Needed: A Dishonorable Duke: Calling All Rakes Page 3

  “That makes two of us.”

  She nodded again. “See. That’s why I thought you might be interested in what I had to offer.”

  He grimaced then and her stomach lurched. He still wasn’t interested. But that begged another question. Why had he sought her out then?

  “I’ll not deny that you have a great many attractive qualities.” He gave her another sweeping gaze. “And I find I rather like your straightforward nature.”

  “I see.”

  “Which is why I decided to bestow a dance on you myself. Perhaps later in the week, I’ll take you out in the park if the weather permits. Trust me when I say, you’ll have your pick of suitors after that.”

  His offer was very sweet. And completely useless. “You met my mother?”

  He nodded.

  “Then you might understand, unless a potential suitor is another marquess or a duke, she won’t relent.” Mona had begged for another chance to attract someone different, but her mother was rather steadfast once she’d chosen a course.

  And currently she had her sights set on a very large title.

  “But surely she would like to see you happy?”

  Mona’s brows arched. “She would like to see me well-matched. My happiness is irrelevant.”

  And that was the absolute truth.

  Brax winced. “I thought mothers to be more maternal.” He knew all about parents who were willing to sacrifice their child’s happiness for the greater good. But it had been his father who’d always cracked the whip over him. Literally.

  But he couldn’t afford to be sympathetic to Mona’s plight. It put him in a difficult spot. He didn’t want to empathize with her. He’d met plenty of ladies over the years whose mothers had launched them in his path. He’d never felt this sort of connection with any of them. But this woman was working so hard to thwart her mother, and still managing to do it in such a sweet way.

  Honestly, he just liked Mona.

  And then there was the sizzling attraction. His body was a giant pulsing ball of desire as he held her close.

  “What was your mother like?” she asked, her features set in gentle lines of concern.

  His mouth pressed into a hard line. He didn’t talk about his mother to anyone. But somehow, he got the impression that Mona would never use that information against him. And so, despite his better judgment, he found himself sharing, “She died giving birth to me.”

  Her lips parted, her large green eyes holding his. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m a grown man.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  But as she looked off to her right, her eyes growing distant, he thought certain she’d like to say more but could also clearly see he didn’t wish to speak about it further. Who said she talked too much? Not for him.

  He more than liked her. The truth was, Brax found her delightful.

  As he’d left Sara, he’d wondered if Mona had been a trick of the mind. A mirage. Or more accurately, a combination of his anticipation for a clandestine meeting and her attractiveness, making her seem more desirable than any woman before her.

  But as he held her now, all he could think was carrying her back to that study. This time he’d kiss her. Free those breasts and…

  He nearly groaned out loud as he missed a quick step. She noticed and her gaze snapped back to his.

  So, it hadn’t been a trick. The attraction was still there, beating hard and strong through his body.

  And he was unlikely to help her with his continued involvement. She’d said so herself. Her mother would only settle for a duke or a marquess. Which only meant one thing, he had to leave her be.

  At least for now.

  Ware was old as dirt. She’d be a widow in no time and then…

  He pulled her a touch closer.

  “Your Grace?”

  “Braxton,” he murmured. “My friends call me Brax.”

  “Brax,” she softly repeated.

  The dance ended and he tucked her hand into his arm, returning her to her mother. With a bow, he turned to leave noting that a circle of men was already forming.

  He hated the idea of leaving them to barter for her attention. He had the vague notion that he should stay.

  Fortunately for him, a friend and fellow rake approached, making it impossible for him to return to Mona’s side and hang on her skirts like some young, inexperienced buck.

  “Well. You’ve been busy.” Marcus gave him a leering smile.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lady Wistcomb is in a complete snit. I believe I heard her utter the words, treacherous bastard, and now I find you escorting a fresh-faced debutante on the dance floor. Do not tell me that you tossed over a widow for an unmarried miss?”

  “I didn’t toss Sara over. Not exactly.” He started walking, forcing Marcus to follow. As the man was a viscount, it was a position he wasn’t exactly accustomed to, and he heard Marcus’s rumble of frustration.

  “What did you do then?”

  “I realized I wasn’t interested, that’s all. And in my later years, I’m growing wiser. Why enter an encounter with a woman I’m not even that interested in when I know the ending is bound to be messy? Her nature borders on…unpredictable.” Her name-calling to his friends only confirmed his impression in the hall. Lady Wistcomb was best left alone.

  “Do you even hear yourself? Not interested? She’s a willing, attractive woman.”

  “She’s…” He stopped, turning toward Marcus. He didn’t need to explain himself to this man or anyone else. “She’s available if you’re so inclined.”

  Marcus gave him a wry smile as he slapped him on the back. “And the redhead? Is she available too?”

  He turned to stone under Marcus’s hand. The very idea that a man like Marcus would pursue Mona made him want to hit things. “She’s on the marriage mart, actively looking for a husband. She’ll be on our market in a few years from now but not yet.”

  Marcus looked back. “Pity. That one, she’s a rare breed indeed. Looks made for sin, if you get my meaning.”

  Brax got it. His hand clenched into a fist. Mona had alluded to the fact that she wasn’t all that popular among society. He was certain it was due in part to her mother, and in part to the immaturity of the men who frequented these events.

  In a few years, Mona would be swarmed with men.

  He hated the idea of it. Hated thinking of some of them successfully luring her into their beds.

  Unless some powerful man came along and snatched her up. He ran a hand through his dark hair. Snatched her up and tucked her into the country, far away from the salacious appetites of London’s elite.

  But he couldn’t do it. It was too complicated, and he was too broken. He craved the comfort of a woman’s embrace, but when it came to actual intimacy, he’d never be able to give that.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mona lay in bed, staring up at the canopy. A day and night had passed since Lady Wistcomb’s ball, but Mona still found herself replaying every interaction with the duke.

  She sighed as she lifted an arm above her head.

  Yesterday’s visit with Lord Ware had been the most painful yet. Nothing had changed. He’d come at precisely half past twelve, sat and told her how lovely she looked, and then promptly fallen asleep.

  But where most times she found his naps a relief and a bit amusing, yesterday, she’d been frustrated.

  What if she did end up his wife? Didn’t he wish to know her at all? And would it hurt him to give her a single compliment other than her pretty face?

  Brax, she meant the Duke of Durham, even in his rejection, had paid her more compliments than the man who wished her to be his wife. Then again, perhaps His Grace hoped to soften his rejection.

  She rolled over, her head resting on her arm. She was stalling and she knew it. It was just that she didn’t want to see Lord Ware again today, or ever again for that matter.

  She wished to dance in the duke’s arms and feel the hardness of his bo
dy and… Her eyes fluttered closed.

  That wasn’t right either.

  She’d proposed entering a practical arrangement with the duke. That sort of agreement did not invite snuggling and dancing.

  Which was one of the many reasons her plan was doomed to fail. The problem was that she didn’t have another.

  Perhaps she should share everything with her cousin, formerly Miss Charlotte Pennington, currently the Countess of Westmoreland. Charlotte would both understand why Mona had broken several societal rules and would also be able to strategize how to circumvent them once again to remove herself from this match.

  Mona would have involved her cousin sooner, but Charlotte was likely to suggest that Mona just eschew marriage entirely and allow Charlotte, a rich heiress, to support her.

  The problem was that Mona very much wanted a child of her own.

  She supposed she’d like to try and have the relationship she and mother never did, but whatever the reason, she’d dreamed of a daughter forever and if Charlotte became her benefactor, that dream would die.

  Of course, if the alternative was to marry Lord Ware…

  The door to her room crashed open, her mother glided in looking as formidable as she did determined. Her own red hair was now streaked with grey, but her shoulders were straight as she gave her daughter a healthy glare. “Get up!”

  Mona pushed her upper body up from the bed to stare back. “Has something happened?”

  “Has something happened?” Her mother didn’t bother to stop at the bed, she kept going, tossing open the curtains to each of the three windows in Charlotte’s room. “Yesterday, the Duke of Durham dropped off his card. Personally. He didn’t even send a servant. So naturally, I quickly returned the gesture and this morning…” Her mother pivoted back toward Mona, drawing in a deep breath. Had she not taken a breath that entire time?

  “What?” Mona asked scrambling from the bed, her red hair tumbling down her back. Her own heart had begun to pound, slamming against the ribs in her chest.

  Her mother frowned, looking at the mass of curls. “How many times have I told you to braid your hair before bed?”

  “Mother, please.”

  Her mother took another deep breath nodding. “Right. He has invited us for luncheon. Today.”

  “Today?”

  “Today.”

  For a moment Mona stood frozen. Today? But why? When they’d parted, it had been clear. He wouldn’t accept her offer and he couldn’t help her. There was no need to further their acquaintance.

  Then she came to her senses and scrambled toward her dressing table. For once, she and her mother were in complete agreement. She needed to hurry. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “The invitation just arrived.” Then her mother spun again and started for Mona’s dressing room. The brush in Mona’s hand stopped midway through a section of hair and she squeezed her eyes, closing them. Her mother meant to choose a dress.

  “Mother.” She jumped up again. “Don’t you think the light green day dress would suit my eyes and—” Her words stopped short again as her mother emerged from the closest holding a tangerine frock that was literally covered in ribbon and lace of the matching shade. With her red hair…

  “This one is sure to make an impression,” her mother murmured, spreading the gown on the bed.

  “The impression that I’m the sun?” Mona asked, realizing her knuckles had turned white around the handle of the brush.

  “Don’t be silly. You need to be seen.”

  Mona realized she’d been silently shaking her head in horror and stepped forward, holding her hands out in front of her. “Please, Mother. The duke liked my gown the other night. He said so and—”

  Her mother waved her hand. “What’s your point? If that gown garnered his attention this one will—”

  “Send him screaming in the other direction?” The words were out before Mona could hold them back and her mother’s head whipped up, her glare all the proof that Mona needed to know that she would, indeed, be wearing the putrid orange gown.

  An hour and half later, she was hustled into her family’s carriage, wearing the tangerine gown, matching ribbon threaded all through her hair. Worse still, she’d not had time for breakfast and her stomach protested loudly.

  But her mother had left her no time to eat, and she’d mumbled something about an empty stomach showing the gown off to its best advantage.

  The only thing that would improve this gown was a large fire.

  The carriage rumbled through London, Mona silently regarding her skirts with contempt as she tried not to hope. He’d been very clear about his lack of intentions, but then again why had he continued their relationship? What did he hope to gain?

  The carriage slowed and she parted the curtain, taking in the massive mansion gates. Her heart drifted up into her throat as they swung open revealing a large mansion and grounds. In London!

  Her mother gasped, a hand coming to her mouth. “Oh, Mona.”

  Oh indeed.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  Brax stood in the window watching the carriage roll up to the front doors. It wasn’t the first time he’d stood in this very spot anticipating the arrival of a beautiful woman. The difference this time, however, was that Mona’s arrival was in the full light of day and she was accompanied by none other than her abominable mother.

  A situation he’d have to remedy quickly.

  Because he needed a private word with Mona. But how to get rid of the mother for the span of a conversation?

  He looked back at Beatrice, his housekeeper and smiled, a plan forming.

  Bea grimaced in return, knowing full well, he was up to no good.

  Not that his plan was that bad. They rarely were. Even he had rules. He’d never ruin an innocent, he never made promises he didn’t intend to keep, and he always made sure a lady he dallied with was well-compensated for the pleasure they’d both enjoyed.

  But it would still seem that some woman was very angry with him.

  And he needed to find out who. The incident had happened yesterday morning when he’d woken up after the ball. His lawn had been littered and a note had been left. Neither of which he appreciated, and by the contents of the note, it was obviously the work of a spurned female. He needed to know which one.

  Considering how much more approachable Mona was than Sara, she seemed the best place to start.

  And so, he’d gone to his club and easily discerned Mona’s address. Apparently, her father frequented the establishment as well. He’d dropped two cards for the lord and lady of the house and received two in return.

  Now, Lady Ayers appeared from out of the carriage, her head high as she turned back to where Mona was emerging.

  He found himself holding his breath as the first slippered foot appeared.

  He’d be lying if he didn’t say there was another reason he’d started with Mona. He just wanted to see her again. Her impact on him had been tangible and she’d been in the forefront of his mind for the past two days.

  Her skirts appeared and he squinted his eyes, blinking several times as he attempted to discern if something had happened to them? If he weren’t mistaken, they were a shockingly bright shade of orange.

  She fully emerged and his nostrils flared as he frowned. They were orange and hideous. As was her dress. Well, at the very least a dress that awful ought to tamp the attraction he’d experienced the other night.

  Gone was the temptress in ivory who’d enticed him with her quick wit and bosom. In her place was a…tangerine?

  “They’re here,” he murmured to Bea. A woman of middle age, going on elderly, Mrs. Fairfield, or Bea, as he rakishly called her, ran his house with an efficiency that would have impressed a general.

  “Excellent. I’ll fetch refreshments.”

  “Do,” he answered. “And make sure something on the tray is very red.”

  “Red, Your Grace?”

  “Beet juice perhaps? Something liquid. And
place it on the edge.”

  “Your Grace,” Beatrice’s sharp voice cut through the room. “That’s going to make a dreadful mess.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Bea sighed. “I’ll have Selena bring up the tray. Who should she set it in front of?”

  “Lady Ayers,” he replied. Selena was by far the best actress on his staff. She’d gotten all sorts of women out of their dresses on his behalf and while he sacked her regularly in front of his guests, when they’d left, she was rehired and given a bonus for her trouble. If he actually attempted to remove her from his staff, she’d never believe him.

  Bea turned to see the job done as he waited for his guests to be shown up to the salon.

  His butler entered, announcing Lady Ayers and her daughter, and Brax pivoted, greeting his guests. The dress was even more horrid up close, and Mona’s cheeks flushed with color as his gaze swept down the length of it.

  Covered in bobs and lace, it was the most garish thing he’d ever seen. Not to mention it made her delicious red locks look like the color of carrots.

  “Please, sit.” He gestured toward the settee where both mother and daughter did as he bid and took a seat.

  He chose the one across from them, and noted, with some dismay, that not even the dress could hide Mona’s fine features, the fullness of her lips or the sparkle of her green eyes.

  “We’re so pleased to be here, Your Grace.” Lady Ayers gave him a wide smile. “What an honor.”

  He gave a single dip of his chin to acknowledge her words. “I’m pleased to have you both.”

  Mona kept her hands clasped in her lap, her lips firmly pressed together.

  “Say thank you, Mona.” Her mother tapped her daughter’s knee with her fan with a quick rap.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Mona automatically replied, quickly meeting his eyes before looking away again.

  One side of his mouth turned down as he looked at Mona. This was not the same woman he’d met the other night.

  And while that fact should relieve him, that wasn’t the sensation he experienced at all. He wanted the other Mona present at this luncheon. The one with the quick wit and the sultry dress that had him panting. He’d spent the past two nights picturing what she’d look like without the dress and his imagination as well as his curiosity had been piqued.