The Duke of Seduction Page 4

  Gage had been his valet when he’d left Oxford, and Beck had promoted him after the former butler had retired following Beck’s father’s death. Because he’d been with Beck for so long, he knew more about Beck’s life than anyone. That included his music, his poetry, and his masquerade as the Duke of Seduction. In fact, the nickname had been Gage’s idea.

  “I don’t want to publish any of that,” Beck said, repeating something he’d said on many occasions. The truth was that Gage was wearing him down. Maybe in another ten years, he’d be ready.

  “I know you say it’s too dark, but it’s honest and beautiful. And some of it is quite romantic.”

  “If you mean in the way that Romeo and Juliet is romantic, then yes.” Beck managed not to roll his eyes.

  Gage chuckled. “All right, some of it leans to the tragic, but not all of it.”

  Beck arched a brow at him. “You think you’ve read even half?”

  “Of course I wouldn’t know. You are rather prolific, and I know there are things you don’t share. Even with me.”

  That much was true. Beck kept his gaze from falling to the portrait of Helen.

  “I understand Miss Lennox is engaged to be married,” Gage said.

  Beck nodded. “To Sainsbury. It’s a good match. I think. What do I know?”

  “Any hint of success with the others? Though I suppose it’s too soon to tell with the last.”

  Yes, it was, but from everything Beck had observed and heard over the past two days, Lady Lavinia’s popularity had risen dramatically. He still couldn’t believe it had taken his intervention. She was exceptionally witty. He’d quite enjoyed their banter at the park the other day.

  “I am optimistic on both counts,” Beck said. “And I think I know who the next one will be.” He felt he owed it to Lady Lavinia’s friend Miss Colton to provide the same assistance. Her brother Anthony would likely appreciate it.

  Gage’s dark blue eyes flashed with surprise. “Already?”

  “She’s a friend of Lady Lavinia’s. And the sister of a friend.”

  “You have a kind and generous soul,” Gage said softly. “Sometimes I wonder, however, if you help others because you really want to help yourself.”

  The words hit Beck in the gut, making him flinch inwardly. “You think I need help?”

  “That’s not what I said. Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn.”

  Beck made a noise that was part grunt and part scoff. “You know that’s impossible.”

  Gage was a father and a friend and an irreplaceable helper all in one. He was the one constant Beck allowed himself to rely on. His stepmother’s focus was on her young son, as it should be. As Beck’s parents’ had been on him when he’d been young. Until Helen had died. And then it had all fallen apart.

  “I don’t know about that.” Gage’s tone was light, but there was truth in what he said. Beck kept some things close to himself, and once in a while, Gage tread too close. In those few instances, Beck had told him to back away. And one time in particular, Beck may have lost his temper. He didn’t do it often, but when he did, there were usually casualties.

  Beck turned his mind back to what Gage had said—that he helped others in an effort to help himself. That made sense, he supposed. And now he wanted to write about that. But first his correspondence beckoned.

  A sound from outside drew them both to rush to the window facing the street. A coach was tilted, its wheel having fallen off. Without a word, Beck hurried from the study to the hall, Gage fast on his heels.

  The late morning was cool, with a thick cloud cover. Beck glanced up, thinking it could rain. The sooner they cleaned up the mess on the street, the better.

  He dashed to the coach as the coachman was opening the door and asking the occupant if she was all right.

  “Are you injured, my lady?” The poor coachman sounded severely distraught.

  Beck turned to Gage. “Fetch Cartwright.”

  Gage took himself off to the mews to get the head groom.

  Beck pivoted back to the coach just as the occupant emerged. “Lady Fairwell.” He didn’t bother hiding his surprise.

  Her cheeks flushed a dark pink. It could have been due to the cold or the excitement of the accident, but Beck wasn’t sure it was either. “Lord Northam, what a surprise to see you here. Do you live nearby?”

  Though she’d never been to his house, of course, he suspected she knew where he lived. “Yes, right there.” He turned his head and pointed to his house.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize.” She smiled prettily as the coachman went to investigate what had happened with the wheel.

  Beck wasn’t sure he believed her, not that it mattered. “My head groom is coming to help. Hopefully, we can get this repaired and see you on your way before it rains.”

  “Perhaps you could take her ladyship home?” the coachman asked, his gaze tinged with concern. “Or keep her inside if the rain starts?”

  “I’m happy to wait inside.”

  Beck turned his head to see Matilda smiling, a glint of anticipation lighting her eyes.

  Beck considered the situation. It wouldn’t necessarily be a scandal to invite her inside under the circumstances, but he didn’t want to. He went to her side and spoke in a near whisper. “It’s probably best if you don’t come in.”

  She fluttered her lashes in open flirtation. “Why not? My coach is wrecked, and it’s going to rain. In fact, I think I just felt a drop.”

  Where? The wide brim of her bonnet shielded her face, and the rest of her was covered with gloves, gown, and pelisse. Furthermore, he hadn’t felt a thing.

  Beck looked into the street to see if he could see any drops falling. But what he saw were neighbors who’d come outside to investigate what had happened. Mrs. Law, a notorious gossip, lived across the street. She came toward them, and Beck knew there wouldn’t be an assignation between him and Matilda, not that he wanted one. In fact, there wouldn’t be an assignation ever again. Their affair was effectively over due to this scene.

  He was surprisingly relieved. “I can’t invite you inside, Tilly,” he said quietly, eyeing Mrs. Law’s approach. “Not now, not ever.”

  She sucked in a breath. “So you were trying to end things the other night when you shoved me out of Lord Evenrude’s library. You’re a beast.”

  Gage had returned with Cartwright, and Beck was fairly certain the butler had heard her comment.

  Then Mrs. Law was upon them. Her gaze fell on Beck and narrowed. “My goodness, Lord Northam, couldn’t you see fit to even don a coat? Let alone a hat or gloves?”

  “I was in a rush to make sure the occupants of this damaged coach were all right. I see you made sure to dress yourself for an excursion before you bothered to come outside.” He kept his tone light and cheery but knew she’d feel the sting of his words. Gossipy, obnoxious women like her deserved them.

  “As it happens, I do have an excursion,” she said with considerable hauteur. She turned to Lady Fairwell. “May I offer you a ride home, Lady Fairwell?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She turned a perturbed stare on Beck. “Thank you for your assistance with my coach.”

  Beck offered a bow. “It’s our pleasure, my lady. I’ll see that your repaired vehicle is delivered home. Your husband can rest assured it will be returned to him in excellent, if slightly worn, condition.”

  He hadn’t meant to make a double entendre or deliver an insult, but realized he had. As a writer, his brain sometimes made connections it shouldn’t. And as a man, sometimes those connections formed words that were perhaps better left unsaid. Ah well, it was too late now.

  Matilda’s eyes widened the barest fraction, and her lips parted briefly before she pressed them closed. Without another word, she turned and left with Mrs. Law.

  “Have a good afternoon,” Beck called after them. He went to where Cartwright leaned over the broken carriage with Matilda’s coachman. No, not Matilda any longer, Lady Fairwell. “Can it be repaired?”

  Ca
rtwright looked up from where he knelt on the street. “I think so, my lord. We’ll do our best to get it fixed posthaste. Philip and Fred are on their way with tools.”

  Beck knew the situation was in good hands with his grooms. “Excellent. Let me know if you need anything.” He turned and walked back to the house. Gage beat him there, opening the door for him.

  Once inside, Gage closed the door behind them. “Your latest paramour, I presume? Lady Fairwell, I mean, not Mrs. Law. The latter would be quite a shock.”

  “Why? I’m confident Mrs. Law has amusements outside her marriage. Have you noticed the way she looks at you?” Beck sent Gage a sideways glance tinged with humor. His butler, a widower, was quite good-looking. He drew stares from all classes wherever he went.

  Gage rolled his eyes. “I meant because you wouldn’t give her the time of day. She is not the sort of woman you pass time with.”

  No, she wasn’t. He detested the gossips and the purveyors of opinion and judgment. “Yes, Lady Fairwell was my latest paramour.”

  “Was, my lord? I take it you weren’t writing songs about her this morning? Or poems about her last night?”

  “Yes, past tense. It was a short-lived affair, which suits me fine.” In fact, he hadn’t written a thing about Matilda. Last night’s subject matter, as it so often was, had been a concoction of his imagination—a bluestocking whose attributes were ignored to everyone else’s detriment.

  He suddenly realized she was perhaps not entirely a fabrication.

  Shaking thoughts of Lady Lavinia from his head, he turned. “Back to my correspondence.”

  As Beck entered his study, he felt a pull to the guitar once more. A ballad began to fill his mind, but it wasn’t yet formed. He’d let it compose and cure, and later, he’d write it down. Unless it flitted away, as so many ideas did.

  Not every notion was worthy of words. But the best of them could create…magic.

  Chapter 3

  She walks soft, her steps kiss the sand.

  Her copper hair glows in each strand.

  She speaks sure, with wisdom and wit,

  To her charm, I wholly submit.

  * * *

  -From An Ode to Lady Lavinia Gillingham

  by The Duke of Seduction

  * * *

  Hopefully tonight’s musical performance will be entertaining.

  Lavinia determined that was the only way the evening would be saved. After a second poem, A Song for Lady Lavinia Gillingham, addressing her attributes had appeared in that morning’s paper, she’d wanted to bury her head in a book and stay in her room for a week. Her parents, however, had differing ideas.

  Mother was ecstatic and had even insisted on dragging Lavinia—and Sarah, since she loved shopping, and Lavinia would never turn down an opportunity to have her best friend at her side—to Bond Street that afternoon for something new for Lavinia to wear this evening.

  They’d actually found a ready-made gown that required only minor alterations, and so now Lavinia found herself outfitted in the most recent evening fashion. The gown was ivory with a small repeating pattern of pink flowers with green leaves. The hem bore a wide flounce with a ruffled edge and was topped with rosettes of pink silk. The short sleeves and bodice were worked with more of the pink silk and another ruffled edge. A matching wrap completed the ensemble along with a pair of ivory gloves, ivory slippers, and a bandeau for her head with another trio of pink rosettes. With the floral pattern and the profusion of rosettes and pink, she felt like a bloody garden.

  Sarah had assured her she would look lovely and would be the envy of every woman at the musical performance. Upon arriving, Lavinia squinted over the attendees in an attempt to find Sarah, but couldn’t locate her. Instead, she noticed Miss Pemberton, who’d received the Duke of Seduction’s attentions before Lavinia.

  Without pause, Lavinia marched over to the young woman who stood with a couple who were probably her parents. Miss Pemberton’s eyes lit with recognition as Lavinia approached.

  “Good evening, Lady Lavinia.”

  “Good evening, Miss Pemberton. Might we take a turn?”

  “Yes, let’s.” Miss Pemberton turned to her mother and excused herself, then linked her arm with Lavinia. They started off on a circuit of the Fortescues’ large drawing room. “I’m so glad you came to speak with me.”

  “I thought it prudent that we join forces,” Lavinia said.

  Miss Pemberton’s pale blonde head tipped forward. “Because of this Duke of Seduction nonsense.”

  Lavinia blinked at her, thrilled to hear she thought it was nonsense. “I’m so glad we agree. It’s ludicrous. The attention, I mean. No one cared who I was or what I did until he wrote a poem.”

  “A poem that isn’t based on anything,” Miss Pemberton scoffed. “I don’t know a single gentleman who could—or should—write such things about me.”

  “Me neither. It should be a scandal, but since it’s worked for three young ladies, it’s suddenly acceptable.”

  “Enviable even,” Miss Pemberton said with distaste. “My mother thinks it’s the best thing that could have happened to me.”

  “Mine too!” It felt so good to have an ally. Sarah and Fanny had, of course, been incredibly supportive, but they hadn’t endured it. Miss Pemberton had.

  “The attention might not be such a bother if the men were genuine.” Miss Pemberton peered at her with pale-lashed, light brown eyes.

  Lavinia wasn’t sure she agreed with the former sentiment, but the latter was certainly true. “They’re just too fulsome with their praise, aren’t they?”

  “What an excellent word,” Miss Pemberton said. “Yes, that’s it exactly.” She pursed her lips. “And yet three women have found happiness.”

  “Or so it seems,” Lavinia noted darkly.

  “Actually, I can attest to Miss Stewart’s contentment. She is quite thrilled to be marrying Mr. Allardyce in a few days. Theirs seems a love match.”

  Lavinia felt a slight pang of jealousy, as she always did when she learned of a couple who had married for love—like her friend Diana, who’d wed the Duke of Romsey two months ago. In fact, Diana and Romsey had arrived in town just yesterday, and Lavinia was eager to see her.

  “I’m delighted to hear of Miss Stewart’s success,” Lavinia said.

  “If you call marriage success.” There was an unmistakable edge of disdain to Miss Pemberton’s tone.

  “You aren’t in favor of marriage?”

  Miss Pemberton shrugged. “I hate that we judge a woman’s ‘success’ by her ability to wed.”

  Lavinia stopped short and angled herself toward Miss Pemberton. “It’s as if we were separated at birth.”

  Miss Pemberton laughed. “Except your hair is much darker and you are much taller than me.”

  “Only a few inches,” Lavinia said, smiling. She turned, and they started walking once more. “I really am glad Miss Stewart is happy. That’s really all that matters. What other people think doesn’t matter.”

  With a nod, Miss Pemberton tugged at the necklace adorning her throat. “I agree. I do hope Miss Lennox is happy too.”

  “We should find out.” Lavinia frowned. “Not that it matters if she isn’t. Since she’s betrothed, she’s as good as married.”

  “That’s certainly true.” Miss Pemberton exhaled. “Society’s rules are terrible, aren’t they? Just look at the Duke of Kilve and the Duchess of Romsey. Their betrothal crumbled, and it didn’t seem to bother either one of them—or their new spouses. Yet, they’ve been the center of all manner of speculative gossip.” She was speaking of Lavinia’s friend Diana.

  “Actually, I know all the parties involved,” Lavinia said. “They are as happy as anyone could be.”

  Miss Pemberton’s fair brows climbed with interest. “You know them? I’m so delighted to hear things ended up as they should have done.”

  “Yes, though that won’t stop a certain portion of Society from being malicious about it.” At least that was what Lavinia ex
pected. Already, she’d heard mumblings about Diana and her husband—and Kilve and his wife, who was a lovely woman Lavinia had met last fall.

  “They love fresh gossip—the more salacious, the better. I’m sorry to say your friend may be in for a rough patch.” Miss Pemberton let out a soft chuckle. “On the other hand, it will take some of the focus off us.”

  Lavinia would never wish her friend to suffer in her place, but recognized that Miss Pemberton could be right.

  “Actually, I should thank you,” Miss Pemberton said. “When your poem appeared last week, things relaxed a bit for me. My mother wasn’t happy about it, however.” Her tone said she cared not one whit.

  Lavinia laughed. “Glad I could help.” She squinted across the drawing room as they neared their starting point. “Who do you suppose he is?”

  “The Duke of Seduction?” Miss Pemberton joined her in searching the throng. “I’ve tried to work it out, but I can’t imagine who would write like that. Unless Lord Byron has stolen back into London without anyone noticing.”

  Lavinia laughed again. “That would not go unnoticed.”

  “Certainly not,” Miss Pemberton said with a grin. “I will let you know if I discern any clues. I have looked.”

  “I find myself listening intently to gentlemen, trying to determine if they speak in a similar cadence.”

  Miss Pemberton nodded enthusiastically. “I do the same. Unfortunately, the gentlemen think I’m terribly interested, which is usually not the case.” She flashed another smile that made Lavinia laugh.

  “I wonder why we haven’t become friends before now,” Lavinia said. “You must call me Lavinia. You are welcome to join me and my friends Miss Sarah Colton and Miss Frances Snowden anytime.”

  Miss Pemberton appeared genuinely surprised and pleased. “Thank you. My mother tends to keep me on a rather short tether, but since the poems, she’s begun to let me loose. She reasons that I need to be accessible to suitors. Whatever that means.”

  “Good heavens, she isn’t trying to see you compromised?”