Always a Gentleman, Never a Duke (Dueling for Dukes Book 3)

Chapter 1

Lady Eloise Bounds wanted to say something achingly romantic about the night they first met, something about how they were drawn together by moonlight. And while they did, in fact, meet under the moon, she was fairly certain at the time he was a ghoul come to steal her soul, and there was nothing at all romantic about that.

She grabbed a branch of the nearest bush, as if its beleaguered limbs held impenetrable power, and pulled it in front of her to shield her body.

“Stop!” Her voice was loud in the quiet of the night, and she cringed, her eyes going up to the empty and dark windows that surrounded the Mayfair courtyard into which she had slipped only minutes before, certain at any moment that light would appear in one of them and she would be caught. She had gone to so much trouble to escape the house without raising alarm, and now she had nearly given herself away with a cry of fright. For she was frightened.

The creature that stood in front of her appeared to have the qualities of a man, but his eyes glowed red like a demon. She was not of the spiritual sort and hardly of the religious sort, so for her mind to instantly assume the creature in front of her to be of demonic origin spoke to just how ghoulish he appeared.

He held up his hands then, hands that looked perfectly human. She could tell because he wasn’t wearing gloves, and the moonlight traced each curve of finger as an artist might use a brush against the canvas, highlighting just the right bits for maximum effect. Her heart thundered in her chest, and her arms shook so that the leaves of the limb she still held clenched in her hands rustled, and yet she felt the odd romantic stirring at the sight of his long fingers.

“I won’t hurt you.” His voice was soft, much calmer than hers had been, and he kept his hands pushed out in front of him as though to reassure her.

“That’s precisely what someone with nefarious intent would say.”

His hands faltered, and there was the suggestion of a smile in his voice, but the shadows around him were too thick for her to be certain if he did indeed smile. “Do you often encounter gentlemen with nefarious intent at midnight in a Mayfair courtyard?”

“I don’t know that you’re a gentleman.” She pulled the limb closer to her chest, bracing it just beneath her chin.

His head tilted ever so much before he began to lower his hands. “If I may,” he said, but his hands kept moving before she gave permission, and she watched him carefully.

He took a step toward her, and she pushed the limb away from her like a sword. He stopped immediately, hands once more in the air, and silence vibrated between them. He didn’t advance though, and after a moment, his hands started to lower again.

Her heart pounded, but the limb had stopped shaking, and she wondered why. Why did this stranger with demon eyes cause such calm to wash over her?

She realized then that he wasn’t coming at her, but rather shifting so he was in moonlight instead of shadow, and finally she saw the truth of it.

“Oh.” The word was sad and hollow, and she felt just a little repulsed at her disappointment. Had she been hoping the man was a ghoul?

Instead he was incredibly ordinary, and the demon eyes were merely a pair of railway spectacles in which the lenses had been swapped for what appeared to be red glass.

She could see his smile now, and she found it to be absurdly boyish. Something hiccupped inside of her, and she pressed a hand to her stomach in surprise.

No. No, it couldn’t be happening. Not like this. The thing for which she had endured two painfully boring seasons couldn’t come now. Not when she had resigned herself to her fate.

“I feel as though I’ve disappointed you somehow.” His voice was boyish to match his smile, and she wished she could see his face more clearly, but the spectacles obstructed her view. “I’m usually in a person’s presence for quite a great deal longer before I do that.”

She tried to stop her own smile, suddenly worried she would give too much of herself away, but she didn’t know why she would think that. This man was a perfect stranger.

She pointed to the railway spectacles. “May I ask what those are for? You’re not precisely on a train at the moment.”

He made a self-deprecating noise then and pulled the spectacles from his face.

Oh lud. His face was boyish too.

His features were clear in the moonlight, but somehow she knew her heart would recognize him even if her eyes could not. He had light brown hair that stuck up haphazardly around the crown of his head as though he had spent a great deal of time adjusting the spectacles, and he hadn’t bothered to fix the damage they’d done to his hair. His forehead was high, his eyes twinkling with mirth much as his boyish smile suggested a private joke, and his jaw was surprisingly firm, almost chiseled. While the man oozed the suggestion of fun, she sensed something strong beneath the surface, and it called to her.

She heard a strange rustling noise in her ears and realized her hand had started to shake once more, and as she still held the limb, it gave her away. She noticed his eyes fall to the limb the moment hers did, and she snatched her hand back, putting it behind her as if to hide it.

He held up the spectacles and thankfully answered her question without mention of the shaking limb. “It’s a new design I had hoped to test tonight, but the clouds keep getting in my way.” He held the spectacles across one open palm as he pointed to the sides of the lens where normally there would have been mesh to protect the wearer’s eyes from flying hot coals and found the mesh had been replaced by cut tin. “I’ve modified the typical railway spectacle to better shelter the eye from outside light and focus the eye’s attention on what’s in front of the viewer.” Now he pointed to the red lenses. “The red is a theory of mine. I propose red light helps sustain a person’s night vision, allowing them to take in the night sky.”

Her eyes flew to his face. “You’re stargazing.”

It wasn’t a question, and she wondered why her voice sounded so breathless.

He blinked, his lips moving without sound for a moment. “I suppose I am. Although rather inadvertently. The main purpose of my excursion tonight is to test the red glass.” He held the spectacles aloft. “Should you like to try them? I would value your input.”

She was momentarily startled by the forward gesture, but if she’d had presence of mind, she’d realize everything about their encounter was forward. Her hand was already reaching for the spectacles when she snatched it back.

“I don’t even know your name.” The words left her lips in a kind of shocked whisper as she momentarily realized what was happening.

She was alone with a gentleman in the dark of a midnight courtyard. It was utterly scandalous, and should they be caught, everything would be ruined. Her mother—Oh God, Eloise’s mother would be lost to hysterics. So much planning had gone into this season, and they’d even managed to arrive in town early, and here Eloise was, cavorting with a stranger in the dark.

“It’s Tuck.” He said it so casually she almost missed it.

“I’m sorry?”

“Tuck,” he repeated and then smiled sheepishly. “Short for Tucker.”

It wasn’t proper. The way he said his name and the introduction. The whole thing should have been conducted by a mutual acquaintance in public with lots of prying eyes that would keep everything in check.

But then she found herself saying, “Eloise.”

Tuck smiled that heart-tugging smile and said, “Eloise. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope you won’t mind very much playing the part of my research assistant.”

She snatched up the spectacles before she could think about the way her stomach fluttered when he looked at her like that. She pushed the spectacles onto her nose, hooking the bent arms around her ears, and peered skyward.

“I can’t see anything.” It was true. The light of the gas lamp above the door she had slipped out of not minutes before obstructed the view of the night sky.

“Allow me.”

He touched her before she knew what he was about. He gripped her elbows through the heavy weight of her cloak and drew her back into the darkness along the path where she had first discovered him lingering. The heat that seared through so many layers was startling, but it hardly compared to the heat that coursed through her body when her back met his chest as he stopped abruptly.

He was much taller than she had first thought, and she found herself tucked neatly against him. Her eyes widened behind the glass lenses, but she saw nothing, her mind too clouded with the sudden realization of her dangerous position. Oh God, it felt incredible. The whole length of his body was pressed against hers, and suddenly her heart thudded with something too perilous to name.

This.

This was why she hadn’t accepted a single proposal in her two seasons. This was why she had held out. This was why her mother was so horribly frustrated with her. Tears sprang to her eyes at the terribleness of it, and she was glad for the spectacles. Tears because it was too late. She had already resigned herself to what lay ahead of her, finally abandoning her notion that her marriage might be different. That she might obtain the rarest of things among society.

A love match.

Two seasons were two seasons too many, and now there were two dukes on the marriage mart. Two dukes seeking wives, and three Bounds daughters against all the other debutantes society had to offer.

She closed her eyes, willing the tears to abate. It hadn’t mattered in the last two seasons. Eloise’s older sister, Gwendolyn, was firmly and seemingly happily on the shelf while her next oldest sister, Annie, had found love only to have it snatched away again, donning a widow’s weeds and finding solace in her grief. But now, none of the Bounds sisters were safe, and Eloise had given up her fanciful notion of love.

But that was all before she’d stumbled upon a man with red eyes in the middle of a dark courtyard.

“Is that better?”

His warm breath skated across her ear, and it was all she could do not to sigh with pleasure. But it brought her back to the present, and she opened her eyes, sucking in a breath now.

“Oh.” It was all she could say. The stars were tiny pinpricks of light against the inky black, so much more defined than with the naked eye. “Oh, I think you might be right.”

His laugh was soft against her ear. “You sound surprised.”

She spun about, suddenly wishing to reassure him that she wasn’t doubting his intelligence, but she found him smiling, and she felt rather foolish standing there in the red spectacles. Carefully she slipped them from her face and handed them to him.

“I was surprised actually,” she said. “It’s not often we debutantes have a chance to stargaze. It’s mostly needlepoint and watercolors.”

For the first time since she had encountered him, the smile slipped from his lips. “Eloise.” He spoke her name carefully, and the heady warmth she had felt standing in his arms began to fade. “I know why it is I’m standing out here on a cold, dark night, but I failed to ask you why you’re here.”

Her lips parted, the need to tell him everything raw and inexplicable in her chest. But how could she tell him? How could she tell this stranger that she had waited two seasons to feel anything for a man, and now she felt entirely too much when it was too late?

She couldn’t. So instead she said, “I suppose I was looking for a moment of respite before I begin the season tomorrow.” She fingered the velvet of her cloak, distracting herself from her beating heart with the softness of the fabric. When she looked up again, she found a hint of sadness in his puzzled expression that had her wondering.

He nodded. “I can understand that all too well. I think tomorrow is the start of something for many people in London. Even if we’re not all searching for the same thing.”

It was such a cryptic statement her mind couldn’t form a proper response before he was already bidding her good night.

He gave a formal bow that was rather funny in the circumstances, and she forgot the sadness she had seen in his face only seconds before.

“Good night, Eloise,” he said. His smile returned to his face, and she wondered when it had become familiar to her, a thought that only gave her more pain.

“Good night, Tuck,” she said.

It wasn’t until later when she was lying sleepless in bed that she wondered just what a man like Tuck could be searching for.

* * *

“Doyou know I don’t think I’ve ever been to a ball?” The Honorable Mr. Tucker Ryan stood next to his cousin, Liam Capshaw, the Duke of Ardley, the following night, trying not to think about how much more enjoyable his adventures of the previous night had been. “Assemblies, yes, of course. Plenty of those in Derbyshire. But no balls.”

Liam’s gaze remained riveted to the other side of the room even as he said, “I promise this is where you want to be tonight, cousin. Despite the crush that it is.” He finally pulled his gaze away. “You must remind me though to introduce you to the gentlemen in the cards room. That is where you’ll find your most lucrative prospects.”

Tuck watched as his cousin’s eyes dimmed slightly, and he headed off what he knew would be the same plea his cousin had given him for the past four days since Tuck had arrived in town.

“You know I will not allow it. We’ve been over this. While the coffers of the Ardley title are deep, they are not enough to fund the expedition I have in mind.” He gestured to the room around them. “That is why a pool of investors is necessary.”

Liam’s expression turned dismal. “You know I would give you the funds without question.”

“And bankrupt the title?”

A line appeared between Liam’s brows. “You think so little of the Ardley title?”

Tuck laughed at Liam’s pontificating tone. Tuck’s and Liam’s mothers were sisters, and Tuck had missed the weighty title of a dukedom by just that much. So it was that Tuck was a mere mister—practically poor with a pitiful allowance granted him by his father—to his cousin’s much loftier position.

Although it was impossible to tell there was any difference in rank between them. Tuck and Liam had been like brothers since childhood, and nothing had really changed when Liam assumed the title upon his father’s death, and it remained a relationship Tuck treasured above all else. Even his research.

“I suppose you already have prospects for yourself in mind,” Tuck said, carefully turning the subject away from himself and the daunting challenge that had brought him to London.

He had been happy in Oxford, squirreling away the days in the Bodleian, lost in pages of research so ancient and priceless he could almost imagine how gold prospectors of America’s Wild West might feel. But as it often happened with book research, he had met a dead end, an obstacle only to be conquered with practical research.

Practical research meant money.

The very thing Tuck did not have.

But there were plenty of people in London who had it, and so he had come on an invitation from his cousin, and here he was.

Out of the library and into the masses in the name of money.

God, he had never felt more uncomfortable.

For a brief moment, he remembered her, the stranger he had met in the dark. Such an oddly magical interlude in what was going to be, he knew, an arduous and uncomfortable endeavor, and he took comfort in the memory of his unexpected encounter.

Would he see her again? Might there be more than a chance encounter?

He hadn’t much to commend him, and the lady was likely exactly that, a lady and therefore out of his reach. He was of refined birth, and his connection to the Duke of Ardley elevated him above many, but he was still without title and possessing of only modest means. It didn’t matter just then. The memory of his midnight encounter soothed him, and he found himself calming even as his challenge loomed before him.

He needed funding if he were to ever uncover the deadly secrets in the aurora borealis and why they held the power to disrupt crucial telegraph communication. He must discover their powers, or he would never find solace, not after what had happened, and more he would never be able to stop the tragedy from occurring again.

Before he could allow his thoughts to pull him deeper into darkness, he turned to Liam to find his cousin tugging his cuffs into place as though preparing for the firing squad.

“I have selected several debutantes from good families that may be suitable, yes, but I hardly see how that should curtail my usual activities,” he said.

Tuck refrained from rolling his eyes. It would do no good as his cousin was the consummate flirt. Not a rogue in any way, Liam never took his dalliances with the opposite sex quite so far. It was merely that his cousin enjoyed their company, and even more, his effect on them.

Tuck almost admired him. Liam’s approach to flirtation would make any man of science proud.

“And I take it you’re about to introduce yourself to one such prospect?” Tuck eyed his cousin as the man fixed his hair.

“Something like that.” His cousin stepped forward and jostled a short matronly woman engaged in conversation just to their left. “Birdie, dear girl, do an old chap a favor.”

The woman turned owlish eyes on Liam that were piqued with irritation, but the irritation melted away when realization dawned on the woman’s face. Tuck shook his head and looked away. Still, he heard the exchange quite clearly.

“Liam, darling, anything for you. You know that,” cooed the woman.

Tuck could picture Liam’s smile as he said, “I require an introduction. Might you be in a position to help?”

Tuck heard a shuffling, and curiosity won out. He turned to find the woman had left her huddle of matrons and stepped closer to Liam, her fan tapping the duke’s arm familiarly.

“If I’m unable to offer one, I shall find someone who can. Who is it that has caught your attention?” The woman had thin lips marked by deep creases Tuck knew had come from years of making the pursed expression she did just then, her eyebrows lifting in the center, lips coming together in question as she waited for Liam’s response.

“Stoke Bruerne. Have you a connection?”

The woman called Birdie twittered like one. “Oh, of course, darling. Everyone who is anyone has a connection with Nancy. That’s the countess, dear. Follow me.” The woman waved a gloved hand, her fingers adorned with countless jewels that jockeyed for space on her diminutive digits.

Liam turned to him with a raised eyebrow, and Tuck shrugged. He had no desire to plunge into the fray as of yet, and so he followed his cousin as he in turn followed Birdie. Although short and narrow or perhaps because of it, the woman slipped easily through the crowd, tossing an excuse me here and a pardon there. They soon emerged on the opposite side of the room where refreshment tables had been set up along the perimeter, and clusters of ladies and gentlemen hovered in the relative calm so far removed from the dance floor.

“Wait here,” Birdie said with a wave of her hand as she toddled through the space to one cluster in particular to their right.

“Stoke Bruerne?” Tuck said in the interim. “I suppose the family offers a gaggle of ladies to choose from?” He infused the remark with sarcasm. There was nothing he disliked more than the way society forced ladies of a certain age to parade themselves about as if they were horseflesh before the auctioneer.

Liam nodded though as if he were in the market. Tuck supposed the man was and felt almost sorry for him.

“The youngest one,” Liam said. “Ellen? Ellie? Elaine? Something like that.”

Tuck held back a grimace. “You seem invested.”

Liam gave a one-shouldered shrug. “As invested as I can be at this point.” His eyes scanned the crowd like prey waiting for its predator to spring out of the bushes. “I have certain responsibilities to the title, and yet every marrying mama is too eager to throw her eligible daughter at my feet without considering the girl’s feelings in the matter and my own responsibilities.”

When worded like that, Tuck could almost feel the noose of the dukedom and was once more glad he had escaped it.

“And the youngest Stoke Bruerne daughter meets your requirements?”

Liam nodded, his gaze moving back to Birdie who was speaking animatedly to a tall woman in a dark green gown, pearls at her throat. “The eldest Stoke Bruerne daughter would have been more suitable, but her father managed to marry her off only this morning, and the second eldest is a widow.” He turned to Tuck, his face grim. “I don’t dally with widows. You never know when you’re going to find one who actually loved her dear, departed husband, and worships the ghost of the man she has made perfect in her memory.” He shook his head, his eyes traveling back to Birdie. “No, it’s only the youngest one that will do.”

Tuck raised both eyebrows. “Your deductions make you sound like a scientist. Careful, cousin, or I shall think you plan to tread on my accolades.”

Liam turned with a wicked grin tipping up one side of his mouth. “Should you ever achieve any.”

The barb was good natured, and Tuck couldn’t help but smile. Tuck had missed this. Their boyhoods had allowed them to play together, grow together. Fortune had them both attending Eton, and their camaraderie continued. It was only at Oxford that their differences became apparent. Liam took a course of education that would prepare him to be a gentleman and a duke while Tuck had sought a more rigorous study that might lend him to a profession.

And answers.

He watched as Birdie gestured behind her, and Liam shifted beside him.

“Say something,” he muttered.

Tuck started. “Uh, the term aurora comes from the Roman. Aurora. Goddess of the dawn. She was believed to have journeyed from the east to the west to herald the arrival of the sun. The Greek used the term Eos for the goddess, but really Eos Borealis doesn’t have the same ring to it. Wouldn’t you agree?” He looked to his cousin then only to find his face squeezed into an expression of concern.

“You’re rather odd,” Liam said softly. “Sometimes I forget, but sometimes it really shows.”

Tuck smiled. “Someone must be the odd one in the family.”

Liam held up a finger. “That title has already been claimed by Uncle Fitzwilliam.”

Tuck’s face fell. “I’m afraid you’re right. It was quite fascinating when he took up taxidermy, but it was something else entirely when he started staging the taxidermied squirrels into famous scenes from operas.”

“Agreed,” Liam said, and that was it as Birdie entered their peripheral vision, a stream of women following her.

The beading along the woman’s gown clicked as she approached, and Tuck couldn’t help but think it reminiscent of the clicking heels of a general of Her Majesty’s army. He straightened, a sense of foreboding washing over him as they drew near.

This was what his midnight lady had been talking about, this moment happening before him. Something was about to start for Liam, and Tuck was oddly queasy at being an accomplice to the first stirrings of the Marriage Mart.

Didn’t anyone simply fall in love anymore?

Was it always to be like this, a matching of titles and coffers? Each party weighed by the other for faults and commendations?

What had happened to love?

He pushed away his silly thoughts as Birdie stopped in front of them and began the formal introductions.

Lady Stoke Bruerne was the tall brunette with the pearls Tuck had noticed, and she brought with her a near replica, a lady perhaps only a handful of years younger than Tuck. He knew her to be the widow Liam had mentioned as she wore a plain gown of an indeterminate shade of purple. Lady Stoke Bruerne turned as if to introduce another daughter, but the space beside the widow was empty.

“I do beg your pardon,” she said, her voice deeper than Tuck would have expected for a lady, but it almost rang with authority. She looked behind her, and although she hissed, Tuck heard it plainly. “Eloise!”

There was a muffled gasp of surprise, a good deal of shuffling, some not so muffled admonishing, and then Lady Stoke Bruerne straightened, a bright smile painted on her face as the youngest Stoke Bruerne daughter took her place beside the widow.

And that was the moment Tuck’s entire world shattered.

Because standing before him, her face finally fully revealed to him in the light of a thousand candles was his magical midnight lady, the realization stopping his heart just as Birdie announced, “And this is Lady Eloise Bounds.”

Eloise.

It wasn’t Ellen, Ellie, or Elaine.

Horribly, it was Eloise.