But what about love?" Miss Susan Rogers had anticipated Lady Theresa Alberth’s question. It was the mental inclination of young women nowadays. She understood because she’d also once believed love was the only true concern when it came to marriage. But now, at six-and-twenty and firmly established as a spinster, she knew differently.
Lady Theresa was Lord and Lady Alberth’s only child. They sat on chairs next to their daughter and turned to Susan as if they, too, needed an answer.
Susan set her cup and saucer on the side table next to her chair. She knew her role. It was to convince Lady Theresa to obey her parents’ wishes.
“Love is important,” Susan agreed, very certain of herself and her message. After all, she’d given this lecture numerous times over just the last week as anxious parents with willful daughters had sought out her services. “But is it more important than compatibility? Than security? You will have children someday, Lady Theresa. What do you hope for them?”
A small frown line appeared between Lady Theresa’s brows.
“I’m not going to tell you,” Susan continued, “that it is as easy to love a wealthy man as it is a poor one. Or that you have obligations to your family line. I’m certain your parents have already told you all that.”
Lady Theresa nodded, her expression tense. Lady Alberth had confided in Susan earlier that their daughter believed herself in love with their land steward’s son, a Mr. Gerald Grover. They were hiring Susan to convince her differently. They wanted a good family for their daughter, and a title.
“What they say is true,” Susan said matter-of-factly. “However, that doesn’t change how one feels when one is in love.”
“Yes,” Lady Theresa agreed, half-sobbing the word.
Susan leaned forward, reaching for Lady Theresa’s hand. The girl gave it to her. “I’m going to advise you to remember that love must be tested. It can be a liar, a thief.”
Lady Theresa shook her head, but Susan pressed on. “Let me tell you my story. I was once in love. I would have willingly sacrificed everything for him. He said he loved me, too, and we were to marry. One week before the wedding, both of my parents died in a coaching accident.”
“Oh, dear,” Lady Alberth said. Her husband’s expression had gone grim. Lady Theresa listened, that frown between her brows deepening as she placed herself in Susan’s position.
“My two younger sisters and I were alone,” Susan said. “The estate went to a cousin, who did not want the responsibility of us. My betrothed had told me he loved me. It was only natural I turned to him in this difficult situation. He said everything would be fine, but on the day of our wedding, he didn’t appear for the ceremony.”
“You were left at the altar?” Lady Alberth asked.
Susan nodded. “Publicly humiliated.” The words no longer embarrassed her. She’d said them too often…to other girls…in front of other parents. “You see, my gentleman had been informed an hour before we were to be wed that my cousin refused to pay my dowry. He had other plans for the money.” She gave Lady Theresa’s hand a squeeze. “Don’t be foolish as I was. Is it so much for your parents to ask you to participate in one Season? Is your love so fragile it would not survive a few parties, a couple of balls?”
Lady Theresa looked to her parents. “Does that mean I may marry Gerald if I go through a Season?”
“The lad is unsuitable—” her father started.
“You must follow my guidelines,” Susan said, directing her comment to Lady Theresa but boldly cutting her father off. No good came from arguing with a young woman who thought she was in love.
To his credit, Lord Alberth shut up.
“If you believe in love, then this young man—what is his name?”
“Gerald,” Lady Theresa said.
“If Gerald is the one, nothing will sway your love for him, but you will be certain,” Susan assured her. “There is much at stake. I’m certain you wish to please your parents. And you don’t want to look back in life and wish you’d had the fun and excitement of at least one Season. Just one.”
Lady Theresa nodded solemnly. The frown line was still there.
Susan smiled. “So, will you join me? Just for this Season?”
Again, Lady Theresa nodded.
“You will enjoy yourself immensely,” Susan promised.
“I shall endeavor to try,” she said, directing her vow toward her anxious parents. “I will.”
“That’s all we can ask, kitten,” her father said.
Lady Theresa stood. “If you will excuse me?”
Her parents nodded. Lady Theresa gave a graceful nod to Susan and left the room.
“Well done,” Lord Alberth said, when his daughter was out of earshot. “We’ve been attempting to bring her to this conclusion for weeks.”
“She is very much ‘in love,’” Susan observed.
“They all are at this age,” Lady Alberth said. “I blame myself for not having been more vigilant over her when she was around Gerald Grover.”
“They played together as children,” her husband said dismissively. “You couldn’t have seen it coming. After all, we thought we’d raised her better than this.”
“Is Mr. Grover a bad sort?” Susan asked.
“No, he isn’t. But he’s not suitable,” Lord Alberth said, and that was that. He changed the subject. “You handled her very well, Miss Rogers. And you come to us highly recommended. However, I do have a concern about your fee.”
“My fee is not negotiable, my lord. Over the past four years, I have seen not only to the marriages of my sisters to respected, highly placed men—” She did not need to add the word “wealthy.” It was assumed. “—But also the marriages of several of your peers’ daughters. Lady Theresa is not the first girl to be in love with an unsuitable man at the beginning of the Season and wed to a suitable man by the conclusion of it. With my guidance, of course.”
“Of course,” Lord Alberth said, still sounding unconvinced.
“And Miss Rogers knows a great deal, my lord,” Lady Alberth chimed in, “that not even we know. Matters I wouldn’t have thought of.”
“Such as?” he asked.
Lady Alberth shot Susan a bright smile. “Tell him about the Irish Duke.”
The “Irish Duke” was turning out to be a very fine selling point for Susan’s services. It exhibited her complete knowledge of the Rules of Society. Several weeks ago she’d discovered an odd bit in the Order of Precedence, the list that determined ceremonial importance for the peers of the Realm.
She now explained to Lord Alberth. “You would be pleased if your daughter married a duke.”
“Very pleased.”
“But what if I told you not all dukes are the same? For example, in the Order of Precedence, the Irish Duke will always be at the end of the line.”
Lord Alberth frowned. He had the same frown line between his brow as his daughter.
“For state dinners,” Susan assured him, “the Irish Duke and his duchess will sit at the foot of the table if there is no one but dukes in attendance. They will be the last to enter to pay their addresses to the King and the last to be admitted to any ceremonial function. Is that what you wish for your daughter, my lord? To be last?”
“Of course not.”
“I thought not,” Susan agreed. “And that is where my services are most appreciated. I will steer your daughter away from the Irish Duke. I will keep her safe from his attentions.” She didn’t add that there were only two Irish dukes in the world and both safely tucked away in Ireland. Besides, one’s title had been attainted for plotting rebellion and the other was so old, a wife would have been useless to him.
“Let us also remember how good Miss Rogers was in handling Theresa,” Lady Alberth reminded him.
Susan could see his reluctance and held her breath. The very well respected Lord Alberth was not a man who liked to spend money. But with a commission from him, there was no telling what wealthy doors might open to her. She might finally be able to afford a small house on Beech Street and a few other creature comforts—
“Yes, very well,” his lordship said. “Didn’t know about the Irish Duke. I don’t want my daughter last at anything. Besides, I’ve never been fond of the Irish. Keep the fellow and that dratted lad Grover away from my daughter,” he ordered, rising.
“I will, my lord,” Susan said, also coming up to stand. Keeping unwelcome suitors away from precious daughters was all part of her services. “Thank you for your trust in me.”
Lord Alberth grunted a response and left the room. It was left to Lady Alberth to clap her hands, and say happily, “I can’t wait to tell Claire Bollinger that we, too, have hired you. She thought she was so special, but now, we’ll see which daughter marries first.”
She and Susan finished the arrangements. Her fee would be paid at the end of the Season, with a bonus if Lady Theresa married a “suitable” gentleman.
Susan was quite pleased with herself when the butler escorted her to the door, and she went out into the damp February afternoon—until she saw the coach and footman waiting for her.
For a second, Susan was tempted to go the other way, but knew it would be useless. The coat of arms on the door told her it was her sister Ellen this time.
Susan went down the steps and walked to the coach door a footman held open for her. She climbed in, not surprised when her sister launched into her without preamble.
“What were you doing at Lord Alberth’s? Susan, don’t tell me you were peddling yourself to the Earl of Alberth?”
“Fine, I won’t.” Susan reached for the door handle.
Ellen grabbed her arm. They were three years apart, Susan being the oldest. They were both honey blondes who looked enough alike with their gold-brown eyes for people to think them twins, except that the cut of Ellen’s clothes was far more expensive than Susan’s.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Ellen snapped.
Susan shrugged.
Her brows coming together in consternation, Ellen said, “You must stop this. You mustn’t keep going around amongst people of Dodgin’s set and offering yourself for hire.” Dodgin was her husband, Lord Dodgin. He was some twenty years older than Ellen and a rather strict man. Susan hadn’t realized how strict when she’d arranged Ellen’s marriage to him. She’d feared Ellen would be miserable. Instead, Ellen had turned out to be just like him.
“I have no choice, Ellen. I must support myself.”
“We’ve offered you room.”
“In the country,” Susan objected. “And with the role of playing companion to Dodgin’s eldest sister. No, thank you.”
“I can’t believe you are so ungrateful—”
“I can’t believe you’ve forgotten everything I’ve done for you. I sold everything we had to bring you and Jane to London. I took care of you. Without me, the three of us would still be penniless in Little Hereford.”
“And we do appreciate you,” Ellen assured her. “If I could return the favor, I would. However, Dodgin doesn’t want my spinster sister idling around. You know how he is.”
“I’ve learned. And I’ve learned how Jane and Sir Alec are, too. I refuse to be a charity case in my own family. I value my independence, Ellen, and you’d best warn Dodgin to become accustomed to hearing my name in his circles. This Season will make me a success, especially after I find a husband for Lord Alberth’s daughter, and you’d all best come to peace with it.”
“We’ll do everything we can to stop you,” Ellen answered.
“You may try your best,” Susan responded, and opened the door. She climbed out of the coach, refusing the footman’s hand, and marched down the street, head held high for the first time in years.
Two weeks later…
It’s the Irish Duke.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“I don’t know. I was certain Bollinger told me he was not invited.”
“Ummm, the Irish Duke.”
Susan heard the rush of excited whispers around the ballroom floor. They were saying something about an Irish duke, but she wasn’t certain she was hearing correctly because she was far too preoccupied searching for Lady Theresa.
The girl was a trial. Her beloved Gerald had followed her to London, and he was most adept at sneaking his way into every social occasion. The only time Susan hadn’t caught sight of him was when Lady Theresa and several of her other charges were presented at Court—and that was probably only because Susan wasn’t there herself.
He wasn’t completely unrespectable. In fact, he was rather handsome and had a charm about him. It was also obvious he was madly and completely in love with Lady Theresa.
Gerald had shown up at the ball this evening. Last night at the Barrington ball, the young couple had wanted to dance, and it had taken all of Susan’s persuasive powers to convince them a public spectacle would only make Lady Theresa’s father angrier. Reluctantly, they had agreed she was right, but Gerald wouldn’t leave until he knew he could spend a few minutes with Lady Theresa sometime over the next few days. Before Susan knew what she was doing, she found herself agreeing to chaperone Lady Theresa for a rendezvous.
It was a devil of a promise and one Susan knew she’d have to renege on. She’d feel bad for doing so. She liked Lady Theresa, and Gerald seemed the sort of man who would make a good husband. If only he had money or prestige—
A tingling at the nape of her neck brought her thoughts to a halt. Some inner sense warned her that something was amiss. She didn’t experience it often, but when she did, she paid attention. She prayed it wasn’t a disaster with Lady Theresa or one of her other eight charges.
Susan turned, looking around the crowded room for the reason her every sense had gone alert—and then she saw him.
For a second she could barely think, let alone move.
A tall, dark-haired man with a square, masculine jaw, broad, broad shoulders was staring at her with such intensity it was as if his gaze reached across the distance between them and touched her. He was the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on.
She knew she should look away, but she couldn’t.
Feelings she’d long thought dead to her forever, feelings of desire and lust and yearning, reared their ugly heads and reminded her she was still young, still alive.
And it wasn’t just his looks that attracted her. There was a presence about him that seemed to make all other men fade in comparison, a presence that made her feel vulnerable, something she’d vowed she’d never let happen again—
“Miss Rogers, please don’t be upset with me, but it was my brother who brought the Irish Duke to the ball. Miss Rogers? Miss Rogers, are you all right?”
Susan had to give herself a little shake to make Miss Arabella Riggins’s nasal voice make sense. The young woman, a slender, fluffy blonde who often acted completely helpless, stood before her, hands clasped in worry.
“I’m fine,” Susan said, knowing she sounded a bit dazed. “I just had something else on my mind. What were you saying? Something about someone’s coming to the ball?” She glanced over her shoulder and was disappointed to see that the dark-haired gentleman no longer stood where she’d last seen him, and there was no time to search for him because Miss Arabella was prattling on again.
“The Irish Duke, Miss Rogers. I didn’t know Archibald was going to bring him, or I would have warned you.”
The Irish Duke? Susan shook her head. “Miss Arabella, please don’t worry. There is no Irish duke here tonight.” Because there is no Irish duke in England.
“Oh, but there is,” Miss Arabella assured her. “I know because he is a friend of my brother.”
Susan thought Miss Arabella a bit of a silly goose, but making up an Irish duke was behaving beyond goosey.
And then their hostess, the silver-haired Lady Bollinger, skillfully slid up to Susan to say, with a smile on her face but desperation in her eyes, “I had to admit him. He and my husband are friends. I pray you to forgive me. I didn’t send him an invitation, but he is here all the same.”
“Who’s he?” Susan asked, confused.
“The Irish Duke,” Lady Bollinger said, the purple plumes in her hair shaking with her agitation.
“You mean, there is an Irish duke?” Susan said.
“Of course there is,” Lady Bollinger answered. “You knew that. You told us about him. The Duke of Killeigh. You’ve warned all of us against him.”
“We’ve attempted to do everything we could to avoid him,” Miss Arabella said. “But he is on a hunt for a wife. Lady Elizabeth had to run from the room last night at Lord and Lady Barrington’s ball or else she would have been forced to take the floor with him.”
“Run from the room? Away from a duke?” Susan was stunned. That was shocking behavior. Her charges should not behave that way, but then where had she been last night when all this was going on—?
She’d been having a very sincere and frank talk with Lady Theresa and her Gerald.
Lady Bollinger flipped open her fan. “You needn’t worry. The girls managed to skirt any of His Grace’s advances quite successfully.” She made a rather nasty laugh. “My husband will be furious the duke is here tonight. He has reconsidered their acquaintance after you explained the Order of Precedence and no longer wishes to speak to him.”
Susan groped for words, horrified at the rudeness. “But he’s a duke.”
“And he is also, as you very rightly pointed out, Irish. An Irish duke. Lord Bollinger opined to me yesterday evening that considering the Irish dukes have fomented rebellion since time began, the Crown would be better off without them. I answered that was a very astute opinion and urged him to see what he could do in Parliament.”
“He would talk to Parliament?” Susan raised a hand to her forehead, trying to make sense of all this. “We must remember,” she said, forcing herself to smile, an expression that actually hurt at this moment, “that Killeigh is still a duke. Irish dukes are important.”
Lady Bollinger dismissed her words with a wave of her hand. “But not important enough for my daughter. She will not be last for anything.”
“I don’t want to be last either,” Miss Arabella injected.
Susan could have buried her face in her hands in frustration. Who would have thought that her clever little speech to convince parents that they needed her services and to pay her handsomely for them would be taken so literally?
Who would have thought there was an Irish duke in London?
“Of course, there is nothing we can do about his presence now,” Lady Bollinger opined. “However, I wanted to warn you, Miss Rogers, to be on the alert. The Duke of Killeigh is a handsome man—”
“Very handsome,” Miss Arabella echoed.
“You need to keep our precious little pigeons away from him,” Lady Bollinger finished, giving Miss Arabella a motherly tap on the arm with her fan. “We can’t have his handsome countenance luring them away.”
“I shall do my best, my lady,” Susan replied, more than overwhelmed at the moment.
What a devil of a mess.
She needed to go somewhere to think. She needed to concoct a new story, one that didn’t brand the Irish Duke an Undesirable.
Lady Bollinger had spied someone she knew who was more important than Susan and gone floating off, fan and purple plumes waving in the air. Miss Arabella was claimed by her next dance partner, a pockmarked baronet’s son who would never be as good a catch as a duke, Irish or not.
Seeing that all her charges, including Lady Theresa, were on the dance floor with proper partners, Susan moved toward a corridor. She needed a moment of solitude to consider this new twist with the Irish Duke.
However, she’d not taken more than a few steps when a strong hand clamped down on her arm. She turned with a start to realize that the dark-haired stranger had come up silently behind her.
“Don’t speak, don’t even think until we are outside alone,” he said. The lightest trace of Ireland accented his words. He opened the glass door leading out into the garden.
Susan attempted to dig in her heels. She feared what that accent could mean. “I do not know you, sir. I shall not go off alone with you.”
“You don’t know me?” the gentleman repeated. “And yet everyone is quoting what you’ve said about me. Let me introduce myself, I’m the Duke of Killeigh.”
With those words, he whisked her outside to the seclusion of the winter night.
Miss Susan Rogers was not like any spinster of Roan’s acquaintance, especially those with the charge of other people’s children.
He’d pictured either a robust dumpling of a woman or a thin, spare one, both with gray hair and frown lines.
Instead, he found himself commandeering a woman with golden blond hair, full curves in all the right places, and brown eyes alive with intelligence. He’d noticed her immediately when he’d entered Bollingers’ ballroom. She’d stood out like a beacon from all other women there—and it made him unreasonably angry.
He didn’t want to be attracted to her. Not after what she’d done to him.
Roan Gillray, the fourth Duke of Killeigh, had come looking for a wife. Other men who frequented the round of balls and parties comprising the Season laughed about the Marriage Mart, and many vowed to steer clear of matchmaking mamas—but Roan wanted to be ensnared. He was ready to marry.
Perhaps it was because he’d been to war. He knew how short and precious life was. There had been times on the battlefield when he’d doubted he would make it out alive…and many lonely nights when he’d longed for the grace of female companionship. He wasn’t thinking about sex. He’d never lacked for bed partners. What he wanted, what he needed was something more…
And then he’d been blessed to inherit the dukedom from his cousin, an ill-humored, bitter man who had shut out all in the family. No one had been more surprised than Roan when he learned he was his cousin’s heir, and not just to the title but also the old miser’s carefully hoarded fortune.
Well, Roan had plans for that fortune. He was anxious to throw off the mantle of soldier and take up the hoe as farmer. He wanted peace and a place on this earth that was all his. He liked the idea of knowing where his bed would be at night and having a woman who understood his ways and cared for him sleeping beside him in the middle of it. She didn’t need to love him—Roan had seen too much of the cruelty in men to believe there was such a thing as love—but he wanted a woman who liked him. Now there was a good word. He wanted someone in his life to like him.
Except now, everyone acted as if he was a pariah, and it was all because of this woman, who had the longest lashes he’d ever seen—
Miss Rogers jerked her arm away from his hold, and he let her go, half-expecting her to march inside and denounce him. It was anger that had driven him forward, but the cold air had slapped some sense into him.
However, instead of storming inside, she stood her ground. “You are angry,” she said, “and you have every right to be.” She straightened her back. “I have unintentionally maligned you. Please accept my apology, Your Grace.”
“Unintentionally, Miss Rogers?” He gave a bitter laugh, his anger welling inside him all over again. “You singled me out, and you don’t know me.”
“I didn’t single you out. I was talking about Irish dukes in general.”
“There aren’t that many of us.”
“Yes, and frankly, I didn’t expect that there would be one in London.”
“So it would be acceptable to malign my title if I wasn’t in London?” he asked, a bit confused by her reasoning. “Or were we just never supposed to leave the island?”
Miss Rogers sighed and moved away from the door as if she didn’t want to be overheard. “I only told everyone the truth about the Order of Precedence. The Irish dukes do follow the English and Scottish dukes.”
“Yes, but we are ahead of all the marquises and viscounts and everyone else of any country.”
“I know,” Miss Rogers agreed. “But I’ve discovered no parents want their daughter to be last in anything. It really is quite extraordinary, but it has worked to my advantage. You know what I do for my living, do you not, Your Grace?”
“You see that young women introduced to society are successful in their hunt for husbands.”
“I would frame it a bit more gently, but yes, that is what I do. And I am very good at it. But this year, because of my pointing out the Order of Precedence, I have had more parents than usual seek out my services. I didn’t mean to blacken your name although it has been an excellent selling scheme.”
Her honesty was refreshing. It had seemed to Roan that every woman he’d met in London spoke in riddles and hidden meaning. Miss Rogers didn’t flinch at plain speaking.
So he felt completely within his rights to say, “I’m certain it has been a wonderful scheme, but now you must tell your employers the truth.”
“But I have told the truth,” she informed him.
“Yes, but they don’t understand that an Irish duke is as good if not better than most the other peers of lower rank,” he answered.
“Isn’t that matter open to debate?” she suggested.
“It is not open to debate,” he replied.
“We are debating it right now.”
Roan frowned, mentally taking back everything he’d thought about plain speaking.
“Miss Rogers, you say you mean no disrespect, but you refuse to clear up the misunderstanding you created.”
She crossed her arms, looking out into the night before countering, “I am sorry for the misunderstanding, Your Grace. You seem to be every inch the gentleman. However, I have not misled anyone about the Order of Precedence. If they chose to take it to the extreme—well, what can I do?”
“You can tell them they are wrong,” Roan answered, his temper returning.
“But they are not.”
“They are.”
“No, I’ve studied my The New Peerage. I am correct, although I regret no mention was made of your holding the title. My copy is several years old.”
“Or is it that you do not wish to look the fool, Miss Rogers? You would rather I play that part.”
Even in the moonlight, he could see her blush. She crossed her arms as if cold. “It is my livelihood after all,” she murmured.
Roan could give her that. Having been one of the genteel poor, he understood her position, and he came to a decision. “I understand. However, I find it insulting to have young women run from me when I ask them to dance.”
“It was extremely rude of Lady Elizabeth, and I shall take her to task. If you wish, she will be happy to dance with you this evening.”
“I’m not interested in taking her to task,” Roan said, an idea coming to him. “However, you could dance with me. I believe that would settle the matter.”
“Me? Dance with you?”
Roan nodded.
“Oh, no, Your Grace, I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I did that…” She let her voice trail off.
“Then it would be the same as admitting you were wrong about the Irish Duke,” he finished for her.
She took a worried step away from him. “I am to be here for my charges, not for my personal entertainment.”
“Oh, this wouldn’t be personal, Miss Rogers, and you know it. It would be a matter of settling business between us.”
“But then everyone would question what I’d said about the Irish duke.”
“Exactly,” he agreed.
“And I can’t let that happen. I don’t receive payment for my services until the Season is over.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said.
“It is a risk,” she admitted, “but I’m paid more money that way.”
“And making me the outcast of society is about money.”
”No.” Miss Rogers made an impatient sound. “I had an idea and…it didn’t work for you. But I will rectify the situation if you will give me a bit of time.”
“I don’t want to give you time,” Roan said, enjoying the game. “I want a dance.”
“I can’t give you a dance. It would ruin me.”
He moved in closer. “Or it would make us both the talk of London—”
The door opened, and a young couple all but tumbled out the door they were so anxious to throw themselves into each other’s arms. Unfortunately for them, Miss Rogers was there.
“Miss Rogers?” the young girl said in surprise.
“Lady Theresa,” Miss Rogers said in tones of disapproval. “Good evening, Mr. Grover. The two of you come with me.”
And before Roan registered what was happening, Miss Rogers marched the hapless lovers back inside the door…and escaped him.
Susan was relieved to be free of the Duke of Killeigh’s overwhelming presence. The man was a menace to her.
He was also devilishly attractive.
But she couldn’t dance with him. Not until this Season was over. Her creditability and livelihood depended upon it.
So, she laid into Mr. Gerald Grover with great enthusiasm. Anything to put distance between herself and the Duke of Killeigh’s disturbing challenge.
A dance? How ridiculous. How dangerous.
The hapless Gerald was happy to slink off when she was done. Of course, Lady Theresa was in tears, so it took a good part of an hour to placate her and extract further promises to behave. She really was a good girl but infatuated with her Gerald. Fortunately, Lady Theresa had been so shocked to see Susan, she hadn’t noticed the duke.
After the reprimand, Susan had to hurry back out to the ballroom to check on her other charges.
All in all, it was a very hectic hour…but she did notice that the Duke of Killeigh was gone. He’d left. Apparently he hadn’t wanted that dance after all.
Susan stood alone by a potted palm, away from those enjoying the ball, and was surprised by how disappointed she felt. She knew she shouldn’t. Hadn’t John taught her how men made promises they had no intention of keeping?
Except, for some irrational reason, she hadn’t expected that from the Duke of Killeigh.
With a shake of her head, she told herself she was being silly. She couldn’t dance with the duke. It was better he’d given up on her—
A footman carrying a silver salver approached, interrupting her thoughts. “Miss Rogers?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“This is for you.” The servant bowed and offered the salver. On it was the Duke of Killeigh’s card.
Susan picked up the card and caught sight of the bold, slanted handwriting on the back of it. She waited until the footman had withdrawn to read what had been written.
I will have my dance. Killeigh
She folded the card and slipped it into her glove. Life had suddenly become very complicated.
And more than a bit exciting.
If he was to claim his dance with Miss Rogers, Roan needed to be at the balls she attended with her highborn charges. There was the problem.
Her nonsense about the Irish Duke and the Order of Precedence had effectively cut him off from society, or at least that corner of it.
He stewed on this matter for a good three days. When not stewing, he made it a point to learn everything he could about Miss Susan Rogers, and what he learned, he liked.
She was actually from a good family. Her sisters were married to Lord Dodgin and Sir Alec Lawson or Loud son , as Roan liked to think of him. Sir Alec was one of the most annoying people of his acquaintance, and rumor had it that Dodgin wasn’t much better.
Perhaps that was why Miss Rogers lived in a modest set of rooms off Olivia Street. She might have decided poverty was better than living under either of their roofs. Certainly they would have extracted their pound of flesh for supporting her.
At last, his stewing hatched a plan so devilishly delightful, he knew every door in London would open to him, especially the ones hosting Miss Rogers.
The next day, he enlisted the aid of his friend, the Honorable Mr. Rees Trenholm, and they went to White’s. Roan chose a time when he knew the club would be the most crowded.
“I need Raggett,” Roan informed a staff member. Raggett was White’s proprietor, “And the Betting Book.”
At the words “Betting Book,” heads turned. The book was the most famous in London. There wasn’t a man in the room who didn’t enjoy a good wager, and Roan planned to make a brilliant one. It helped that Lord Alberth and Lord Bollinger sat not too far away at a table with a group of their cronies who were probably clients of Miss Rogers, too.
Roan could not have asked for a better opportunity.
Raggett wasted no time answering Roan’s summons, the Betting Book under his arm. “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to see you today,” he said with a bow.
“We wish to enter a wager,” Roan told him. He and Trenholm stood in the middle of the room, and he knew many were listening.
“Very well,” Raggett said, crossing to a secretary, where there was pen and ink. He dipped the nib of the pen, and said, “Your wager, Your Grace?”
“One hundred pounds,” Roan said, then stopped for dramatic effect, wanting every ear in the room on him. The talking had died down. “No,” he said, “make that one thousand pounds—” Now he had their interest. Of course, the color had drained from Trenholm’s face. “—That I will dance with Miss Susan Rogers before a fortnight has passed.”
Even Raggett blinked in speculative surprise at him. The stalwart proprietor had certainly heard of Roan’s dilemma. There wasn’t much that was discussed under White’s roof that escaped him. He lowered his head and recorded the bet.
Trenholm did his best to look brave. He didn’t succeed until Roan leaned close, and, in a side voice, assured him, “Don’t worry, I’ll cover both bets.”
His friend broke into a smile and immediately nudged Raggett. “And I’ll wager two thousand pounds that the lady will not dance. What do you say, Your Grace?”
What Roan had to say, he’d save for later, when he and Trenholm were alone. As it was, he had no choice but to match the bet.
Of course, there was no one within earshot who was not listening now.
All Roan had to do was say nonchalantly, “Is there anyone else for this wager?” to find out exactly who was listening. A host of men jumped at the opportunity and placed their wagers on both sides of the bet. Alberth and Bollinger were not among their number, but that was fine with Roan. He thanked Raggett for his attention to the matter and, with a nudge to Trenholm to follow, left the club.
Outside, he wasted no time in saying, “Two thousand?”
Trenholm grinned. “I thought since you were being expansive…”
Roan grumbled under his breath, but he wasn’t angry. The size of the wager alone was enough to make it the talk of London.
“Do you believe this will work?” Trenholm asked, suddenly sober.
“It will,” Roan said confidently. “Few can resist a wager or the opportunity to make a little mischief. I will have an invitation to a ball Miss Rogers will be attending by nightfall.”
And he was right. Where once no messengers had come to Roan’s door, the invitations now came pouring in. He had only to pick and choose. Some of the hostesses had written personal notes, assuring him that Miss Rogers would be in attendance.
His plan had worked better than he could have imagined…because as much as the ton adored putting on airs, they loved a good wager more.
Susan couldn’t put her finger on it but there was something in the air. She looked around yet another ballroom, keeping a watchful eye on her charges but also aware that everyone else seemed to be keeping their eyes on her.
It was very disconcerting—especially since after that night at the Bollinger affair, she’d half expected to see the Duke of Killeigh again, and hadn’t.
She’d told herself she was being silly. No duke, not even an Irish one, would worry himself over a nobody like herself. Besides, the Duke of Killeigh had been spitting angry with her when last they parted. Still, that hadn’t stopped her from looking at his card every night before she went out—
Miss Arabella came running up to her, interrupting her thoughts. “Have you heard the news, Miss Rogers?”
“What news?” Susan asked. The girl was so flushed with excitement, Susan wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that Napoleon had been defeated.
“About the wager the Irish Duke has made that he will claim a dance from you.”
“He made a wager?” For a second Susan felt faint. No wonder everyone was staring at her.
“In the Betting Book at White’s,” Miss Arabella said, and was quickly seconded by the other girls who had joined them. They all started speaking at once about what they’d overheard and from whom.
Susan was horrified. Such notoriety could ruin her business.
“Miss Rogers?” Lady Alberth’s voice intruded on her disturbing thoughts. “May we have a moment?” She was flanked by Lady Bollinger and Lady Riggins, Arabella’s mother.
Susan raised a hand to her forehead. This was not going to be good. “Of course.”
They left their daughters behind and found a private spot in their hosts’ library.
“You’ve heard about the wager?” Lady Alberth said.
“I have,” Susan admitted. “Just this moment.”
“I am not pleased. I discussed this with the other mothers, and they are as unhappy as I. A genteel woman should not have her name listed in the Betting Book at White’s.”
“My lady, I did not seek this out—” Susan started.
“That may be true,” her ladyship said, “but we’ve been talking amongst ourselves and we believe this sort of nonsense deflects attention away from where it should be—on our daughters.”
“You are very right, my lady,” Susan hurried to agree. She could not afford to have everyone walk off. Her dreams of her little house on Beech Street were fading quickly.
“Furthermore,” Lady Bollinger chimed in, “you convinced us and our daughters that the Duke of Killeigh was unacceptable. Now he has singled you out, has announced to everyone he wishes to dance with you. I wonder if you had an ulterior motive all along. Perhaps you wanted him for yourself?”
“We did not believe we were hiring a fortune huntress when we engaged your services,” Lady Riggins jumped in.
“You did not,” Susan assured her. This is madness. Why is the duke doing this?
“Then you shall see this matter is set right?” Lady Alberth said.
“I shall attempt to do so,” Susan promised.
“’Attempt’ is unacceptable,” her ladyship countered. “You will set it to rights or not see a shilling from my husband.”
“And whatever you do, don’t dance with the Duke of Killeigh,” Lady Bollinger said, pointing her fan at Susan for emphasis.
“Or else you will set the wrong example for our daughters,” Lady Riggins agreed. “You can’t marry a duke. Why, you are of the working class now. I’ve had enough trouble explaining to Theresa why she must not be so moony-eyed for her Gerald without having to explain your infatuation with a duke.”
“My infatuation? Lady Alberth, I have not encouraged the duke or gone in search of his attention—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Lady Alberth said. “You have it, and you will end it.”
“And we want proper husbands for our daughters. We are paying for it, and we expect it,” Lady Bollinger added.
Susan could have pointed out that they weren’t paying for it yet, but they weren’t in a listening mood.
The peeresses left the room. However, the moment the door closed, it opened again to let in her sisters, Jane and Ellen.
“I warned you,” Ellen said.
“Were you listening at the keyhole?” Susan accused.
Jane dismissed the charge with a wave of her hand. “One did not need to eavesdrop to know what was being said in this room. Alec warned you that you would embarrass us, and so you have.”
“I have done nothing of the sort,” Susan said.
“Your name is in the Betting Book at White’s,” Ellen replied with a self-righteous lift of her chin.
“Many women have their names in that book. The club members wager on everything from who will marry whom to who will drop her baby first to who has the bluest eyes.” A headache was starting to form behind her eyes. “This is ridiculous. One should expect at least a measure of support from one’s family.”
“You were offered the opportunity to live with Dodgin’s aunt,” Jane pointed out.
“I don’t call that support,” Susan muttered mutinously, and started for the door.
“Wait,” Ellen said. “We are not finished talking to you.”
“But I am finished talking to you,” Susan answered, her hand on the door handle.
“But we didn’t come about the scene in the library,” Ellen said. “One of your charges, Lady Theresa, I believe, was crying her eyes out in the Ladies’ Retiring Room. We thought you would want to know.”
“See? We do offer you our support,” Jane said, cattily.
Susan didn’t make a response but opened the door and left the room.
In the corridor, she tried her best to think clearly. It was hard when she was so hurt and angry by her sisters’ response to this crisis, and it was a devil of a fix. The best solution was to avoid the duke completely, which shouldn’t be hard. After all, because of her, he wasn’t being invited to anything.
The realization was a calming balm for her frantic thoughts. For the first time since she’d heard news of the wager, Susan drew a full breath and released it. All would be well. She needed to focus her attention on her charges. The Duke of Killeigh could take care of himself.
She hurried to the set of rooms set aside for the convenience of the ladies. Lady Theresa was not there, although the attending maid had seen her earlier, “Sobbing her eyes out.” Susan left to search for her in the ballroom.
However, just as she entered the ballroom, the butler announced, in grand, round tones, a new arrival to the ball. “His Grace, the Duke of Killeigh.”
Susan froze. She dared not take another step into the room. Was it her imagination that everyone turned almost as one and looked right at her?
Almost as one the crowd stepped back, creating a direct line between her and the duke standing proudly in the doorway. He looked magnificently handsome in his tailored black evening attire. That irrational, confusing pull between them was even stronger than it had been when first they’d met.
This wasn’t just any man; this was one she had been fated to meet.
And then she thought of the wager…
Roan savored the moment. All eyes in the room, including those of the musicians, who rumor said had put down a quid or two of their own on the wager, were on him and the lovely Miss Rogers.
He had to admit, she had been amazingly easy to conquer. He’d barely even had to lay siege. One wager to catch the imagination of the ton, and she hadn’t stood a chance.
He walked forward.
Miss Rogers stood completely composed, but there was a gleam of anger in her golden brown eyes. She didn’t like losing any more than he did.
However, she’d been neatly outflanked.
As for himself, he’d never felt more alive in his life. He could literally feel the rush of his own blood through his veins, the pounding of his heart.
He didn’t bow. He was a duke, after all. But he inclined his head and offered one gloved hand. “Miss Rogers, would you do me the honor of a dance?”
The room had gone so silent, his words seemed to echo off the wall—or was that because in one split second, he’d found himself anxious as to her response, and not because his pride was on the line.
No, he wanted to know how she’d feel in his arms. He had a sudden need to know the scent of her skin and feel her move close to him in harmony.
Her long lashes swept down toward her cheeks.
The room seemed to hold a collective breath, one Roan discovered he held himself.
Her gloved hand came up to rest in his as she dipped into a small curtsy. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”
Triumph shot through him—and not because of the wager.
It was as if something he’d long sought was now in his sights. This woman was unlike any other. He knew it with a conviction that went all the way to his bones.
The room had come alive with her response. He could hear murmurs around him and knew those who had wagered against him must be spitting with frustration at how easily she had yielded to his request.
Roan turned to lead her to the dance floor. Their audience stepped back to allow them passage. They’d not taken more than two steps when Miss Rogers made a sharp gasp of a pain and started to fall forward. She caught herself before he could and straightened, placing all her weight on one foot.
Those demure long lashes at last raised for her eyes to meet his. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. I seem to have twisted my ankle. I won’t be able to dance.” She let go of his hand and limped back a step, practically hopping on one foot to demonstrate. “I beg you, please find another partner.”
She didn’t wait for his response but hobbled awkwardly away from him.
Now, he’d been outflanked.
Worse, the majority of people in the room knew, too. Many outwardly grinned.
In two steps he came up beside her. Hooking her arm in his, he said, “Please, let me help you, Miss Rogers. I feel completely responsible for your accident.”
She tried to disentangle herself. “It is not your fault, Your Grace. I pray you, please choose another partner.”
He tightened his hold. “I would be less than gallant to desert you after causing such an injury.”
“Your Grace—” she started to protest, but he cut her off by swinging her up in his arms.
“Let me carry you to a chair,” he said, moving toward a set of chairs in a corner of the rooms.
Laughter started all around them. Bright spots of color appeared on Miss Rogers’s cheeks. There would be hell to pay once she could set her tongue loose on him, but Roan now had the answer to some of his questions: She felt good in his arms, and there was no perfume that smelled better than the scent of her.
Realizing their audience, he enjoyed making a great show of making her comfortable in a chair. He had a servant fetch a footstool, but instead of setting her foot upon it, he sat himself, reached for her ankle, and rested it on his thigh.
“Your Grace,” she protested, trying to pull her foot away from him. He held fast, even going so far as to slide her kid slipper off her foot. “This is unseemly,” she whispered furiously at him.
“We must be careful,” he said with a straight face. “A twisted ankle is quick to swell. I think it must be wrapped. Fetch bandages,” he ordered the footman.
She leaned forward, speaking for his ears alone, “I don’t need it wrapped. Please, Your Grace. It will be fine.”
“You don’t want me or the rest of this fine company to believe you have twisted your ankle accidentally on purpose, do you?”
She studied him a moment, then looked around, realizing that even though the music and conversations had started up again, they were being closely watched. She settled back in her chair, turning her head away from him. “This is ridiculous.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” Roan agreed with mild amusement although he didn’t mind having Miss Rogers’s foot in his lap. She had a nice foot, as attractive and well formed as the rest of her. He couldn’t resist covertly running his thumb along the inside of her arch.
Her toes curled, but she pressed her lips together, stoically—and he had a flash of insight.
“It isn’t just me, is it? Or this Irish duke nonsense. You want to keep all men at bay.”
She turned to him, her eyes widening. For a second, she was speechless, and he knew he was right even before the denial reached her lips. “I wish I hadn’t started this nonsense,” she murmured.
“Yes, it’s bringing me too close.”
Her brows came together in a frown. “Would you stop that? We are in a roomful of people with prying ears.”
“No, I don’t believe I will,” he said. “I’m ready to be done with games or guessing.” He leaned forward. “And I don’t care that we are surrounded by people. In fact, I welcome it because what I’m feeling right now is real. Surprisingly real.”
She pulled back, resting her hands on the armrests. “Please, don’t speak to me that way, Your Grace.”
“Why not?” he asked evenly, watching her every move, every breath.
“Because…” She looked away.
He waited.
Her gaze swung back to meet his, her vulnerability clear in the depths of her somber eyes. “I don’t trust what I feel when you are near,” she whispered.
Her candor went straight to his heart, momentarily stunning him by the intensity of his own reaction.
When he didn’t speak immediately, she rushed on, “There can never be anything between us—”
Roan found his voice. “Why not?”
“Because,” she said as if it were an explanation.
“Because I’m Irish?” he demanded.
“No,” she hurried to say. “Because you are a duke. Because you could do so much better than I. Because I’ve made choices in my life that have been unconventional—” She paused, and a shudder went through her before she finished, “Because I’m old.”
Roan had been listening to her litany of objections, but that she thought herself old startled him enough to laugh. He regretted his response the moment the lines of her face tightened.
Not wanting her to form the wrong impression, he reached for her hand. “Anyone believing Miss Susan Rogers is so ancient as to be on the shelf is a daft fool,” he said. “As to the others, let me be the judge of the sort of wife I want. I don’t live my life for others, and advise you to follow my lead. Most people don’t know what they want, so they settle for rules and the opinions of others. Be brave, Miss Rogers. Be bold.”
“If only it were that easy, Your Grace,” she said sadly.
“It is.”
Abruptly, her whole manner changed. She pulled her hand from his. “Lord and Lady Alberth.”
Roan could have cursed the interruption. He had been so intent on Miss Rogers, he’d forgotten they were in a crowded ballroom. He rose, placing Miss Rogers stockinged foot on the stool. “Alberth,” he said greeting.
His lordship did not acknowledge him. Instead, he snapped to Miss Rogers, “Have you seen our daughter?”
Miss Rogers pushed herself out of the chair. “I was looking for her, my lord,” she said. “When I was—” She broke off as if words failed her. “Distracted,” she finished weakly, awkwardly slipping on her shoe.
Roan offered a hand to help her, but she ignored him.
“I want my daughter,” Alberth said, his voice tight with rage. “I want her now.”
“My lord,” his worried wife said. “We don’t know that she could have run off with Gerald Grover—”
“She shouldn’t have been given the opportunity,” Alberth said. “She”—he nodded to Miss Rogers—“was supposed to keep her eyes on her.”
“Let us adjourn this discussion to a more private place,” Roan said, moving to stand between the very angry Alberth and Miss Rogers. Too many people were taking an avid interest in the conversation.
“The only thing I’m going to do is find my daughter, Your Grace. This woman was supposed to watch her.”
“Alberth, you are working yourself up over nothing—”
“Nothing? She’s my only child, Your Grace. I must protect her. And while I worry, this woman”—he nodded toward Miss Rogers—“is-is diddling away with—with—” His voice broke off as if he realized he’d best think better of what he was saying.
“With me?” Roan asked pointedly, daring Alberth to go further.
“Please, Your Grace,” Miss Rogers said, taking a step forward.
Roan held up a protective arm, wanting to shield her from Alberth’s ridiculous accusations. However, before any of them could go further, a group of young women pushed their way through the growing audience around them.
“Miss Rogers,” one of the girls said. “Here is Lady Theresa.”
A very attractive dark-haired girl came forward. “Father, I’m right here,” she said in a low, embarrassed voice. “I’ve never left. And Gerald wasn’t here either.”
“Where have you been?” a worried Lady Alberth demanded. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
Lady Theresa glanced around at the number of people surrounding them, then whispered in her mother’s ear. Lady Alberth’s eyes opened in surprised delight. She whispered to Alberth, whose anger evaporated.
“Haven’s son?” he repeated. The Earl of Haven’s son was said to be the catch of the Season.
“She was in the supper room with Haven’s son,” Alberth told the room at large.
There were appropriate murmurs of appreciation at the coup, and Lady Theresa blushed appropriately. “After Miss Rogers talked to me the other evening, I started to think that perhaps she was right. Perhaps I should be open to the addresses of other gentlemen.” Her gaze softened when she looked at a young blond-haired fellow, Haven’s son, who had joined the crowd around them.
“Well,” Roan said, “it appears someone is owed an apology.”
“Your Grace,” Miss Rogers protested.
Roan shook his head. “No, the man made accusations that were unjustified, and he should apologize.” He turned to Alberth. “Won’t you, my lord?” He edged his words with a hint of steel.
“She should have known where my daughter was,” Alberth answered.
“You didn’t even know where your daughter was,” Roan countered, and received several nods of agreement from their audience.
Alberth was not one to enjoy apologizing. He hedged and shifted his weight, then said, “Very well. I regret the misunderstanding.”
It was not a graceful apology, but Miss Rogers bobbed a curtsy, and replied, “Please, I beg you not to think of this again.”
His lordship shrugged, then walked over to meet Haven’s son. Lady Alberth followed him, and the crowd focused their attentions upon other matters.
Roan was pleased. In fact, he felt a bit heroic for standing up for Miss Rogers. He turned to her, expecting gratitude and, instead, he found her surrounded by Lady Bollinger and others.
Miss Rogers did not appear pleased, and he was puzzled.
The women walked off.
He approached. “Weren’t they happy Lady Theresa was found?” It seemed a safe question.
It wasn’t.
Miss Rogers turned to him with angry tears in her eyes. “No, they weren’t happy. In fact, I’ve been given the sack by all of them. I’m ruined. Everything I worked for is gone.”
“Miss Rogers, I don’t know what to say—”
“Don’t say anything. Not one word. You’ve said enough. You’ve done enough.” She turned and started walking away.
Roan went after her. Out in the foyer, he demanded, “What have I done wrong?”
She paused long enough to explain, “Have you ever seen one of those tightrope walkers? That’s what I do, Your Grace. I walk a tightrope between respectable society and not-so-respectable society. A gentlewoman at this level of society doesn’t work. My sisters warned me. I knew the risks I ran. I thought I could keep my balance, but this evening…” She shook her head. “You shouldn’t have paid attention to me. I’m not worth it. Losing my livelihood isn’t worth it.”
“Susan,” he said, using her Christian name because it was more direct, more intimate, “I wasn’t trying to harm you—”
“But that is what happened,” she replied, cutting him off. “Excuse me. I’ve been ordered to leave.”
She all but ran out the door, not waiting for her cloak. Roan stood for a second in confusion. He didn’t understand how everything had just gone wrong. He charged after her, but was waylaid by a footman who wanted to give him, “My lady’s cape.”
By the time Roan made it out the door, Miss Rogers had disappeared.
He needed to find her, but first he wanted a conversation with Bollinger and his wife.
Susan was furious with herself. What a fool she’d been. Her mistake had been in forgetting her place. She’d allowed her infatuation with the Duke of Killeigh to be too obvious. Too public.
Lady Bollinger and the others had not minced words. She had been deemed “unsuitable,” and they were right. Ellen and Jane had warned her.
Of course, it didn’t help when she returned to her lonely rooms and realized that the sharp words had not been what had hurt this evening.
No, what had pierced her like a lance was her own realization at how foolish she had been. Sitting with the duke, having him pay court to her, had actually led her to believe that there might be more to his intentions than some wager, or even pure lust.
She’d wanted to believe he cared for her. Wanted him to love her.
Susan shook her head, crossing her arms and pacing the parameters of the room. There was no such thing as love. It was a phantom, a myth, nonsense.
But wouldn’t it be a blessing to have a man like the duke in love with her? To have him care for her?
She raised a hand to her forehead, remembering the way he’d defended her to Lord Alberth. Not even her sisters would dare to speak out for her.
Of course, she could blame the duke for causing the incident…except that she truly, deeply valued those moments they’d spent together.
The man was dangerous. She lost all common sense around him. He’d destroyed her commissions. She was impoverished. Alone.
And yet, she was also in love.
The word snuck up on her. Startled her. Made her think she was going mad, and yet she knew it to be true.
She’d fallen in love with the Duke of Killeigh.
Susan sank into a chair, startled by the depths of her feelings. She barely knew him…and yet, this evening, they spoke as if they’d known each other forever.
Of course, no duke could ever be in love with her—
A knock sounded on the door.
Susan frowned. She rarely had visitors. It was probably one of her sisters, with an ultimatum for disgracing the family. They’d probably been stewing over it for hours.
She went over to the door and hesitated. She should not answer it. Ellen and Jane would only make her feel worse. They would accuse her of disgracing them, and they would be right.
Her unknown visitor knocked again. “Miss Rogers, Susan, please, open the door.”
The voice belonged to the Duke of Killeigh.
Roan knew she was on the other side of the door. He could literally feel her presence through the wood. The pull between them was that strong.
He did not know what he’d do if she denied it.
Nor did he know what he would say if she did open the door. He had her cloak. He’d grabbed it from the footman at the ball, thinking to use the return of it as an excuse.
It was a pitiful substitute for the true reason he’d come for her. Silly even.
Roan had faced French fire. He’d been surrounded by screaming heathens wielding knives and scimitars ready to skin him alive. But he’d never been more afraid than in that moment when, slowly, the door handle turned—and he found himself face-to-face with Susan.
Susan. Even her name felt good to him.
She was still dressed in her evening clothes although she’d taken the pins out of her prim, tightly arranged curls so that her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. She appeared young, defenseless…and frightened. She’d been crying.
It broke his heart.
For a long moment, they stood, and it was in that moment, Roan knew what he felt was true and right.
He loved Susan Rogers.
But did she love him?
He tossed the cloak to the floor and held out his hand. “Will you dance with me?”
“You don’t need to do this,” she said. “It’s over. You won.”
“No,” he answered. “It’s just beginning.”
She didn’t mistake his meaning. Her eyes, still shiny with tears, softened. “We mustn’t. You could do so much better than I, Your Grace.”
“Roan,” he corrected. She didn’t understand so he explained. “I will not have the woman I want for my wife to call me ‘Your Grace.’ That is reserved for inferior beings. My wife will be my other half. My conscience, my delight, my soul.”
The tears now poured freely from her eyes.
Roan didn’t know what to make of it. Was she telling him no? He’d never felt so vulnerable. So lost.
He sank down to his knees. “Susan, marry me.”
“But you barely know me.” She was smiling now…through the tears.
“Aye, and the poets say that sometimes we must risk all for love. Susan, I want to spend my life knowing you.”
She came down to the floor in front of him. Her arms came around his neck and she kissed him full and hard on the mouth.
Roan wasted no time kissing her back. He kissed her in a way he’d never kissed a woman. He wanted her to know this wasn’t just about passion. What was between them was something sacred.
And then she placed his hand on her breast, and he knew she still didn’t understand.
It took all his will to pull his hand away. He cupped Susan’s face in his hands. Her eyes were wide with confusion. “I want you for my wife. Do you want me for a husband?”
“I believe I started falling in love with you from the moment I laid eyes on you. But, Your Grace—”
“Roan,” he insisted.
“Roan,” she repeated. “Roan, Roan, Roan.” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “I can’t let you do this—”
“Do you not love me?”
“I said I love you, with an intensity that is almost frightening—”
Roan cut her off with a kiss. He loved the taste of her, the feel of her, the scent of her—
She broke off the kiss. Her breathing matched his own fevered pace. “I’m not worthy of you. There, I’ve said it. Please, Roan, this cannot happen.”
It felt as if she were cutting out her heart to turn him away. What Susan had felt for her long-ago suitor paled in comparison to her feelings for the duke.
For the first time in her life, someone had come after her. Someone had cared what she was feeling, worried about her, wanted to be there for her.
It was a powerful gift.
“For too long, Roan, I’ve felt as if I’ve had the weight of the world on my shoulders—first with my parents’ deaths, then protecting my sisters. And then, seeing to my own welfare. I am humbled and deeply thankful for your offer. Indeed, just for your presence.”
He watched her intently as she spoke. He was so handsome, so noble. So wonderful. However, now a frown had formed on his brow. He leaned back. “Do you love me, Susan?”
She started to hedge, knowing that if she truly cared for him, the best thing she could do would be to stop him from this foolishness.
But as she started to open her mouth to explain, he demanded, “I don’t want common sense. Or what you believe you should do. I want to know, lass, do you love me? Not the duke, but the man.”
“I love the man,” she said, unable to hold back her feelings any longer.
“Good. Then I’ve made up my mind.” He rose to his feet, taking her hand and bringing her up with him.
“Your mind about what?” she asked as he picked her cloak up off the floor.
“About us,” he said, placing her cape around her shoulders. Without warning, he swung her up in his arms. “We are going to elope.”
She opened her mouth to protest—
“No, Susan, for once think of yourself. Make me a happy man and come with me to Scotland. To Gretna Green, where we can be married in a trice, and no one can say us nay. We’ll be there before dark tomorrow.”
He was completely serious.
And for once, she thought of herself. “Yes. Yes, I will be your wife. Yes, I will go to Scotland. Oh, Roan, and, yes, I love you so much it hurts.”
He sealed her promise with a kiss, and before she realized it, they were out the door and on their way. He hired a coach with fast horses at the nearest coaching inn, and as the sun came up on the morning, they were a quarter of their way to Scotland.
If she’d had any doubts about him or a marriage to him, they were dispelled on the ride. Roan opened himself completely to her, and she returned the favor, sharing with all that was inside her, all she’d feared telling another. They held each other, content with the promise that within hours they would belong to one another.
The drive was uneventful. Their marriage took place at eight the following evening in a low-ceilinged taproom with candlelight all around them. Roan paid each of the witnesses a hundred guineas before taking Susan’s hand and leading her up the back stairs to the room waiting for them.
Susan knew she should pretend shyness. She was a virgin after all. But her love for her husband made her eager.
The moment the door closed behind them, she kissed him with abandon.
“I shall never tire of kissing you,” Roan promised when they came up for air.
“But there is something more, isn’t there?” She noticed how he’d restrained himself on the coach ride. She’d known, because she’d had to struggle to keep her own desire for him in check.
Well, no longer.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Susan,” he began. “They say this can be painful for a woman—”
She shut him up with a kiss.
After that, there was no restraining either one of them. Laces were fumbled with and finally undone. Buttons freed. Clothes dropped to the floor. The clean sheets felt good against the heat of her body. But nothing could compare with the feeling of her husband lying naked beside her.
Their kisses grew more heated. He was strong in ways she’d not imagined. He held off his own pleasure to please her—and that’s when the last traces of doubt left her. This man was a gift from God.
Susan wasn’t completely certain what to expect. She had a general idea, but ideas were not the same as experience. What she discovered was that the act of coupling was far more fun than she could have imagined.
Roan tickled her with his tongue, caressed and soothed her with his fingers, and kissed every place that was kissable.
And then, the games between them were over. Her husband’s weight rested on top of her. The length of him pressed intimately against her.
He brushed back tangled strands of hair from her face, his expression serious. “I love you, Susan,” he said, then kissed her, fully, deeply before entering her in one smooth, strong thrust.
The sensation of him caught her off guard. She gave a small gasp of surprise. Immediately, he was repentant.
“I’m sorry. Here, let me leave you alone—”
Susan stopped him from pulling away by placing her hand on one firm buttock. “You’ll go nowhere, husband,” she said, “until you’ve finished what you’ve started.” Her body had adjusted to him. In fact, he felt quite nice…but she knew there had to be more.
The worry left his expression. “I think only of your pleasure,” he whispered.
“Then begin pleasuring,” she answered, the words turning into a soft purr as he did exactly that.
Susan knew she would never forget the joy of this first coupling. Roan was everything she wanted in a lover. He knew what she needed before she was even aware herself.
She clung to him, trusting him. He did not fail her. He took her to places she’d never imagined. Their bodies moved as one until that bright, shining moment when she gave all.
Her whole being vibrated with her love for him. Tears came to her eyes from sheer joy.
And then she felt him join her. He thrust deep and hard as if reaching to her very center before finding his own blessed release.
For a long time, neither moved. They held each other tight.
Susan found her voice first. “May we do this again?”
Her question startled a laugh out of him. He rolled off her, bringing her up so she rested on his chest, her legs inter twined with his. Flipping the bedcovers over them, he nuzzled her nose, and promised, “Morning, noon, and night.”
And so they did.
Three days later, they finally left their marriage bed—but Susan was no longer the same woman she had been that first night.
Then, she’d been shy and uncertain of Roan’s love.
Now, she emerged a woman deeply loved and confident that, at last, she’d found her place in this world…by his side.
The Duke of Marlborough’s ball was the last event of the Season. Invitations were coveted. Only the cream of the ton were invited, and no one who received an invitation would consider refusing it.
Consequently, it was a night to see and be seen.
However, when the butler announced the arrival of the Duke and Duchess of Killeigh, conversation stopped. After all, Killeigh had been a bit infamous at the beginning of the Season, with all that talk of his being an Irish Duke and the Order of Precedence. There were few who didn’t know the story.
But no one had heard he had married.
Whispers started from people wondering who the lucky woman was. Word had gone around that Killeigh had purchased one of those new homes in Mayfair and was in the process of buying the best of furnishings.
The debutantes were the most curious. Their Season had not gone well. Many missed the wise counsel of Miss Rogers. She’d known exactly what to do and what to say in every circumstance. The most unhappy was Lady Theresa. She missed Gerald Grover and wished she’d not tossed him aside for Lord Haven’s vain and stupid son.
She wondered if she had the courage to defy her parents.
Two people who were not curious were Ellen and Jane. They had been relieved not to have to worry about their sister. She had apparently taken off. Run away. They agreed it was rude of her, but at least they wouldn’t have to worry about her.
They turned to see who would appear at Killeigh’s side as his new bride just as a matter of idle curiosity—and then Ellen dropped her punch cup in surprise. It landed on Jane’s new satin slippers, forever staining the fabric, but Jane didn’t care. She was just as shocked as Ellen.
Their sister stood on the step beside the Duke of Killeigh.
Susan looked magnificent. Diamonds at her throat, her ears, and nestled in her blond curls sparkled in the candlelight. Her gown could only have come from Madame Lucia’s, the premier dressmaker in London. It was a white muslin trimmed in blue lace. On her feet, she wore sandals made of silver cords.
Jane leaned close to Ellen’s ears. “Everyone will be wearing those sandals by tomorrow.”
Ellen nodded. “She looks positively stunning. Who knew Killeigh had so much money?” She frowned. “Of course, can you believe she just took off without telling us?” she muttered.
“I can believe we’d best do what we must to beg her forgiveness,” Jane answered, and Ellen knew she was right.
The person most relived to see them was the Honorable Rees Trenholm. He was the first to approach Roan. “Congratulations, Your Grace, on your marriage.” He bowed to Susan. “Killeigh could not have chosen a more beautiful woman for his bride.”
Susan blushed but she was actually very nervous. “I pray you, Mr. Trenholm, how does the wind blow? Will there be much gossip?”
Rees laughed. “Of course there will be, but what do you care? The two of you look absolutely happy with each other.”
And they were.
“As for myself,” Rees said, “I am happy to see you show your face at last, Your Grace. There is a matter of a little wager on the Betting Book at White’s.” He raised his voice so all could hear. “The matter of a dance has not yet been resolved. And there have been several who have come to me for their money,” he added under his breath.
Roan laughed. “Then let me solve the matter now. Your Grace?” he said, offering his hand to his wife.
She placed a gloved hand in his, and he led her to the dance floor. The crowd moved back, and the other dancers stepped back, leaving the floor for them.
“That must have been quite a wager,” Susan murmured.
Her husband smiled. “My lips are sealed.”
The music started, and, for a second, Susan was lost in the perfect wonder of the evening. They moved as one, and she was so caught up in the music and being in the arms of the man she loved, she forgot about their audience. She forgot her past. She forgot about everything but her present and her future.
Too soon, the music came to an end.
Both Roan and Susan were startled, and very flattered, when the crowd clapped for their performance. Susan knew she had been accepted.
Her husband leaned close. “Don’t be too ahead of yourself,” he warned. “After all, we have to sit down the table from Marlborough and the others.”
Susan rewarded his impudence with a kiss that delighted the crowd, who swooped in on them with their well-wishes. Ellen and Jane found themselves standing on the fringes of the crowd.
Rees couldn’t help but smile. He was relieved he wasn’t going to have to make good on all those bets.
Lady Theresa stood by the doors leading out to the garden watching all this. Miss Rogers looked so happy, so loved.
And she felt so alone.
Tears threatened. She slipped outside, wanting a private moment alone. If her father saw her crying, he’d be very annoyed.
She swiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. She’d been such a fool. Gerald had loved her, and she’d treated him badly. What she wouldn’t give to have his love back—
“Theresa.”
It was her beloved Gerald’s voice. At first, she thought she was imagining things, but then she saw him. He stood in the night shadows by the garden gate.
Without hesitation, she lifted her skirt hem and ran to him. His arms around her were strong and secure. They kissed, and she wept, overwhelmed with her love for this man. Her parents would never approve of him…but she could love no one else.
“I was so wrong,” she declared, but he shushed her with a kiss.
When they could speak again, her beloved asked, “Will you go to Scotland with me, Theresa?”
She turned, looked back at the glittering company in the ballroom that could be seen through the glass doors. Her heart twisted at the thought of her parents—and yet, this was her life.
She chose Love.
“Now,” she answered Gerald. “This very minute.”
And so it was that on that March night, a new set of lovers eloped.
Because in the end, the measure of a well-lived life is not titles or riches. It’s not even measured by the people we please, especially at the cost of our own souls.
No, the true measure of a well-lived life is how well we love…and how well we are loved in return.
CATHY MAXWELL spends hours in front of her computer pondering the question, “Why do people fall in love?” It remains for her the great mystery of life and the secret to happiness. She lives in beautiful Virginia with her children, horses, dogs, and cats. Fans can contact Cathy at www.cathymaxwell.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.