Duke of Scandal (Moonlight Square, Book 1) Read online

  Lucky for her, the bachelor duke’s staff clearly wanted him wedded and settled down, and filling the house with children for them to spoil. Mostly, they trusted her because she was Major Carvel’s sister, and they were well aware that Peter had been Jason’s best mate since boyhood.

  So, no, it wasn’t by magic or chance or destiny that she had known when to show up where. It was all part of her relentless plan to plague the “monster” into loving her.

  Indeed, she had made a bit of a game of it. She knew the old saying Out of sight, out of mind. She did not intend to let him do that to her again.

  Jason was hers. He just didn’t know it yet.

  At last, their turn came to get out of the carriage and go up to the ball. Mrs. Brown swiveled her portly body toward Felicity with a surprising sparkle in her eyes.

  “How do I look?” she asked eagerly.

  “Gorgeous,” Felicity assured her. “Gerald will be stunned.”

  The older woman beamed. Praise heaven, it did not seem to matter to her beefy cousin that Mrs. Brown was nearly twenty years his senior. The older woman had inherited a sizable chunk of Aunt Kirby’s fortune, and unlike Felicity, she was willing to accept his suit.

  In her early fifties, the long-widowed Anastasia Brown had given up on men ages ago. But Cousin Gerald’s attentions, however unscrupulously motivated, had brought new life into her recently, and quite seemed to have turned back the clock. Mrs. Brown had been much more lively and easygoing, and literally looked ten years younger than she had just a fortnight ago.

  Felicity was tickled by the change. Well, romantic pursuits did seem to have that effect on people. Aunt Kirby would have laughed merrily for hours over this.

  Of course, Mrs. Brown was not blind to Gerald’s dubious motives, but these did not prevent her from enjoying the long-forgotten pleasures of male attention.

  And bully for her, Felicity thought. According to her dandyish cousin Charles, Gerald had quickly taken to his older woman.

  Charles had privately confided to Felicity that Gerald had no success at all with ladies of his own age.

  “It’s those demmed ruddy jowls,” the fashionable viscount had said with a disapproving frown.

  “I don’t think it’s ruddy jowls that are his problem, coz,” Felicity had answered. “More the fact that he’s obnoxious.”

  But it seemed that Mrs. Brown had been a chaperone long enough to have learned how to snap a younger person into line, and she had put these skills to good use on Felicity’s rude cousin. Gerald had begun showing signs, almost, of gallantry.

  As the ladies stepped out of the carriage, the evening breeze ruffled the peacock feather in Mrs. Brown’s hair and lifted the gauzy pink overskirt of Felicity’s fantastic ball gown a bit, baring her ankles. She pushed it back down with a small cry and hurried across the pavement in her dainty dancing slippers, dashing up the front steps of the massive, hotel-like building.

  As she stepped into the marble-floored entrance hall alongside her chaperone, she braced herself to learn whether or not Jason had come. The hall was bright and crowded and noisy, with countless conversations in progress at various levels of volume. The slow-moving queue from outside now continued on foot, inching up the grand staircase toward the fabled Assembly Rooms.

  She wondered if her lovable red-haired friend Trinny would be in attendance. Her family always came, but Felicity hadn’t seen the Earl of Beresford’s firstborn daughter since the last time she’d attended one of these coveted events, and that had been before Aunt Kirby had passed away.

  As far as Felicity knew, Trinny was still on her honeymoon in Scotland with Lord Roland, after the two had so romantically eloped. After all her disappointments in love, Trinny had captured the man of her dreams—one of the rakes from Jason’s own set—and Felicity couldn’t wait to hear how her friend liked married life.

  She glanced around and did not see the newlyweds in the crowd, but couldn’t help admiring the elegant interior of the Grand Albion as she waited in the line on the staircase. Twin colonnades of gray-veined marble flanked the huge entrance hall. Behind them, stately oak paneling went partway up the walls; above it the walls were painted dark green and adorned with masterful oil paintings in gilded frames. Brass sconces added light to the bright glow of the chandeliers overhead.

  Then she spotted a quiet side corridor leading toward the back of the building. At the end of the hallway, between two potted palms, she glimpsed shining wooden double doors.

  Ah, she thought. The famous gentlemen’s club at the Grand Albion.

  She knew Jason was a member because he had often taken her brother along to play cards or dine with him there. Certain rowdy things went on sometimes behind those well-polished doors. Or so she had heard.

  As she continued inching up the wide, red-carpeted staircase beside her chaperone, Mrs. Brown nodded to her many acquaintances. The older set seemed stunned to see their erstwhile dowdy friend resplendently arrayed in royal blue.

  For her part, Felicity soon noticed that her own gown was having the effect the modiste had promised. Indeed, she was a little taken aback to note the open stares directed her way before she had even reached the top of the staircase.

  Gentlemen gawked at her from the lobby below and leaned on the railing overhead to get a better look. Despite the attention she had been subjected to since word of her fortune had got out, the way they were looking at her now felt different.

  It came as rather a shock to her system. But then, she was not in regular attendance at these famous Thursday night balls at the Grand Albion, and their kind thrived on novelty.

  A little overwhelmed by all the male stares, she kept her gaze down, watching her step; old habits, like her prim and proper bearing, died hard. Carefully lifting her hem a bit, she ascended the staircase. It wouldn’t do to go tumbling headlong down the stairs with all these eyes upon her.

  Her heart was pounding when she and Mrs. Brown finally arrived at the landing above. While Mrs. Brown handed their voucher to the majordomo, Felicity noticed one fellow nearby pointing discreetly at her and asking his comrade, “Who is that stunning creature?”

  It was flattering, but only one man mattered.

  Would he come?

  Her heart was in her throat at the prospect of learning the answer to that as the majordomo beckoned them toward the doorway.

  A silent chant ran through her mind. Please be here. Please don’t let me down. Please don’t break my heart, not again, or I swear I’m done with you. It’s your last chance, Jason…your last chance…

  Then the majordomo announced them. “Mrs. Anastasia Brown and Miss Felicity Carvel!”

  They stepped into the vast ballroom. The brilliance of the many chandeliers and the warmth from the crowd washed over her, for it was already thronged. On tenterhooks, she scanned the glittering company. With her brittle smile pasted in place, she felt her heart slowly sinking as she searched for that one beloved face…

  All London seemed to be admiring her gown in that moment, but she despaired with a sense of utter defeat. The ballroom may as well have been deserted. To her, it was as empty as the deep black pit of a dormant volcano on the far edge of the world.

  He’s not here.

  She put her head down to hide the tears that sprang into her eyes.

  “Come along, dear,” murmured Mrs. Brown, well aware of Felicity’s true quest here tonight.

  She had not told her chaperone the full extent of what had happened between her and Jason in the parlor, but given that the whole staff knew they had spent the better part of an hour together in there with the door closed, Felicity had been forced to give some account of herself.

  She had admitted only to kissing him.

  Though Mrs. Brown still did not approve of the duke, the mere report of a kiss had led her scandalized chaperone to conclude that Felicity must win him.

  It was the only decent outcome.

  Nevertheless, Felicity had forbidden Mrs. Brown from meddling by lectu
ring Jason or trying to force him to comply.

  “You don’t understand,” she had told the older woman. “I love him, I know him, and if I try to pressure him, he’ll never trust me, even if he does bend to my wishes. He has to come to this decision on his own, don’t you understand?” she had asked through her tears. “Because of his rank, Jason has been hounded all his life by people with ulterior motives. If we pressure him, he might assume I only risked my reputation on purpose to trick him and snare myself a duke. That I took advantage of him, just like so many others would if he let his guard down. I won’t have it!”

  She felt sick to her stomach now, though, for she saw it didn’t matter anymore. Perhaps she should have worn a little rouge on her cheeks, for as she proceeded into the ballroom, she could feel the blood draining from her face.

  He had written in his letter that he wasn’t coming. I guess he meant it. Felicity’s steps faltered. The fire in her heart that had burned for him for so long became a pile of ashes in her chest as she realized the man she loved would never love her.

  “Now, now, didn’t you tell me he doesn’t usually come out until later in the evening?” Mrs. Brown asked under her breath.

  “Yes, but he knew this time was different,” Felicity whispered in a strangled tone.

  Just then, from behind her, the majordomo announced a name that stopped her in her tracks. “His Grace, the Duke of Netherford!”

  Felicity nearly sobbed aloud.

  She caught her breath and feigned a little sneeze to explain away the tears that suddenly welled too thickly in her eyes.

  “Bless you,” several smiling gentlemen around her offered.

  Rather mortified and not daring to turn around to see Jason, she grabbed the handkerchief out of her reticule and dabbed at her eyes, her hand shaking, fool that she was. “Oh this springtime pollen, everything is blooming…”

  It was all she could do not to break down crying like a true watering pot. Good Lord, she’d had no idea she had become this fragile over the past two weeks.

  But then, she wondered, how could she feel otherwise? She’d been heartlessly rebuffed again and again by the only man she had ever loved. The man who did everything he could to convince them both that he wanted nothing to do with her.

  Yet here he was.

  I knew it. She sniffled as she managed to get hold of herself again. I knew he’d come. He may not love me yet, but someday, he will. He has to.

  Mrs. Brown gave her arm a discreet squeeze of encouragement. Felicity glanced at her in gratitude. With that, they proceeded into the ballroom to greet the mighty patronesses of the subscription ball.

  Since the terrifying ladies had been admirers of her great-aunt and were friends with Mrs. Brown, their brief review was not as painful for Felicity as it was for most other young ladies. As she went to make her curtsy to them, she still refused to look behind her, but she was dying to see Jason’s face, read his reaction to her gown, and tell him with a glance how happy she was that he was there.

  Yet, strangely, at the same time, she felt a pulse of anger toward him for putting her through all this. Why did he pretend not to care about her when it was so obviously a lie? Did the fool think he was being noble?

  Whatever the answers were, she struggled to get her wild swings of emotion under control, knowing she must be ready for battle when they came face to face once more.

  Her decision on one point was absolutely firm, however. I’ve been chasing after that rogue since I was eight years old. Tonight, for once, let him come to me.

  Resolutely turning her attention to her other admirers, she waited to see if and how Jason would approach, and how long it might take him to do so.

  As it turned out, he sauntered toward her through the crowd as soon as she had extricated herself from a reluctant conversation with Cousin Gerald’s friend Lord Tuttle, who was known to all as a thunderous bore.

  Her heart leaped when she spotted Jason heading her way, tall and striking amid the crowd. His formal black tailcoat made his shoulders look a mile wide. He wore a snowy-white cravat and a pale silk waistcoat with small, elegant silver pinstripes.

  As his gaze locked on hers with his usual stormy intensity, she tried to steady herself, unsure how this long-awaited moment might go.

  Surrounded by scores of other well-heeled guests in their finery, Felicity observed the proper etiquette and curtsied to him politely. “Your Grace.”

  “Miss Carvel.” He bowed, following suit.

  Then they stared at each other in guarded silence.

  “You came,” she said at length, acknowledging at least that.

  “Hmm. Curiosity got the better of me. I had to see this gown.”

  She smiled ruefully and smoothed her skirts, glancing down at herself, then gazed back up at him. “And?”

  He shrugged, looking her over. “If there is a word better than splendid, I can’t think of it right now. I seem to have lost my tongue.”

  She was impressed with the pretty compliment. But the mention of his tongue made her shudder with blissful remembrance…

  “You look delicious,” he murmured, holding her stare.

  The memory of their passionate encounter on her parlor couch glowed in his dark eyes. She tucked her chin to hide her blush, pleased. Sometimes he acted so distant, she wondered if he had forgotten that day, as though the memory of her had faded into the sea of women whose favors he’d enjoyed.

  Well, his days of loose living would soon come to an end if she had anything to do with it.

  She gave him a hard stare. “We need to talk.”

  His gaze fell. “I suppose.”

  She reined in a quick surge of exasperation with him. “You do know that you owe me an apology?”

  His gaze swung guardedly to hers, but he gave no reply.

  A duke had his pride.

  “Jason.”

  “Would you settle for a dance?”

  Her lips twisted with wry patience in spite of herself. She let out a sigh, shook her head, and shrugged. “Why not. But you’ll have to wait. I’ve only got one opening left on my dance billet.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “It’s the last dance of the night.”

  She could almost hear his mental groan, but to her amusement, he suppressed it. “Let me see that.”

  “What, you don’t believe me?” she exclaimed as he pulled her dance billet out of her hand.

  “Just checking…”

  Half amused and half indignant—a familiar combination when it came to him—she folded her arms across her chest and waited.

  For a moment, she secretly admired his patrician profile while he studied the little printed card that listed the night’s dances and the names of those to whom she had promised each one.

  “Right.” He gave it back to her. “I’ll see you then, Miss Carvel.”

  She arched a brow in suspicion; he gave her a wink and sauntered away. He’s actually going to behave?

  But she should’ve known better.

  He was Naughty Netherford, after all.

  Just a few songs into the ball, the gentleman with whom she was to stand up for the fifth dance did not appear. Looking around worriedly, she moved out of the way of the couples parading toward the dance floor.

  “Miss Carvel!” When the fellow hastened over to her, he looked upset.

  Probably due to the large red wine stain spilled down the front of his clothes.

  “Oh, Miss Carvel, I’m so sorry,” the unfortunate young gentleman stammered. “I fear I’ve had a bit of an accident! I tripped, and I— Well, I must cry off. So embarrassing. I have to go home and change at once. My apologies.”

  As he dashed off, mortified by the mishap, Felicity found the Duke of Netherford standing right behind him, hands folded behind his back, a polite smile on his lips, and a sparkle of deviltry in his eyes.

  “Jason,” she said softly, “what did you do?”

  “Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am he
re to rescue you, my darling, from the dreaded fate of being left a wallflower. I believe a spot just opened up on your dance card?”

  “Unbelievable,” she said under her breath, but she refused to let him see her laugh.

  He held out a white-gloved hand and waited, his other arm gracefully tucked behind his back.

  “You’re not a monster, you are the spawn of the devil. But so be it.” She slapped her gloved hand down rather cheerfully atop his.

  His fingers closed around hers. Watching her with a gleam in his eyes, he led her to the dance floor.

  Felicity’s pulse quickened as she reached up to rest her hand on his shoulder. “Now I know why you wanted to see the list. You didn’t think I was lying.”

  “No. I wanted the waltz.”

  “You would,” she replied.

  “What I don’t understand is why you would promise such valuable real estate on your dance billet to that jackanapes.” He slid his hand around her waist and tugged her just a wee bit closer.

  “Only because he’s been whining to me about it since that garden party last week.”

  “Ha. You see?” Jason murmured. “Admit it, you’re glad. I rescued you.”

  “I admit nothing!” she averred, trembling a little at the way he cupped her right hand gently in his left. She swallowed hard. “At least you are resourceful, I’ll give you that.”

  He smiled, scanning the ballroom during the introductory bars of music before the dance started. Then he glanced down at her, and she looked up at him, and it was as though, instantly, all the days of loneliness and suffering and fear fell away.

  One moment in his arms brought the bond between them flooding back. If this was not meant to be, then nothing was. Being with this man felt like home. Even their bodies fit together perfectly.

  And, loath as she was to admit it, dancing with him was something of a lifelong dream come true.

  When they were youngsters, she had often been conscripted to help him and her brother practice their lessons with the dancing master. Jason had complied only because he’d had no choice. He had grumbled his way through it and stepped on her feet repeatedly, sometimes on purpose, for which she usually kicked him in the shins, while her brother had looked on, laughing uproariously at their battles.