorne Garden, where the party was in full swing.

It was a nice evening, and the merriment began and stopped with Somerton, who had excitement written all over his face.

Vincent took no part in it. He couldn’t. He’d rather enjoy a bottle of brandy or two alone, or busy himself with something else that didn’t involve talking to others.

Yet, here he was, mingling and forcing what little of a smile he could muster as he spoke to the guests, who seemed exaggeratedly surprised to see him at such an event—the mamas, especially.

“I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, Your Grace,” one lady admitted, and her two companions nodded.

“Though I must say, it is a pleasant surprise to see you here. You should attend more events, Your Grace,” another lady said.

A groan had bubbled up Vincent’s throat, but he’d managed to suppress it. He glared at Somerton, who deliberately walked away from the little gathering with a mocking smile on his face.

He would handle the marquess later. But now, there was work to be done.

Throughout the ride to Hawthorne House, he’d reminded himself countless times that he was attending the event to work and nothing else, so he dismissed the women as politely as he could and jumped straight into action, blending in with his peers.

“The matter at hand is quite strange if you ask me,” Lord Pembroke began.

He was a middle-aged man with modest coffers, but he was well-respected among the ton.

“No one seems to be talking about how rudely those criminals asked for Lord Norfield’s whereabouts,” he added.

The other four men in their group nodded.

“Had he gambled away his wealth? It is by far the only logical explanation I can think of,” Vincent chimed in innocently.

“He was fond of gambling, yes. Many say he was skilled,” a lord whose name he didn’t recall said from beside him. “But I highly doubt it, as he is hardly seen playing in gambling hells.”

Much to Vincent’s dismay, the only way to unearth more information about Norfield was to coax it out of other gentlemen.

Starting conversations with seemingly innocent questions and letting the others speak was the trick. All he had to do was sit back and listen.

He had used this method countless times to fish out information, and it usually was a piece of cake for him, for the ton thrived on gossip.

“I hear he was searching for something. He’d been in talks with Lord Ridgewell…” Lord Kiteley was saying, but Vincent didn’t hear the rest when his eyes landed on someone a few tables away from him.

Lady Juliana.

She was clad in a peach-colored dress that hugged her nubile curves most deliciously.

Bloody hell.

He had noticed her body before but never in the daylight. She was slender and fiery, with eyes that glowed even under the setting sun. She resembled a wild yet delicate flower—something he wished to cover and hide away from the rest of the world.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he muttered.

He approached her slowly like a predator, not once taking his eyes off her.

She seemed occupied, fully immersed in the slice of cake before her to notice his presence. However, her companion raised her eyes and saw him approach.

Vincent recognized her; she was the Earl of Westcombe’s daughter.

A smile appeared on Lady Portia’s lips as she bobbed a small curtsy. “Your Grace, what a pleasant surprise.”

Her words all but alerted Lady Juliana that they had company.

Slowly, Lady Juliana peeled her eyes away from her plate. When they landed on him, her pink lips parted in surprise, her cheeks turning a faint shade of scarlet.

Vincent couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to her lips. He knew they would be soft and warm…But then he suspected all of her would be soft and warm.

Christ.

This was a new low, even for a man as great as him. It seemed it had been a while since he last lay with a woman. It had to be, for there wasn’t any other plausible explanation as to why he?—

“Pleasant indeed, Lady Portia,” he finally said with a nod.

He’d met Westcombe’s daughter on two occasions, both involving her brother, who he’d heard was now touring the Continent.

He turned to Lady Juliana, who seemed to be more interested in the grass below her feet than in him.

“Perhaps you have met my friend, Lady Juliana?” Lady Portia asked, her eyebrows shooting up in excitement as she turned to her friend.

Slowly but surely, Lady Juliana raised her head, her eyes traveling slowly up to Vincent’s face. But he paid it no mind. A small smirk played on his lips as he nodded once.

“I don’t believe I have,” he replied. For a moment, he thought he’d seen relief flit over her features. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Juliana.”

He hadn’t intended to say it so sensually. However, he couldn’t resist.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace,” Lady Juliana returned quickly, her voice firm yet delicate.

The smirk on Vincent’s face widened as his eyes lingered on hers as if to provoke her, as if to see how much she could take before she would snap.

She turned away, her face reddening. Not quite the reaction he’d envisioned, but it amused him nonetheless.

“Congratulations on your recent engagement. I apologize for my absence at the event—urgent business kept me away.”

Juliana had never felt a greater burst of anger as the duke uttered those words.

Surely she had begun the pretense, forcing her emotions in check the second he approached them, but he had taken it a mile too far.

He knew, far better than everyone else, how the engagement ball had gone, and even without telling him, she was sure he knew that Lord Norfield had fled, since it seemed to be the only topic of interest at the party—when the guests were not paying attention to the hosts.

He knew, and yet he asked such a question, as though he wanted to anger her.

Juliana caught the bewilderment in Portia’s eyes as they darted from her to the duke. Her friend opened her mouth, ready to jump to her defense, but Juliana beat her to it.

“It is safe to say that it was wise for you not to come, Your Grace. You must have heard about the unfortunate turn of events.”

She had tried her best to say the words without rolling her eyes.

He had the nerve to shake his head. “I do not listen to gossip, My Lady, so I am unaware of what you speak of,” he said, his tone cold and matter-of-fact.

Oh, he was infuriating. He made her blood boil.

It was a challenge; he was provoking her, and she was losing.

“Then I will not bother you with unnecessary details. My betrothed has traveled to the South of France. He is visiting his relatives there,” she explained with as much calm as she could muster.

The duke narrowed his clear blue eyes.

In fact, the entirety of him under sunlight—albeit fading—was far different from the person she’d seen under the warm candlelight.

He stood tall and straight like a towering spruce. His muscular body and shoulders could’ve been a yard wide.

The crisp cut of his black frock coat did little to hide the width of his chest and the way his thick arms filled his sleeves. His gold-threaded waistcoat hugged his torso, accentuating his solid build.

Juliana could hardly believe that such a strong body had been pressed against hers.

His well-groomed beard followed the sharp angles of his jawline, emphasizing the intensity of his expression. But his eyes, though narrowed, were heated as he watched her.

“Has he now?” He arched an eyebrow.

A knowing smile tugged at his thin lips, and Juliana could only wish she were bold enough to slap it off.

“Yes, he has, Your Grace,” she replied through gritted teeth, a polite smile on her face.

“It was a pleasure seeing you tonight, Your Grace. You must excuse us now—Juliana and I have some matters to attend to,” Portia interjected, her tone dismissive as she pulled Juliana to a secluded area of the large garden.

Juliana could not be more grateful for her friend.

“That was quite something,” Portia remarked, staring at Juliana with excited eyes and a knowing smile.

“It was nothing,” Juliana muttered.

Portia shook her head as she lifted her left index finger and waved it in Juliana’s face. “I know what I just witnessed, and it wasn’t nothing, Julie.”

Juliana swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat.

Had she been so harsh with the Duke of Blackmoor that she had revealed their acquaintance? She didn’t think she was. But then again, she’d been so engrossed in their exchange that she had barely noticed anything else.

No one had ignited a flame within her with just one conversation like he had. He’d made her pulse jump and her temperature rise in annoyance…or was it desire?

She wasn’t sure. It couldn’t be. She knew too little about desire, but she knew that whatever she felt for the duke was not it.

“You must be mistaken, Portia.” She waved her friend off.

Portia nodded, not wanting to argue with her friend. “Very well then. However, I must say that you both would make a handsome match.”

Juliana’s heart lurched in shock. She began shaking her head earnestly. “The duke?—”

“Might be smitten by you. We cannot know for certain until we try.”

“Portia…”

“You have no reason to fret, my friend. The duke has been the most sought-after bachelor in all of London for years now. He has refused every invitation from desperate mamas, while his wealth only grows.”

“I wonder why,” Juliana muttered under her breath.

She was not sure there was a lady in London who could handle an intense man like him.

“He would be perfect for you, Julie. And dare I say it, an obvious improvement from Lord Norfield.”

“Portia!”

“You know I only speak the truth.”

And Juliana utterly hated that it was the truth. Whether it was title, wealth, or appearance, Geoffrey couldn’t hold a candle to the duke. But she wasn’t sure she could trust the duke either.

Just like Geoffrey, she suspected that he had an agenda—something that made him infiltrate balls in disguises and withhold information he knew could save a life. That night, he had come in search of information about Geoffrey, so at least she was sure he knew something.

Yet…

“Wealth and status do not make a man,” Juliana said, snapping herself out of those thoughts.

“But it makes living with such a man much more bearable.”

This was one of Portia’s qualities that Juliana loved. Whenever Portia set her sights on something, she would do everything to get it. However, Juliana could not deny that she loathed that quality at the moment.

“I want nothing to do with the Duke of Blackmoor,” she declared firmly. “He is a cold, cruel, and callous man, and I would rather marry the likes of Geoffrey, who at least has empathy.”

Taken aback, Portia tilted her head to the side as she studied her friend. “While I agree that he is not the most charming of suitors and he is not welcoming in general, I would not say he’s callous. Wealthy and well-traveled men like him seem detached, but they usually have a hidden soft side to them.”

“His soft side can stay hidden for the woman he will marry, but I doubt she is me. He would never settle for a woman like me.”

“Well, my friend, I’m thankful that it is his decision to make, not yours. Remember, you are supposed to find a match before the ton finds out that Lord Norfield severed all ties with you before he fled.”

Juliana pressed her lips together, deep in thought. It wasn’t just the ton she was wary of. She was also wary of her uncle, whose desperation seemed to heighten at every turn. She feared the next man he would bring to her doorstep would be far worse than Geoffrey had been.

“We should return to the party.” Juliana took her friend’s hand, an obvious attempt at changing the subject, and atmosphere.

Portia smiled and nodded.

The two ladies began to walk back to the music and merriment, but just as they arrived at their table, Portia halted and turned to Juliana.

“I will not pressure you into doing something you’re not interested in. However, I believe you should give it a thought. The duke might be more willing to pull you out of this situation than you think.”

Juliana nodded, looking around at the guests. Try as she might, her eyes found the Duke of Blackmoor in his tall and brooding glory, speaking to a couple of gentlemen. He was holding a glass in his left hand, listening intently to whatever was being said.

She sighed.

How could a man so alluring be so infuriating?

As though sensing he was being watched, the duke raised his eyes and ran them over the expanse of the garden until they landed on her.

Then, he raised his glass and smirked.

Damn him.