I Dared the Duke Read online

  “God no. But not for a lack of trying on Lady Haversham’s part.” Alex shrugged noncommittally, and Darby chuckled.

  “Five thousand pounds. That’s a lot of money.”

  Alex snorted. “The bastard has plenty in his coffers.” Or at least he made a good show of pretending he did.

  “So, Haversham hates you too,” Darby said, adding him to a mental list. “Wait a minute.” He blinked as though mentally scolding himself. “We’re overlooking the most obvious question of all.”

  “Which is?”

  “Who has the most to gain from your death? Who stands to inherit your title and wealth—which must rival Midas’s by now?”

  Alex shook his head. “My second cousin, Richard Coulsen. He’s a stand-up fellow. Doesn’t even live in London.”

  Darby squinted as he reached into the recesses of his memory. “Ah, yes … I know him. Claville’s steward. Decent sportsman. I met him at the marquess’s house party. But living away from London doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of orchestrating a murder.”

  “Could we avoid using the word murder?” Alex said, cringing. “It’s putting a damper on my uncharacteristically good mood. Besides, I’ve never known Coulsen to be anything but honorable. In fact, he might be a little too decent for my liking.” Every man should have a few vices.

  “Duly noted,” Darby said thoughtfully. “I’m merely pointing out that you are the only thing standing between him and a dukedom. Some might consider that motive enough to commit mur—er, to commit a crime. If you think him such a paragon, however, we won’t include him on the list. Even so, you’ve no shortage of detractors, have you?”

  Alex smiled like he didn’t care in the least what people thought of him.

  But sometimes, having people constantly assume the worst about him grew tiresome. Even Darby thought him an unrepentant seducer of innocents. It wasn’t his friend’s fault—Alex had never bothered to correct the assumptions or quell the rumors.

  Because playing the part of the villain had perks. His formidable reputation served him well, and more often than not, people left him to his own devices. No one got too close or asked too many questions. No one saw beyond the carefully cultivated image of a cold, heartless rake.

  And that was precisely the way he wished it.

  Chapter SEVEN

  Alex strode through his front door later that evening, rifled through the mail on the table in the foyer, and froze. From down the corridor came laughter—women’s laughter.

  After spending the morning at the coachmaker’s and whiling away the afternoon at the Goat and Goose, he could no longer neglect the contracts and ledgers on his desk. He’d planned to spend a couple of hours holed up in his study before meeting Darby for dinner at the club—where they could further investigate the poisoning.

  And yet, his feet carried him to the drawing room. Only one person could be to blame for this sudden, uncharacteristic urge to socialize: Miss Lacey.

  He approached the door quietly—not spying, exactly, but not announcing his presence, either. He found the companion perched on an ottoman, while a maid pinned her hair into a ridiculously tall mound atop her head. The maid stepped back cautiously, as though she feared the tower of hair would topple any moment. “How do you like it?”

  While his grandmother adjusted her spectacles and tilted her head to the side, the maid offered Miss Lacey a hand mirror. She held it in front of her face, then moved it from side to side, viewing the hairstyle from all angles.

  “I think it’s a vast improvement over the previous attempt,” his grandmother said diplomatically. “And it would certainly make you appear taller. What do you think, dear?”

  Miss Lacey reached up and tentatively patted the mass of hair. “I think it looks like I’m hiding a pineapple in here.”

  The maid covered her mouth with her hand but couldn’t stifle a giggle. Neither could his grandmother. “Don’t walk beneath a chandelier unless you wish your coiffure to catch fire,” she managed between fits of laughter.

  As Miss Lacey chuckled, the thick tresses coiled atop her head sprang free from their pins, and a torrent of curls tumbled around her shoulders.

  Leaving Alex quite mesmerized.

  Jesus. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. He should clear his throat or say something to announce his presence, but then the laughter would stop and Miss Lacey would no doubt revert to her prim, proper, buttoned-up self. Which would be a damned shame.

  “I’m sorry to have spoiled your work,” she said to the maid.

  “Never mind, miss,” the maid said, smiling. “Gravity was bound to win out sooner or later.”

  The remark unleashed a fresh fit of laughter, and Miss Lacey’s cheeks turned pink as she fished a pin out of her gloriously tangled curls. Alex’s palms itched with the urge to spear his fingers through that silky hair and cradle her head in his hands as he—

  “Alexander!” His grandmother uttered his name like a mild scolding. “Why are you skulking about the doorway? Come in, and give a proper greeting, for goodness’s sake.”

  Bloody hell. In the blink of an eye, the spell was broken. The maid scrambled around the ottoman, scooping up hairpins and shoving them in the pocket of her apron. Miss Lacey wound her hair into a tight coil and held it at her nape, blushing as though she’d been caught not just with her hair down, but disrobing. An image that was damned arousing.

  He schooled his face in a bored look and ambled toward the ladies. “Forgive me for intruding,” he said drolly. “I did not expect to return home and find my drawing room converted into a ladies’ dressing room.”

  Miss Lacey nearly fell off the ottoman but caught herself.

  The maid gasped and muttered apologies as she fled the room.

  “Why do you sound so stern, Alexander?” his grandmother asked with a shrug. “I’m certain Elizabeth is not the first woman you’ve seen in a state of dishabille.”

  Miss Lacey coughed, as though she wished to remind everyone she was still present and capable of speaking for herself. “I feel obliged to point out,” she said through gritted teeth, “that I am fully and quite decently dressed. I regret that my pins did not hold and that the sight of my unbound hair distressed you, your grace. It will not happen again.”

  A pity, that. He wouldn’t mind if her hair were loose all the time. He could imagine those lustrous curls swaying as she walked, glistening in the sun … even fanned across his pillow. “I am relieved to hear it. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  “Before you go,” Miss Lacey interrupted, “there is a small matter your grandmother wishes to discuss with you.”

  His grandmother waved a dismissive hand. “It can wait till later—when Alexander’s mood has improved.”

  “I hope you’re prepared for a long wait,” Miss Lacey muttered.

  His grandmother squinted behind her spectacles. “What was that, dear?”

  “I think now would be a most opportune time.” Miss Lacey shot him a pointed look.

  Taking the hint, he shrugged and lowered himself into a chair. “I am at your disposal, Grandmother. What do you wish to discuss?”

  “Elizabeth inquired as to whether I’d ever seen the fireworks at Vauxhall, and I realized that I have not. It’s been an age since I visited the Gardens,” she said with a wistful sigh.

  He hazarded a glance at Miss Lacey, who had apparently located a stray hairpin and was attempting to spear it through the thick coil behind her head. Her gaze locked with his as she gave a subtle nod.

  So, this was to be his grandmother’s first wish: to see fireworks. Harmless enough and easily accomplished. At this rate, he’d have his grandmother and her beautiful, meddling companion out of his house by week’s end.

  “We must remedy the situation at once,” he said magnanimously. “If you have no plans for tomorrow night, I would be happy to accompany you to the Gardens.”

  “That would be delightful!” The sheer, unadulterated joy on his grandmother’s face made him feel almo
st … guilty. It had been a long time since he’d made her smile like that.

  “As long as you’re going,” Miss Lacey added, “it might be nice to dine there, too.”

  “Oh, you’ll be there as well, Elizabeth,” his grandmother said. “I wouldn’t dream of going without you. In fact, since we’re hiring a supper box, we should make a small party of it.”

  Damn, but this was quickly turning into an elaborate production. “The smaller the party, the better,” he announced, ignoring the withering look Miss Lacey sent his way.

  “It shan’t be too large, Alexander. Six or eight at the most. Elizabeth, you must invite your uncle and sister Juliette.”

  Miss Lacey frowned as though the suggestion did not sit well. “Why, that’s very generous of you. Are you certain that—”

  “I am,” his grandmother insisted. “I’ve been meaning to thank your uncle for sending you to me—my own veritable angel.”

  Miss Lacey blushed, clearly ill at ease with the label of angel—as well she should be. She’d all but blackmailed him into doing her bidding.

  “Your sister will prevent the outing from becoming too dull,” his grandmother said. “A party is always improved by the company of lively younger people. Not that you and Alexander are ever boring,” she quickly added. “Far from it.”

  Alex chuckled. “No offense taken, Grandmother.”

  “Excellent. And while we’re discussing the guest list…”

  Alex scratched his head, wondering how in the hell a jaunt to Vauxhall had evolved into an event requiring a guest list.

  “… you must invite your friend, Lord Darberville.” Alex’s grandmother clapped her hands together, inordinately pleased at the prospect.

  Alex knew his friend well, and Darby would sooner run the gauntlet than endure a dinner party where the average age of the guests neared sixty. That settled it. “I’m sure Darby would be thrilled to attend. I’ll extend the invitation.”

  If Alex was to be miserable, he saw no reason Darby shouldn’t suffer alongside him.

  “While we’re at the Gardens, your grandmother mentioned she’d like to hear the orchestra play in the rotunda.”

  Alex stuck a finger inside his cravat in an attempt to loosen it. “Fine.”

  “It’s a two-part concert,” Miss Lacey said sweetly.

  “It sounds enchanting.” Alex glared at the companion so she would know just how thin his patience had been stretched.

  “My dear, dear boy,” his grandmother cooed, “I would never ask you to spend the entire evening in the company of a feeble old lady like me. A night of fireworks and dinner will be an unexpected treat—and more than enough to make me happy.”

  Good God, he truly was a heel. “First of all, you are not feeble. You wear out the soles of your slippers at every ball you attend and climb stairs with the agility of a school girl. Second, no visit to Vauxhall would be complete without hearing the orchestra play.” He smiled at Miss Lacey before returning his attention to his grandmother. “Both parts.”

  Unable to contain her glee, his grandmother leaped from her chair and hugged him, her powdered face soft against his own. “I know you disapprove of displays of affection,” she murmured, “but I simply cannot restrain myself. Thank you, for it shall surely be an evening to remember.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Alex glanced over his grandmother’s thin shoulder at Miss Lacey, who essentially held court from her velvet ottoman, smiling as though inordinately pleased with the scene—which she’d directed from beginning to end.

  Worse, he suspected she was only getting started.

  Chapter EIGHT

  “We should have come by coach to Kennington Lane,” the duke grumbled in Beth’s ear.

  “That does seem rather obvious now,” she retorted.

  Blast. How could she have known that a squall would pop up and the heavens would suddenly unleash a torrent of rain? If she had known, she never would have insisted that passing through the water entrance to the pleasure garden was part of the experience that the duke’s grandmother should not be denied.

  Unfortunately, the boat he’d hired to transport their small party across the Thames to Vauxhall Gardens rocked like it was making a transatlantic voyage. Chilly raindrops pelted them, and while the duchess sat beneath a velvet canopy, Beth attempted to shield her from the blowing rain with her parasol—which promptly lost its battle with the wind and flipped inside out.

  “Good heavens!” the duchess cried. Beth struggled valiantly with the wretched parasol and barely refrained from cursing.

  The duke’s friend, Lord Darberville, held the side of the boat in a white-knuckled grip and moaned each time the boat crested a wave and dipped.

  Beth’s sister Julie, on the other hand, embraced the wicked weather. Raising her face to the sky and closing her eyes, she laughed. “What a grand adventure this night is turning out to be.”

  “The excitement is only beginning,” the duke announced dryly. “If another whitecap broadsides our boat, we’ll all be going for a swim.”

  Lord Darberville clutched his stomach and groaned.

  The duke stepped in front of his grandmother’s seat, protecting her from the worst of the wind. Then, facing Beth and pointing to her parasol, he barked, “Give it to me.”

  Reluctantly, she handed it to him and watched as he efficiently wrestled it into its former shape—if one discounted a few broken spokes beneath the torn silk. Heaving a sigh, she closed it as best she could and resigned herself to a thorough soaking.

  “Here.” The duke shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Beth’s shoulders. Warmth enveloped her, and a clean, slightly spicy scent filled her senses.

  Gathering her wits, she shook her head. “I can’t wear your jacket.”

  “I beg to differ,” he said curtly. “You’re wearing it now.”

  True. The duke’s torso, meanwhile, was clad in only a waistcoat and his shirtsleeves. Both garments grew wetter by the second.

  “That’s not what I meant, as you’re well aware.” And yet, Beth didn’t remove the duke’s jacket. She should shrug it off and thrust it back at him. Nay, she would. Just as soon as the chill left her bones or the rain subsided a little.

  “So, you’d rather be drenched and risk catching your death’s cold than be seen wearing a gentleman’s jacket?”

  Well, it did seem rather ridiculous when he put it that way. But the issue wasn’t her pride so much as it was pure self-preservation.

  He had to know it wasn’t proper for a young miss—or even a youngish one, as the case may be—to wear any gentleman’s jacket. But to wear the Duke of Blackshire’s jacket was far, far worse. Entirely beyond the pale. She might as well place an ad in the Lady’s Magazine announcing to all of London that she was the duke’s latest conquest. Beth could practically feel the lorgnettes of nearby boat passengers trained on her, burning a hole in her back.

  “It was a kind gesture,” she said, aware that both his grandmother and her sister looked on, keenly interested in the exchange. “But I’m afraid that it might be interpreted by some as…”

  Water dripped from a curl on his forehead, and he slicked it back with one hand. “As what, Miss Lacey?”

  Swallowing, she slipped off his jacket and held it out to him. He didn’t take it. “Some might erroneously think that we are … that is, they might assume, quite falsely, mind you, that you and I…”

  Good Lord, her face was burning up in spite of the rain.

  He raised a dark brow, challenging her to complete her sentence.

  Beth forged ahead. “Some people might reach the wholly incorrect conclusion that you and I are involved. With each other.” There. Not her most graceful speech, but she’d made her point.

  A shadow darkened the duke’s face, making her heartbeat trip in her chest. She had the distinct impression she’d wounded him.

  “How absurd,” he snapped. “Heaven forbid anyone would think such a thing.”

  “My thoughts exactly,�
� Beth agreed.

  The duchess clucked her tongue—at whom, Beth couldn’t be sure.

  But she did sense that she’d done something wrong.

  Before she could determine her error, the duke accepted his jacket and stuffed his arms into it. A charming grin erased the pained look, making her wonder if she’d imagined it. “We’re almost to the dock,” he said. “Miss Juliette, I hope our safe passage isn’t too great a disappointment.”

  “It’s a shame the boat didn’t capsize,” Julie quipped, instantly lightening the mood.

  Beth stared at the toes of her soggy slippers, wishing she could be more like her younger sister—cheerful, witty, and fun-loving. The type of person who could walk into a room and make it seem warm and sunny.

  By contrast, Beth was a gray fog. Chilly. Difficult for others to read. Sometimes even off-putting. Maybe her hard, thick shell had developed after she and her sisters had been on the receiving end of one too many barbs and had been the butt of one too many jokes. All she knew for certain was that the minute she let down her guard, someone would betray her. They always did.

  “We’ve made landfall, Darby,” the duke said. “Pry your fingers off the side of the boat and disembark so we can enjoy a quart or two of burnt wine.”

  Lord Darberville grimaced at the mention of wine but clambered onto the dock, while the duke helped his grandmother to her feet. Together, the men assisted each of the women off the boat.

  “I’m glad Uncle Alistair decided to take the coach and meet us here,” Julie said. “I don’t think he would have fared well in the choppy waters.”

  “Pshaw.” The duchess removed her spectacles and dried them with the corner of her shawl. “I’ve seen bigger waves in my bathtub.”

  Everyone laughed, the rain subsided, and the merry sound of minstrels’ music floated on the waning breeze. Perhaps the evening could be salvaged after all. For the duchess’s sake, Beth hoped so.

  The duke offered his arm to his grandmother, and their party strolled away from the dock toward the garden entrance. “What would you like to do first?” Oddly, he directed the question not to his grandmother, but to Beth.