Needed: A Dishonorable Duke: Calling All Rakes Page 4

  Selena entered and he barely contained his wolfish grin as she started toward his guests, a red liquid balancing precariously on the edge of the tray.

  In delightfully slow motion, he watched as Selena’s foot caught on the rug, the tray toppling just in front of Lady Ayers. The juice, or whatever red liquid was in the crystal glass spun through the air red flecks showering down on the settee, as the glass made a perfect arc, and then landed directly in Lady Ayers’ lap.

  Cries erupted in the glasses wake. Selena babbling a string of perfectly punctuated apologies. Lady Ayers huffing in several breaths as Selena attempted to sop up the liquid and Mona…she stared directly at him with narrowed eyes.

  “Selena,” his voice cut through the noise, silence following in its wake. “Take Lady Ayers to the kitchen to properly clean the mess and then collect your things.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Selena said, tucking her chin in a show of feigned remorse.

  Lady Ayers rose, following the maid who walked backwards, continuing to dab.

  When they exited the room, he looked back at Mona who still had her gaze trained on him.

  “How fortunate that you were not doused with the liquid,” he said as he cleared his throat.

  Finally, Mona broke the stare to look down at her dress. She pulled at a particularly offensive piece of lace. “That’s not true. I’m soaked.” Then she looked back up at him, a blush creeping into her ivory skin. Christ, that skin was perfect. Even decked in orange as she was, it glowed in the afternoon light, smooth and even and flawless. “You simply can’t see the red liquid against the color of my gown.”

  Finally. They were addressing the elephant in the room. “Speaking of that…what are you wearing?”

  Her chin notched. “It was my mother’s choice.”

  “Does she always pick out such clothes for you?”

  The color in her cheeks deepened. “She wants me to be seen.”

  “Seen?” he asked, his gaze travelling over the gown. “Or avoided?”

  She looked away then, her face turning to the side. “It is dreadful, isn’t it?”

  He could almost hear the pain in her voice and his chest tightened. “I would hazard to guess, Miss Ayers, that I’ve discovered the reason the men of the ton have not begun courting you yet.”

  Her gaze snapped back to his. “It’s not just the dresses, I’m—”

  He’d heard her list of less desirable traits. He didn’t buy it. “You, Miss Ayers, are delightful. If I were the sort…” He stopped then. “But I digress.” He cleared his throat. “I asked you here for a particular reason.”

  Her brows lifted as she dropped the lace. “And that reason is?”

  Brax shifted in his seat. Where to begin…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mona was fairly certain that beet juice was running between her breasts and seeping into her chemise and corset.

  The smell was offensive, the sticky feel worse. The liquid was often used for ladies to stain their lips. Where he’d gotten that volume of the stuff was a mystery to her, but then again, he was a duke.

  And he’d cleared the room to tell her something.

  “Your Grace.” She drew in a deep breath, praying for patience. While she’d hoped he brought her here to tell her that he’d reconsidered her plan, the stunt with the juice had doused that hope. He was up to no good. What did she expect from the Deplorable Duke? “Beet juice is collecting in my naval. Could you please tell me why I’m here?”

  “Your naval?” he asked and then Mona realized her mistake. His eyes darkened in a way that made her own breath catch, her pulse beginning a quick thrum that had heat filling her cheeks once again. “Should I help you to remove the offensive liquid?”

  Despite the sticky—er—situation and the disappointment that he hadn’t brought her here to accept her plan, her lips twitched at his rakish comment. Oh, but he was a cad. “You can help me by telling me why I’m here.”

  He grimaced then and rose, crossing to the window. Normally, she would have risen too but, that would mean that more juice would pool on his carpet.

  “I’m working my way up to telling you,” he said as he stared out the window.

  She nodded, though he couldn’t see. “In that case, as you work your way up, would you mind fetching me a cloth of some kind?”

  He spun about, eyes widening, and then, with a quick tug, he pulled down a very expensive-looking silk curtain from the window. It ripped, a giant piece of fabric pooled in his hands.

  Mona had a sudden image of him doing the same to her dress. With one decisive tug could he remove the monstrosity from her body? Why was the idea of it so pleasing and so…erotic?

  Crossing back to her in long, sure strides, he began wiping down her arms, her legs, her lap and then…her chest.

  Her heart went from thrumming to racing with each stroke of his hand as she sat stock-still. While the silk sopped up some of the mess, it also smeared a great deal. “I’m not sure your curtain was the best choice,” she whispered around the lump in her throat.

  He had knelt before her, and he chose that moment to look up into her gaze. Lord above, he was handsome like that. Still powerful, enigmatic, but below her… Need pulsed through her swift and fierce.

  “I hated these curtains anyway.”

  Her brows lifted. “Cream silk? What’s to hate?”

  He lifted the fabric under her chin, holding it there for a moment. “On you it would be divine.”

  She sat back. “If you’d like to pick out fabrics for me, Your Grace, you’ll have to ask for my hand.”

  She saw his jaw tighten. “Touché.”

  “Why am I here covered in juice? Please explain or I shall have to leave. Thanks to you, I’ve got a salon full of potential suitors waiting for me at home.” A lie. But he deserved it after the way he’d sent her mother down to the kitchen.

  If his jaw had hardened before, it turned to granite now, his hands dropping into her lap, his fists clenched into the silk curtain. It was wildly inappropriate and completely arresting. There was something so raw, so viscerally male about him.

  “Yesterday morning I was woken early by the staff. Someone left a pig on my lawn.”

  “A pig? How do you know it didn’t just wander in? Farmers still bring livestock to markets and—”

  “The pig was dead.” He grimaced.

  “Oh,” she gasped, her hands coming to his.

  “I’ll spare you the worst of the details, but it had a foam frothing from its mouth, the inspector was sure that it had been poisoned.”

  “Poisoned,” she said as she gripped his hands tighter.

  “And…” he shifted, still crouched in front of her. “It had a note attached to it. For me.”

  “What did it say?” A sick knot had replaced the desire she’d been feeling. Who would do such a thing?

  He looked up at her, quiet for another minute as he searched her face. Finally, he stood, sliding his hands out from under hers and crossing to a small writing desk off to one side. He opened a drawer and pulled out a slip of parchment. Crossing back to her, her handed it to her.

  She took the note cautiously, as though it might bite her and unfolded the paper to read the contents.

  * * *

  A pig for a swine. Your day will come.

  “It’s a threat!”

  “It is,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. Then he reached down and took the paper from her once again. “And as you were one of the very last women I…” He didn’t finish that statement.

  Rejected? Was that the word he’d left out?

  “I’d hoped you might write something. To compare.”

  He thought she’d done this. A hurt that was not justified settled in the pit of her stomach. But with a nod, she rose and crossed to the writing desk. Parchment, ink, and quill were readied on the tabletop and with a sure hand she wrote the words pig and then swine. Dropping the quill back into the ink, she turned back to Brax. “There.” Her chin was hi
gh, but she couldn’t quite hide the hurt that weighed her down.

  “I did not mean to offend,” he said, his gaze flitting to the paper.

  “Why would I be offended? You insulted my clothing, doused me in offensive liquid, and then accused me of swineacide.” She pressed her hands down her skirts. “I wish you luck in solving the mystery, Your Grace. Stay safe.”

  Then she turned, hoping to make as graceful an exit as possible.

  “Mona,” he called. “You can’t leave. Your mother—”

  “Can find me in our carriage.”

  Lifting the layers of soggy tangerine taffeta, she exited with all the aplomb she could muster.

  Brax watched Mona walk out the door, her head high, shoulders straight. She had every right to go and even more right to be angry with him.

  And what was worse yet, he had the feeling that the answer to his problems was leaving. Because she’d been correct last night too. Marrying a woman who would tolerate an arrangement would help insulate him from matchmakers and, in this case, retribution seekers.

  And while he doubted himself capable of ever truly loving another person, Mona’s soft luscious body in his bed would make the state of matrimony tolerable. At least long enough to make an heir. After that, he could reassess how to be more…discreet.

  “Mona,” he called, starting after her. “We’re not done.”

  “We are,” she tossed the words over her shoulder as she kept moving.

  “We’re not.” He caught up to her easily, reaching out a hand, he wrapped his fingers about her biceps. “I…” Even in his weakened state, he couldn’t quite say the words. To actually marry. Make a baby. Be a father… It filled him with sick dread. “I don’t want to part like this.”

  She’d stopped already, but her head snapped around, her green eyes meeting his. “How would you like to part?”

  “As…” Well. He was in it now. What did he say exactly? His moment of insanity had led him here. A feeling that he’d made too many mistakes with his life, and he was paying the price of his misdeeds. Now he needed to come up with some sort of answer. “As friends.”

  Her lips parted, her eyes growing wider. “With friends like you…”

  He winced. “I’m sorry about the juice. I can have the dress cleaned.”

  She looked down with a sigh. “No. That won’t be necessary. You’re right about that, it’s dreadful.”

  Her softening made something inside him relax. Smart as a whip, she was still so kind. Sweet. It was a lethal combination.

  He needed time to think, which meant that this meeting had to end with the two of them on good terms. If ever there was a woman who might tempt him into matrimony, raise his children for him…

  He’d called her here knowing full well she hadn’t been responsible. He’d just—he’d wanted to see her again. And testing her handwriting had been as good an excuse as any. That was the truth. He had a feeling he was going to have to start being more honest with himself. “Nothing can hide your beauty. Not even that dress.”

  A soft smile played at her lips. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Brax,” he whispered.

  “I remember.”

  “I know you didn’t leave the pig on my lawn. But I must ask everyone and working backward, you were first. I’m sorry if I’ve offended.”

  She nodded. “It makes sense. In fact, you should likely put together a list.”

  “A list?” The very idea of it made his head spin. There was nothing like putting something on paper to make a man face his wrongs.

  “Of your conquests. Women who might be responsible. Or men. Have you wronged any men lately? We’ve assumed that the perpetrator was female.”

  “The handwriting is feminine.”

  She gave a nod. “And so is referring to you as a pig. It’s a decidedly feminine insult. Start with the women then.” Mona turned more fully toward him. Her plum scent was mostly covered by the beet juice, but he caught a subtle hint of it. “My cousin, Charlotte, is excellent at this sort of thing. She solved a string of murders for the New Police. I could ask her to help you.”

  “Your cousin?” Would that mean seeing more of Mona? Tempting. It would give him the time he needed to order his thoughts. Set a course of action in regard to Mona and his future.

  She nodded. “Yes. She’s the new Countess of Westmoreland. She and Tate worked on the investigation together. Before they were married.” Mona leaned even closer. “My mother would die if she knew but I helped too. I even visited a few of the murder scenes.”

  “You…visited murder scenes?” His fingers inadvertently tightened on her arm. Seeking out rakish lords in private rooms of a ball was dangerous enough. Perhaps he should wed her just to keep her safe.

  It was a thought.

  Mona nodded. “Anyway, Charlotte can help.” She tilted her head to the side. “Meet us in Hyde Park at ten tomorrow. And bring the note. She’ll want to see it.”

  “I’ll bring the note, but I’ll pick you up at nine thirty.” Why was he turning this into a real outing? Perhaps it was the suitors she’d mentioned. Or maybe, it was the fact that he wanted her next to him on his phaeton.

  She nodded and then slipped from his hand again, making her way down the grand staircase and out the front door.

  He stared after her, wondering why his world seemed to knock off kilter every time he spoke with Mona Ayers.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Freshly bathed after the juice incident, and changed into a much simpler pale green gown, Mona sat in her father’s study, waiting for him to complete whatever column he currently tallied.

  He scrubbed absently at his chin while he worked, and Mona had to smile at the familiar gesture.

  Mona loved her father. He was kind and gentle with caring blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed. Which was often.

  She’d spent many an afternoon seated by the fire in his study while he worked, and she found peace in the activity now.

  Not that she was here just to observe. He’d summoned her today. Lord Ayers had something he wished to discuss with his daughter.

  After her bath, Mona had left her hair down to dry, only pulling back the front and wavy locks curled over her shoulder now as the fire dried them.

  “For the life of me, I can’t understand, why you’re not already wed,” her father said, clearly done with his column and ready to talk.

  She shrugged as she turned to look at him. “It’s only the start of my third season,” she murmured automatically. “There’s still time.” She ignored the voice that reminded her time had run out. It was a habit of hers to say comforting words to her father. Soothe any worries he might have.

  “True,” her father said rising from his desk and coming to join her near the fire. He sat in the chair across from her, stretching out his legs. “There’s plenty of time yet in regard to what society finds acceptable. If you ask your mother, however…”

  Mona winced. Both of them understood her mother was difficult. She’d been a great beauty as a younger woman, and she’d married a man in a class above. She wanted the same for her daughter.

  At least that’s what her father regularly told Mona whenever she dared complain.

  “Mother has other plans.”

  But today, her father didn’t begin by justifying his wife’s actions. Instead, he stared into the fire. “She does.” Then he looked at his daughter. “How was your luncheon with the duke?”

  One of her eyebrows quirked up. “As if you don’t know. Mother is still napping thanks to the shock of being doused in beet juice.”

  Her father smiled at that. “I’m glad for it. I’d be even more worried if the luncheon had gone well.”

  Worried? Her father? “Worried about what?”

  His frown, set in deep lines in his face, had Mona sitting in forward in his chair. “You deserve the sort of man who’ll care for you. See to your welfare. You should not be matched with a man older than myself or one so dreadful that he’s a sourc
e of constant fodder. The Derelict Duke.”

  Mona’s mouth opened and then closed. First, because that was a new name for Brax she’d not heard before. But more importantly, her father almost never contradicted her mother. “Papa?”

  He looked at her then, worry lines etching his face. “Your mother’s heart is in the right place. She just…”

  “I know. She thinks she’s giving me the best.”

  His stiff nod served as his answer. “But it’s time—” He stopped again.

  “Time for what?” Mona couldn’t help herself. She rose from the chair, the conversation having made her insides jumpy. Taking two steps toward the fire, she found her hands clasped over her stomach. “Time for what?”

  “We’ll order you more gowns; only this time, my dear, you’re choosing them.”

  Mona’s mouth opened and then closed again. It seemed best to just listen.

  “Have another outing with that duke. No matter how detestable, he’ll bring you more suitors. You don’t have to marry a marquess, but I do insist whomever you choose be acceptable to your station.”

  “Papa?” Never in her wildest daydreams could she imagine having this conversation with her father. He never spoke out against her mother’s plans.

  He gave her a small smile. “I know. She’s going to be furious.”

  Furious did not even begin to describe what her mother would be. Her father was planning on rejecting the marquess’s offer, should he make it, and then use the duke to gain more suitors. “It’s not just that. I had no idea that…”

  Her father gave her a sidelong glance. “I love your mother with all my heart. Always have. But we both know she can be a bit strong-willed.”

  “A bit,” Mona said, attempting to hold back a giddy grin. Her father was going to help her find a new match. It wasn’t an opportunity she’d squander. This was her chance.