Page 6 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction (Dukes of Passion #3)

CHAPTER 6

“ I see you haven’t lost your touch for commanding the attention of every lady in the room,” came a familiar drawl. “Still, that was quite the gallant rescue.”

Leo turned from watching Marina’s retreat to find Gerald Milbourne, Duke of Irondale, approaching with his duchess on his arm. Close behind them were Dorian and Alice Fairfax, the Duke and Duchess of Ashthorne.

“Irondale.” Leo clasped his old friend’s hand. “Your letters didn’t mention your wife had made you almost respectable.”

“Almost being the operative word,” Seraphina said with a warm smile—they had met briefly during Leo’s quick return for the Earl of Treyfield’s funeral, but she seemed to have fully integrated herself into their circle since then. “Though I doubt anyone could manage the feat completely.”

“I don’t believe you’ve been properly introduced to Ashthorne’s wife.”

“Your Grace.” Dorian’s wife dropped into a curtsy. “I’ve heard so much about you from my husband.”

“All lies, I assure you,” Leo said with a slight bow. “Dorian was always the least reliable narrator among us.”

“Speaking of reliable,” Dorian cut in, “what sort of friend returns to London and doesn’t immediately call on his oldest companions?”

“I have been rather occupied?—”

“Yes, we noticed.” Dorian’s eyes flicked meaningfully to where Marina had disappeared into the crowd. “Most thoroughly occupied, it would seem.”

Leo’s jaw clenched. “That’s not what I meant. I barely know?—”

“No?” Seraphina’s expression turned knowing. “Then perhaps it has something to do with those delightfully scandalous stories everyone’s reading? The ones featuring the brooding duke with a rather specific set of preferences?”

Leo shot an accusing glare at Gerard and Dorian. “And I suppose you two had nothing to do with confirming the hero’s identity to your wives?”

“Come now, Blackmere,” came a jovial voice as Lord Havelock approached their small group. “You can hardly blame a man for discussing literature with his wife. These stories are all anyone can talk about at White’s.”

“At White’s?” Leo’s eyebrows rose. “Surely gentlemen have better topics of conversation.”

“Better, perhaps, but certainly not more entertaining.” Havelock grinned, clearly enjoying Leo’s discomfort. “Pemberton’s started a wager, you know. Five pounds to anyone who can guess the author’s identity and twenty to the man who can confirm which of your escapades will feature in the next installment.”

Seraphina covered her mouth to hide her smile while Alice suddenly became very interested in the pattern of the ballroom floor.

“A wager,” Leo repeated flatly. “On my private affairs.”

“It’s all in good fun,” Havelock assured him, oblivious to the danger in Leo’s tone. “Though I must say, that scene with the lady’s maid in Paris was inspired. I’ve had to reassess my opinion of French fashion entirely.”

Gerard coughed loudly while Dorian placed a restraining hand on Leo’s arm.

“I do not recall any scene with a lady’s maid,” Dorian said carefully.

“No? It was in the latest publication. The Duke teaches the lady’s maid several… creative uses for her mistress’s ribbons.” Havelock wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I would lend you my copy, but I’m afraid my wife has hidden it. Says I’ve been getting too many ideas.”

“How unfortunate for her,” Leo replied, his voice dangerously soft.

Havelock laughed. “Indeed! Well, I should return to my wife before she, too, gets ideas—the sort of which I would not approve. Blackmere, ladies, gentlemen.” He bowed and left, still chuckling to himself.

“I don’t suppose,” Leo said once Havelock was out of earshot, “that any of you have read this latest installment about the lady’s maid?”

Gerard and Dorian exchanged glances.

“We may have… heard mention of it,” Gerard admitted. “Though I assure you, neither of us contributed to this particular tale.”

“It is quite popular among the ladies,” Seraphina added, clearly trying not to smile. “Lady Rutherford was discussing it at our literary salon yesterday. She said it gave her a whole new perspective on… haberdashery.”

Leo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wonderful. Now I can’t even enter a ribbon shop without becoming the subject of speculation.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Alice offered, “most of the ton seems to find the stories more entertaining than scandalous. Lady Rutherford actually mentioned that her husband has been much more… attentive… since she began leaving the stories on her bedside table.”

“It is no consolation whatsoever,” Leo growled though the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “I am not in the business of improving the marital relations of the ton.”

“Perhaps you should be,” Dorian said with a smirk. “You seem to have a talent for it if any of these stories are to be believed.”

“Entertaining?” Leo’s voice dropped dangerously low. “My personal affairs are being aired like laundry for every gossipmonger in the London ton to pick apart, and you find it amusing ?”

Gerard’s smile faded. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Leo, you know we would never betray your confidences. Whatever details those stories contain, they didn’t come from us.”

“I know.” Leo’s anger abated slightly. “My apologies. I suspect the author has been collecting tales from indiscreet ladies of my acquaintance.”

“And what do you plan to do about it?” Lady Ashthorne asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“I’m working on convincing the author to quit publishing.”

Both duchesses frowned at this, earning sharp looks from their husbands.

“But they are so refreshing,” Seraphina protested. “Finally, something with actual passion instead of those insipid marriage mart chronicles.”

“I assure you, my love,” Gerard said stiffly, “you don’t need inspiration.”

“Oh, don’t worry, darling.” Seraphina patted his arm. “The stories merely provide some interesting ideas for us to explore.”

Gerard’s eyebrows shot upward toward his hairline.

“Perhaps,” Dorian said slowly, “these publications aren’t without some value.” He caught his wife’s gaze. “For the general improvement of marital relations of course.”

“Of course,” Alice agreed demurely, a pretty pink flush stained her cheeks.

Leo pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I am delighted my private affairs are enhancing your marriages, but this cannot continue.”

He spotted Lady Asquith across the ballroom, now safely ensconced between Lord and Lady Clarkshire. Even at this distance, he could see the proud tilt of her chin and the way she deliberately ignored the increased whispers that followed in the wake of their dance.

“Still brooding, I see,” Dorian said beside him.

Leo shot his friend a quelling look. “I don’t brood.”

“No? Then why are you staring at Lady Asquith as though she’s a vexing chess problem?”

Before Leo could respond, the orchestra struck up another waltz, and he was saved from further interrogation by the arrival of his hosts seeking introductions.

Marina pressed her fan to her burning cheeks, painfully aware of the curious glances cast in her direction.

Her dance with the Duke had caused exactly the type of attention she’d been trying to avoid.

Needing a moment to calm herself, she made her way to the refreshment table where she accepted a glass of lemonade from a footman. The cool drink soothed her throat though it did little to calm her racing pulse or cool the flush that refused to leave her skin.

She took another sip, using the moment to look around the ballroom. Small clusters of ladies with their heads bent together in whispered conversation darted questioning looks in her direction.

Near the doors to the terrace, she spotted Lady Thornley and Miss Ashworth—the very two whose conversation she had overheard at the last ball. They, too, were watching her with undisguised curiosity, no doubt wondering about her unexpected waltz with the Duke of Blackmere.

Setting her empty glass on a passing tray, Marina squared her shoulders and crossed the ballroom to rejoin Caroline and Harold, determined to maintain whatever dignity remained after that dance.

“My goodness,” Caroline said as Marina rejoined them, her eyes sparkling with barely contained excitement. “That was quite a performance.”

“Caroline.” Harold’s voice was warning though his own expression was filled with curiosity.

“I was merely commenting on their excellent execution of the waltz.” Caroline fanned herself dramatically. “Though I must say, your gracefulness was noteworthy this evening, Marina. The Duke seemed most attentive to your steps.”

“The Duke,” Marina retorted, “seems attentive to making my life difficult.”

“He did rescue you from those horrible men,” Caroline said.

“I didn’t need rescuing.” But even as she said it, Marina remembered the way the Duke had appeared like an avenging angel, his voice cutting through the men’s humiliating remarks with deadly precision.

“Of course not.” Harold’s tone was gentle. “Though I must confess, I was relieved he intervened before I was forced to call either of those cads out. My sword arm isn’t what it once was.”

“Harold!” Both women exclaimed in unified horror.

“Joking, my dears. I don’t even know where my sword is.” He patted his wife’s hand. “Though speaking of the Duke, he’s watching our little group with rather marked interest.”

Marina refused to turn and look though she imagined she could feel the weight of Leo’s gaze across the ballroom.

“Let him watch. I won’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.”

“No,” Caroline said thoughtfully. “You will just write about it later.”

Marina’s fan stilled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course not.” Caroline’s smile was positively wicked. “After witnessing that dance, I better understand how you write such… compelling scenes.”

“Caroline!” Marina hissed though she couldn’t suppress her own smile.

Harold looked at them, and his brow furrowed in confusion. “Compelling scenes? What are you talking about, my dear?”

Caroline and Marina exchanged a panicked glance. “Oh, just some advice I’ve been giving Marina on her correspondence,” Caroline improvised quickly. “She has such a way with words.”

“Really?” Harold didn’t look entirely convinced. “I didn’t know letter-writing required such secrecy.”

“It depends entirely on the recipient,” Caroline replied smoothly while Marina fought to maintain her composure.

Trust her dear friend to find amusement in this increasingly precarious situation.

“Come,” Harold said, taking pity on her. “I believe they are serving an excellent lemon ice. Shall we remove ourselves to the card tables? It’s far enough away from certain observers, and we might actually enjoy some conversation without all this meaningful glancing around the room.”

As they made their way through the crowded ballroom, Marina felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders.

Whatever game she and the Duke were playing, at least she wasn’t facing it alone.