Page 5 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction (Dukes of Passion #3)

CHAPTER 5

“ M y dear Marina, you’ve scarcely heard a word I’ve said these past ten minutes,” Caroline chided gently as they strolled along the fashionable paths of Hyde Park. “One might think the swans were more compelling than me.”

Marina blinked, forcing her attention back to her friend’s concerned face. “Forgive me, Caroline. My thoughts were elsewhere.”

“Clearly.” Caroline exchanged a glance with her husband, who walked beside them with measured steps. “Harold and I have been quite concerned. You’ve been distracted since we collected you.”

“Practically jumping at shadows,” Harold chimed in, his kind eyes studying Marina’s face. “Is something amiss with your household? You know we would help if only you?—”

“No, nothing like that,” Marina hastened to assure him. “Truly, I am perfectly well.”

Her friends looked unconvinced but were too well-bred to press further.

The afternoon was mild for April, drawing out the fashionable set for their ritual parade around the park. Marina was painfully aware of the sidelong glances that followed her. The scandal of her husband’s death might have faded somewhat, but her presence still provoked whispers.

“Good heavens,” Harold muttered suddenly. “Is that Lady Ponsonby headed this way? Quick! Pretend we’ve spotted something fascinating in that direction.” He gestured wildly toward a cluster of trees.

Caroline smothered a laugh. “Harold, you can’t possibly still be avoiding her after all this time.”

“The woman cornered me at the Middletons’ ball and spent forty-five minutes describing the ailments of her cats—all sixteen of them!” Lord Clarkshire grimaced. “In excruciating detail.”

“Perhaps you ladies might continue without me?” He was already edging away. “I’ll…um… inspect the foliage. Is that an elm? Most riveting!”

Marina smiled as Harold made his escape and was immediately intercepted by a passing acquaintance who provided convenient cover from the approaching Lady Ponsonby.

Caroline looped her arm through Marina’s, guiding them along a less populated path. “Now that my husband has abandoned us, perhaps you might tell me what truly troubles you.”

Marina hesitated. Caroline was her dearest friend, but even she didn’t know about the stories. Yet the burden of keeping the secret from her friend had grown heavy in the days since her encounter with the Duke of Blackmere.

“I have done something rather reckless,” she finally admitted.

Caroline’s eyes widened with interest. “How delightfully ominous. Please elaborate.”

Marina glanced around to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard. “You’re aware of the stories everyone is reading? The ones about a certain dark-haired duke with particular…interests?”

“Of course! They are absolutely scandalous—” Caroline stopped abruptly, her mouth forming a perfect O. “Marina, you don’t mean to say…”

“I wrote them,” Marina confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You wrote—” Caroline lowered her voice as Marina frantically gestured for her to be discreet. “You wrote those stories? About the Duke of Blackmere?”

Marina nodded, watching as her friend’s expression cycled through a variety of emotions—shock, awe, and finally, concern.

“How did you…I mean, the details are so…”

“From various indiscreet ladies who were all too happy to share their experiences with my publisher.” Marina’s cheeks grew hot. “I didn’t realize the Duke would recognize himself.”

“He knows?” Caroline gasped, and her grip on Marina’s arm tightened. “Did he confront you?”

Marina nodded and then recounted her nighttime encounter with the duke.

“My goodness,” Caroline breathed when Marina finished. “Ten years ago, his younger brother disappeared suddenly. Rumors flew among the ton that he had murdered his brother William and Miss Felicity Exeter in a fit of jealous rage. Of course, the authorities investigated, but they found no evidence. Still, many believe… well, certainly you’ve heard how people speak of him.”

Marina recalled the dangerous intensity in his eyes, the controlled power in his movements. Yet, there had also been a moment when something had flashed across his features—something wounded.

“What will you do?” Caroline asked. “Surely you cannot continue writing about him now that he knows.”

Marina sighed. “If only it were that easy. Mr. Lupton has made it clear that without these particular stories, he has no interest in publishing my work. And without that income?—”

“Couldn’t you find another publisher?”

“With no name or connections? And with my reputation? As an unmarried woman, I might have passed myself off as a spinster in need.” Marina shook her head. “Lupton only agreed because he was desperate for new material that month. I doubt I would find another so willing to overlook my circumstances.”

Caroline frowned. “It’s unfair. I can’t help but worry about the Duke’s reaction if you continue. A man with his reputation?—”

“Is precisely why the stories sell so well,” Marina finished.

“It’s a dangerous game, my dear.”

“One I cannot afford to lose.” Marina squared her shoulders. “Besides, what can he do? Expose me as the author? That would only confirm that the stories are about him and that they might be true.”

Caroline studied her face. “You’re enjoying this just a little bit, aren’t you? The risk of it all.”

Marina opened her mouth to deny it but stopped. There was a strange exhilaration in the game they had begun. This dangerous dance with the Duke.

“Perhaps a little,” she admitted.

“I thought so.” Caroline’s lips curved into a smile that was half concern and half excitement. “I suppose the ton was growing terribly dull anyway. Do you promise me you will be careful? I’m not prepared to visit you in Newgate if the Duke decides murder is indeed his preferred solution to problems. After all, I know it will be you who bests him.”

“Caroline!” Marina laughed at her friend’s dramatic pronouncement. “I hardly think?—”

“There you are!” Harold’s voice boomed as he rejoined them, looking slightly harried. “Lady Ponsonby’s cats have apparently developed a new and fascinating digestive ailment. I narrowly escaped by claiming you needed my immediate attention.”

Caroline patted her husband’s arm in sympathy. “Poor Harold. Shall we rescue you with an early tea at Gunter’s Tea Shop?”

As they turned toward the park gates, Marina glimpsed a tall figure watching from the shade of an oak tree—broad shouldered, dark auburn hair, and a commanding presence that was unmistakable even from a distance.

The Duke of Blackmere had found her once again.

“Really, the audacity.” Lady Peerpont’s whisper cut through the elegant strains of the musicians. “Not even a full year since poor Lord Asquith’s death, and here she is, bold as brass.”

“These modern widows have no sense of impropriety.” Her companion let out an offended sniff. “In my day, we observed a proper period of mourning.”

Marina kept her chin high as she walked through the Rutland’s ballroom. She pretended that she couldn’t hear the whispers that followed her.

She spotted Caroline’s fair hair near the refreshment table and hurried toward the familiar sanctuary of her friend.

“Marina, darling!” Caroline’s warm welcome garnered several disapproving glances. “We were just debating whether Lord Rutland’s new chandelier is tasteful or merely expensive.”

“Merely expensive,” Harold declared with mock solemnity. “Though the way it catches the light does make Lady Rutland’s new turban slightly less aggressive.”

Caroline swatted playfully at her husband’s arm, but her eyes sparkled with laughter. “I think the silk and pearl turban she is wearing is lovely. And it’s very fashionable.”

Harold gave an exaggerated eye roll. When the opening notes of a quadrille filled the air, he turned to his wife with an elegant bow.

“My love, might I have this dance?”

Caroline’s eyes flicked to Marina. “Oh, I shouldn’t…”

“Nonsense,” Marina said. “Dance. I won’t have you missing all of the fun on my account.”

“Are you certain?”

“Quite certain. Besides, someone must save other dancers from Harold’s unique interpretation of the steps.”

Alone, Marina watched the couples form their sets. The empty space around her seemed to grow, as if she carried some taint that kept others at bay. She had thought she would grow used to it, but tonight, the isolation felt sharper somehow.

“Well, if it isn’t the wicked widow herself.”

Marina stiffened at Lady Ballantine’s acid tone. The Viscountess stopped beside her. The smile she gave Marina was as sharp as a dagger.

“Tell me, did you merely encourage his drinking until he fell in on his own, or did you spike his bottle?”

Marina’s fingers tightened on her fan, but she kept her face carefully blank. Any response on her part would only feed the gossip mills for weeks to come.

“Huh,” Lady Ballantine huffed, “no retort? Perhaps you have finally acquired a sense of shame.”

Marina clutched the fan tighter and mumbled a simple ‘good evening’ to the lady—she wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.

After a moment, Lady Ballantine moved on, clearly disappointed by her lack of reaction.

Caroline and Harold returned just as two gentlemen approached Marina. The taller of the two, whom Marina recognized as Lord Bartley, offered her an exaggerated bow.

“Lady Asquith,” he drawled, “you look absolutely ravishing tonight. Widowhood becomes you.”

Heat crept up Marina’s neck at his forward manner. Before she could respond, his companion let out a sharp laugh.

“I say, Lord Bartley, careful there. We all know what happened to her last husband.”

“True enough.” Bartley’s charming smile twisted into something cruel. “Though I must admit, drowning seems a rather dramatic way to escape a marriage. Most men simply keep a mistress.”

Marina’s chest tightened, but she kept her spine straight.

“You forget yourself, My Lord,” Harold stepped forward.

“Harold,” Caroline warned, catching her husband’s arm.

“I believe you owe the lady an apology.” Harold’s voice was icy.

“Oh, come now, Lord Clarkshire,” Lord Bartley’s friend jeered. “Everyone knows she as good as murdered poor Henry. Drove him to drink with her frigid?—”

“I suggest,” a deep voice cut into the conversation, “you consider your next words carefully.”

The Duke of Blackmere materialized from the shadows. His powerful frame radiated with barely contained menace.

Lord Bartley paled. “Your Grace, we were merely?—”

“Merely showing why your fathers should have invested more heavily in your education and less in your tailoring.” Leo’s voice could have frozen champagne. “I believe you were about to apologize to Lady Asquith.”

The stammered apologies that followed would have amused her if Marina’s heart weren’t racing so wildly. The two lords practically tripped over themselves in their haste to leave.

“Your Grace,” Marina began, but the opening notes of a waltz interrupted her.

The Duke held out his hand. “My Lady, may I have this dance?”

It wasn’t really a question. With half the ballroom watching, Marina had no choice but to accept. She caught Caroline’s warning look as he led her onto the floor.

“I don’t need you to defend my honor,” she muttered as they took their positions.

“Clearly not. You were handling their insults so effectively on your own.” His hand at her waist was warm through her silk gown as they began to move.

“Better than drawing attention. Which is precisely what you are doing now.” She fought to keep her voice steady as they turned. “People will talk.”

“People already talk.” His thumb traced a small circle against her back. “Though I wonder what they would say if they knew about your literary endeavors.”

“They would say nothing because they will never know.” She met his eyes with a challenge. “Unless you wish to confirm their suspicions about your exploits.”

“Careful, darling.” His grip tightened fractionally. “You are lighting a fire that might burn you.”

“Am I? I rather thought I was writing fiction. Though your reaction suggests perhaps my imagination isn’t as creative as I believed.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You have no idea what you are playing at.”

“Don’t I?” Marina retorted. “Because all you claim is that I know far too much about you, Your Grace.”

“Oh, no, My Lady,” he chuckled darkly, “you only know half of what I could do to you. Only half of the pleasure I could give you.”

The heat in his eyes made her catch her breath. For a moment, the rest of the ballroom seemed to fade away, leaving only the intensity of his gaze and the electric awareness where his hand rested on her back.

Then the music ended. His hand lingered at her waist a beat too long before he stepped back and offered her a perfectly correct bow.

“A pleasure, as always, Lady Asquith.”

Marina forced herself to curtsy, glad that no one could see her trembling knees beneath her gown. “Your Grace.”

She made her way back to Caroline, aware of the stares and whispers that followed her across the ballroom.

For once, she barely registered their spite. Her skin still tingled where his hands had touched her, and her mind raced with ideas for her next story.

The Duke perhaps thought he was warning her away, but he had given her something far more valuable than threats.

He had given her inspiration.

Later that evening, Leo stood near the refreshment table and watched Marina from across the ballroom as she conversed with Lady Clarkshire and the Marchioness of Headley.

The light from the chandeliers caught the caramel highlights in her dark curls. Her face lit up as she laughed at something her friend said. He was so absorbed in his observation that he barely noticed Lord Clarkshire until he was beside him.

“Your Grace,” Harold acknowledged with a slight bow. “I must thank you for your intervention earlier. Those young men were unconscionably rude to Lady Asquith.”

Leo tore his gaze away from Marina, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing footman. His expression remained impassive though inwardly he was still seething at the memory of those callow lordlings and their cutting remarks.

“The ton has always preferred cruelty disguised as wit,” he replied, the champagne bitter on his tongue despite its quality. “Your defense of Lady Asquith does you credit, Lord Clarkshire.”

“Marina—Lady Asquith is like family,” Harold said simply. “She deserves far better than the treatment society has afforded her.”

Something in Leo’s chest tightened at the man’s obvious affection for Marina. His gaze sharpened as he reassessed Lord Clarkshire. “You seem well acquainted with her circumstances.”

“I have known her since before her marriage.” Harold studied the Duke carefully, and Leo felt himself being measured by the shorter man’s shrewd eyes. “Asquith was not a kind man. The ton blames her for his vices, but those who actually knew him understood his nature long before she entered his life. Except for his heir, I suppose.”

“And yet she is the one who bears the whispers and cold shoulders,” Leo observed, his voice hardening as he glanced back at her, noticing now the slight tension in her shoulders despite her smiling facade.

“Such is the lot of women in our society.” Harold took a sip of his champagne. “Their reputations are fragile, easily shattered, and nearly impossible to repair. Which makes me wonder,” he added, “about your intentions toward her.”

Leo’s eyebrows rose, surprised by the man’s directness. “My intentions?”

“Come now, Your Grace. That waltz was hardly subtle. Half the ballroom is already speculating.”

Leo resisted the urge to glance around the room, to see if it was true that they were the subject of whispered conversations and meaningful looks. Instead, he kept his gaze steady on Clarkshire.

“And you wish to ensure those speculations don’t harm Lady Asquith further.”

It wasn’t a question.

“You understand my meaning.” Harold’s amiable expression didn’t waver, but his voice held a note of warning. “Lady Asquith has few protectors in society. Caroline and I count ourselves among them.”

Leo studied the shorter man with new respect. Behind Lord Clarkshire’s good-natured exterior lay an iron will and a loyalty that Lady Asquith was fortunate to have. He found himself oddly reassured that she had such loyal friends, even as he bristled at being regarded as a potential threat to her wellbeing.

“Your concern is honorable, Clarkshire,” Leo said, setting down his barely-touched champagne. “But you don’t need to worry. I have no intention of adding to Lady Asquith’s difficulties.”

Whether that was the complete truth, however, was a matter of which even Leo himself wasn’t entirely certain.

His gaze drifted back to Marina, and a surge of desire and irritation rose inside him.

How could one woman so thoroughly disrupt his carefully ordered existence?