How to Dazzle a Duke Read online

  “Even I? Because even a dullard such as I must have experienced these signals? And what are these signals, Miss Prestwick? Half-wit that I am, I must have them spelled out for me.”

  “Oh, don’t be cross. It is just like a man to be cross when his little mysteries are exposed.”

  “My mystery is not little,” he said stiffly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind,” he said, standing at his most rigid posture. “The signals, Miss Prestwick? I live to be enlightened.”

  “You know them, surely, Lord Iveston. I’ve come to think they are almost instinctual in a man, rather like the migration of geese in the autumn. Where one man of distinction goes, others will soon follow. Men do tend to cluster around objects of interest to them. I only ask, as a man of distinction, if you would mind very much clustering around me for a bit, to give the other men a chance to follow your lead?”

  He knew very well that she did not truly think of him as a man of distinction. If she did, she wouldn’t have discounted him in her husband hunt, would she? Of course she wouldn’t. It was a sop to his pride, and a poorly executed one, too.

  Still, she did have a point about men and clustering. It was only remarkable in that she hadn’t understood the obvious point that it wasn’t that they clustered to be in the same group, but that they each found the same things desirable. Did Miss Prestwick think of men as nothing better than sheep?

  The answer was obvious, insultingly so.

  When one had any sort of discourse with Penelope Prestwick, one was required to put away antiquated notions of what constituted an insult.

  “I think I ought to be insulted,” the Duke of Edenham said to Sophia. The occupants of the room had shifted again, with the notable exception of Iveston and Penelope Prestwick, who remained nearly huddled in the far corner of the room next to the door to the dining room. Ruan was speaking with John, Markham was talking to George Prestwick, George Grey was talking to Cranleigh, Young and Matthew were standing together and talking to no one.

  “If you have to think about it,” Sophia said, “I don’t think it possible that you are truly insulted. But, because I am, if nothing else, a courteous and gracious hostess, what, darling Edenham, has upset you?”

  They were sitting on the matching sofas in front of the fire, the room gone quite dark now as it was past dusk and it was still raining. The candles struggled against the gloom, flickering seductively in the shadows, dancing against the darkness. It was a most unusual time of day to be entertaining, but what was she to do? Throw them all out upon the street? No, too much of interest was happening right now in her little salon. Such a surprise, really, as she had anticipated none of it. A London Season had a way of doing that, which was one reason why they all paid such a dear price to enjoy it.

  “I thought you said Miss Prestwick was mine for the taking,” Edenham said. He did not look at all upset, mind you, he merely looked slighted in that precise way men had of looking when every woman in the room did not fall into a dead faint at their feet. “She hardly looks it, does she? She’s been nearly entwined with Iveston in the corner for fifteen minutes now.”

  “But, darling, does she look happy about it?”

  “She hardly looks miserable.”

  Edenham, for all that he had already had three wives and had accomplished two children out of them, was, for a man of his mature years, a most insecure man. Of course, it was his three wives and two children who were most responsible for his feeling insecure. Certainly there could be no other cause. He was handsome to a nearly alarming degree, wealthy, titled, well propertied, and amiable. Women should be flocking to him.

  Indeed, they had, when he had first entered Society and settled upon his first wife. Unfortunately for him, having three wives die as a direct result of bearing one’s children did put a pall on the whole marriage matter. Edenham, spectacular in every way, was something of a legend now, the sort of whispered legend that had young girls crossing their legs and avoiding his gaze.

  Of course, any woman who would let a few whispers put her off a man like Edenham didn’t deserve to be a duchess in the first place.

  “Darling Edenham, whoever would want a wife who couldn’t be graciously polite whenever the occasion demanded it? Miss Prestwick, forced into conversation with Lord Iveston, is merely showing him all the courtesy due him. Would you have less of her?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Then, by your protests, should I assume that you want to marry Miss Prestwick? I’m certain her father will be delighted.”

  Edenham looked at her from his lovely height, his brown eyes guarded. “I did not say I would marry her, Sophia. I only remarked that she did not seem especially interested in marrying me.”

  “These distinctions are so important, of course,” Sophia said soothingly. “But, out of curiosity, what would you have her do to show her interest in you? Stand simpering at your elbow? Miss Prestwick, I can assure you, is not that sort of woman. I don’t think she can even spell simper.”

  “I don’t require simpering in a wife,” Edenham said, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

  “What do you require in a wife, Edenham? Beyond fecundity, naturally.”

  “Now, Sophia, pull in your claws,” Edenham said pleasantly. “I only wondered what game is afoot between you and Miss Prestwick and how I became entangled in it.”

  “Darling, when did you become so suspicious? I have been perfectly honest with you from the first. Miss Prestwick, as is quite common, would like to marry. She would like to marry well, which does show such sense. She expressed a sincere, if tentative, interest in you.”

  “Tentative?”

  “Well, Edenham, darling,” Sophia said with a coy smile, “she barely knows you. What do you want of the poor girl? For her to carry you over her shoulder and drop you like a haunch of deer onto her father’s desk?”

  “Sophia, I expect nothing.”

  “Don’t be absurd, darling,” she said, shaking her head at him. “You expect what all men expect of a woman. But you shall not get it from Miss Prestwick. Not until you’re properly married.”

  “That is not at all what I meant and you know it.”

  “Then I should like to know what you mean, Edenham. Do you want to marry the girl or not? I won’t see you toy with her, as you men so enjoy doing to an innocent, earnest girl who only wants to do her family proud by making a good marriage.”

  “And marrying me would make a good marriage?”

  “Edenham, do try not to be tiresome. There are only so many ways to be complimented and you have quite run to the limit on yours,” Sophia scolded playfully. “If you’re interested in Miss Prestwick, I would advise you to pursue her. I can state without qualm that your suit will be met joyfully and enthusiastically.”

  “I suppose I could talk to her,” he said musingly, studying what he could see of her from across the room. “I don’t suppose that could do any harm.”

  “Talking, even between men and women, has yet to do anyone any harm. But talking only, Edenham. A man as experienced with women and as devastatingly handsome as you are will sweep her up and away in mere moments. Have a care of her, I beg of you.”

  Sophia watched Edenham preen just slightly under the shadow of her praise and hid her smile in the depths of her teacup. Darling Edenham. This was going to be so good for him. And even better for Miss Prestwick.

  Ten

  “YOU would like me to cluster about you, Miss Prestwick?” Iveston asked. “I confess to having never been asked to perform such a service before. Are you quite certain it will be completely proper and not do an injury to your reputation?”

  Penelope suppressed the urge to smile. She was not certain she was successful or not. This was such an important moment in her life that she could not truly be bothered to monitor every expression on her face, as she was wont to do. Not because she enjoyed doing so, but because Society so rigorously demanded it. Once she was a duchess, she would not have to b
e such a slave to Society. If one had to go about in Society, and who did not, being a duchess was the way to do it.

  But truly, did Lord Iveston think that her reputation could be harmed by him? He was so utterly harmless. Why, it was very nearly like being with George. Except for the odd moment or two when he’d look at her a certain way or say a certain something that would cause the most unlikely sensation to ripple through her.

  It was just as well that it passed, leaving her to concentrate more fully on Edenham, who she did fear was being dreadfully ignored by her. What must he think? With any luck at all, he would think that she was charming Lord Iveston and would wonder if she would charm him just as much, which she would, and then he would decide to marry her. Perfectly simple, if only she could get it all to work as it should, and by it she meant Lord Iveston being encouraged to show a more than tepid reaction to her and the Duke of Edenham being the sort of man who would notice and respond to such things.

  “I feel completely safe in your care, Lord Iveston,” she said. “I could not imagine myself even skirting along the edge of the hounds of propriety with you at my side. No, I am quite certain that I shall have nothing to fear.”

  Strangely, Lord Iveston did not look as complimented by her observation as he should have. There was that peculiar streak again. He did seem able to combat it at times, seeming almost normal, but then he would delve back into his odd little expressions that were apparently his response to a perfectly normal statement on her part. He was not a bad man, but he was most decidedly an odd one. It was very fortunate for him that he was going to inherit a dukedom. Who would have him otherwise?

  “Miss Prestwick, I am flattered,” Iveston said, his blue eyes looking quite dark in the shadows. They really should move out of the corner. She wasn’t even certain Edenham could see her from this angle. “I would ask, at the risk of sounding quite ungentlemanly, what I am to get out of this little arrangement you have proposed?”

  Penelope’s gaze snapped fully onto Iveston, Edenham forgotten for the moment. “Why, do you require something, Lord Iveston? I assure you that it will hardly be an onerous duty.”

  “I believe, Miss Prestwick, that only I can decide what is onerous for me or not.”

  Well. That wasn’t very polite, was it? He certainly knew how to be high-handed when he wanted to be, a sure sign of his inheritance. It was perhaps the first glimmer she had experienced that life with a duke might be a bit of a grapple. They did tend to be so autocratic, didn’t they?

  “I suppose that’s true,” she said, sounding very reasonable about it, if she did say so.

  “I assure you it is quite true.”

  Pushy, too. Who would have thought the mild Lord Iveston had it in him?

  “As you are so certain, then you should be able to name with ease what it is I can do for you in return,” she said a bit stiffly. Bother, she was going to owe favors all over Town before this was finished. “Is it goods or services you need, Lord Iveston?”

  He smiled. She could see that in the dim light of the corner, the white of his smile, the crinkling of his eyes. He had quite nice features, actually, quite refined, and his coloring truly was extraordinary. With his fair hair and pale skin, his vividly blue eyes shone like flowers in the snow.

  “Perhaps a bit of both,” he replied evasively.

  “Well, when you decide, you just let me know. In the meantime, will you help me?”

  “Help you snare the Duke of Edenham?”

  “There’s no need to be coarse about it.”

  “I thought I was merely being direct. My pardon.”

  He didn’t look at all sorry, but she appreciated the effort, paltry as it was.

  “The Duke of Edenham? What made you think it was he?” she asked.

  If she was that obvious in her interest, did that not imply that Edenham could read her? And if so, why had he not responded? It was the clustering principle. Edenham needed encouragement. Iveston, mild as he was, would just have to be encouragement enough.

  “Only that he seems to be exactly what a young woman would want in a man. True?” Iveston said, a bit stiffly, if she could judge.

  She had noticed that men really did not enjoy making positive remarks about other men. She understood that entirely as she saw no need at all to praise other women. To what purpose?

  “I, of course, would never presume to speak for other women,” she said.

  “Of course, but what of yourself?” Iveston pressed.

  “I think,” she said, trying to think of how to say what she wanted to say without saying too much. She didn’t know if Iveston were truly trustworthy, did she? As to that, she didn’t know if he were trustworthy in the slightest. “I think that the Duke of Edenham, having been happily wed three times, must be a most experienced husband and, therefore, would be very likely to make his next wife equally happy.”

  “Because of his experience.”

  “I should say so.”

  “And his wives were happy?”

  “I have never heard they were not.”

  “And do you think you would have heard if they were not?”

  “Certainly, I would have heard something.”

  “Because news of that sort gets round.”

  “It does.”

  “And you listen to the gossip that goes round about a duke and his family.”

  “I said no such thing! I can’t think why you’re choosing to be so contrary about this. It’s a simple thing, a very pleasant thing I’m asking of you.”

  “Pleasant for whom?”

  “Why, for … for …” Because, truly, it wasn’t going to be pleasant at all for her and she really hadn’t thought or cared if it would be pleasant or not for Iveston. But it wouldn’t be unpleasant for him, would it?

  Would it?

  What kind of low insult was that?

  “Are you saying that you would find it unpleasant to be in my company at a social gathering of your peers?” she asked, quite nearly breathless with outrage.

  “I am saying nothing of the kind. I was merely wondering if you had given me any thought at all in this plan of yours. It’s not much of a plan, by the way. By your own definition of male behavior, you need more than one man to cluster about you. I am only one man. There is only so much I can accomplish. If you want this to work, I should think you’d want at least four men to point the way for Edenham. There are four men in this room, if you’re in a hurry. Or would you rather handpick them? I’m not sure how eager you are for Edenham’s attention, so naturally I want to present you with choices in how you gather your cluster.”

  She was quite literally speechless.

  This is what came of being open with a man, of being logical and forthright. Why, they fell completely apart and became nearly hysterical.

  “All you have to do is refuse,” she said with quite a bit of composure, considering.

  “I am not refusing,” he said, his own voice quite composed. She didn’t believe it, not his words and not his feigned composure. He sounded just like her French tutor did when she provoked him with a question he could not answer. “I am only trying to arrange it to your best advantage.”

  “Why would you do that, Lord Iveston?” she said.

  “For money, Miss Prestwick,” he said mildly, as if he had not just said the most hideous thing. “It would be a simple matter to get a wager on the book at White’s that you will marry the Duke of Edenham this Season; I do think I should leave it open as to the actual date, don’t you? As I am an essential part of the hunt, I do think I should benefit somehow at the catch, wouldn’t you agree?

  For a moment, just a moment, she again was struck speechless. There was so much that was so hideously wrong with Lord Iveston’s little proclamation. And yet.

  And yet.

  If his involvement resulted in her being the Duchess of Edenham, did she really care if he made a wager about it?

  “I never said I wanted to marry the Duke of Edenham,” she said, still thinking it over
furiously.

  Iveston shrugged casually. “It was a logical deduction. And, if I may say so, you do look at him with all the subtlety of a hawk on the wing.”

  At that remark, she very intentionally looked at Iveston with all the subtlety of a hawk on the wing. Which apparently caused him considerable amusement as he came near to laughing. Yes, well, he could afford to laugh; he was going to be a duke, his future secured.

  “If I may say so, Lord Iveston, you are more astute than the rumors indicate,” she countered.

  The look that appeared on his face at that was completely worth the breach of etiquette. With Lord Iveston, she had quickly moved past every boundary of decorum. And he appeared to enjoy pushing her beyond it. Strange to admit it, but she was having more fun with Iveston than she had yet done in Society. He was so easy to talk to, likely because he was so peculiar.

  “If I have convinced you I’m not a complete lackwit, then I am satisfied, Miss Prestwick,” he said, grinning.

  “Not a complete? My, you do have lower standards than what I would have expected, Lord Iveston,” she teased.

  “As I am to be a duke, I have great freedom in my standards,” he said.

  “And in your behavior, clearly.”

  At which point, they stood grinning at each other. It was, oddly enough, very nearly comfortable to be talking to Lord Iveston, and she had never found anything at all comfortable about talking to a man. It was quite a surprise.

  “Now, have we parried enough? What do you say to my suggestion?” he asked.

  “I say, Lord Iveston, that it would look peculiar indeed if you were to wager that I will marry Edenham in this Season or any other,” she answered. “First, it would alert Edenham to my intentions, which is never wise for a woman to do when dealing with a man. You may well be the exception, but they are very skittish as a general rule. Second, as you have spent a more than ordinary amount of time talking to me now, and then for the wager to appear on White’s book, it would look very much as if I had asked you to place the bet, perhaps with the hope that it would force Edenham’s hand somehow. Or worse, that you had found me very lacking indeed and were wagering on Edenham taking up the challenge. Or yet again,” she said, growing quite breathless as the possible outcomes spun out before her, “that you and Edenham had some sort of wager as to whom would escape the net of Penelope Prestwick.”