She Tempts the Duke Read Free Page A

Nothing would have stopped him from keeping his vow. Nothing except death. She’d lost track of how many nights she mourned their passing, only to awaken the next morning convinced that somewhere they still lived. Any number of reasons could have delayed their arrival. But with each passing year, it seemed less likely that they would return, that any of them had survived to manhood.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Lord David heading down a distant hallway. The toad cut a fine figure, dressed in his finery, and that grated terribly on her nerves. He should be bloated and hideous. Hunchbacked even. Like Richard III who, in order to gain the throne, had locked his nephews in the Tower of London. The two were not so very different.
    It had taken everything within her not to cast up her accounts when earlier in the evening, he smiled at her in passing. His eyes possessed a cunning that only she seemed capable of recognizing. Everyone else fawned over him, enamored of his charm. At least he possessed the good sense not to take her gloved hand and press a kiss to it, as he’d done to her aunt upon their arrival. If he had, Mary surely would have had no control over her foot and he’d have found it connecting with his shin.
    Lord and Lady Westcliffe!
    Mary wondered if perhaps she and Alicia should take their leave. She was no longer certain what she’d thought to accomplish by coming here. So far, all she’d managed was to upset her digestion whenever she thought of how Lord David had come to have this residence and that very soon, if his petition was granted, he would acquire so much more. He would acquire everything.
    She couldn’t let that happen. She would write a letter to the Court of Chancery and explain what he’d done, what she heard, what had happened that night when the lads had disappeared. Would her words be believed or would they be considered simply another fanciful tale to add to the many that surrounded the mystery of the Pembrook lords?
    Her musings were interrupted when two gentlemen came to claim dances with Ladies Hermione and Victoria. Once the couples had wandered onto the dance floor, Alicia said, “I can’t believe you’ll be married at the end of the month.”
    Nor could Mary. During the first ball she had caught the fancy of Viscount Fitzwilliam. A devoted courtship involving an abundance of flowers, promenades in the park, and long afternoons in the parlor had followed. They shared the same interests in music, literature, and art. Conversation was always pleasant, and she wasn’t certain why she sometimes felt that it should hold a bit more fire. Apparently she’d left her hellion days behind.
    “I feel a tad guilty about it. It was supposed to be your Season,” Mary reminded her cousin. Her own father had denied her a Season, left her languishing at the convent. It was only when her aunt—Alicia’s mother—had taken matters in hand and insisted that she “be released from exile” and share the Season with Alicia that Mary had been given her first taste of the glitz and glamour that could be London. She fell in love with it.
    Mr. Charles Godwin!
    “It’s not yet over. I could still find my true love,” Alicia told her with an air of confidence that indicated she truly hadn’t given up hope.
    Mary felt another prickle of guilt because she wasn’t certain she could claim that Fitzwilliam was her true love. Certainly she held a fondness for him. His manners and dress were impeccable. She suspected that if Sebastian had lived, he’d have very much resembled him: respectful, charming, occasionally witty. She also rather liked his parents—the Marquess and Marchioness of Glenchester. They appeared to think well of her. They even approved of her time in the convent—thought it had taught her mercy and grace. What it had taught her was to never trust her father with a secret.
    “Any gentleman would be fortunate to have you,” Mary assured Alicia.
    “You’re much too