Bound to the Duke of Seduction (Dukes of Shadows #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“They are going to find out. They are absolutely going to find out, and Genevieve, when they do, my life shall not be worth—”

“Phoebe, for goodness’ sake, take a breath.”

Lady Phoebe Tripleton, the timid and meek youngest daughter of the Earl of Tripleton, stared back with wide eyes at her cousin, and best friend, Lady Genevieve Langley.

She knew that her fear would be illuminated by the lantern hanging above them in the swaying carriage which conveyed them from one side of the town to the other.

Through the dark, London streets, they rattled beneath the cover of night. Despite Phoebe’s nerves, the shadows made her feel less conspicuous.

“I know,” she sighed. “I know I am worrying too much, but it is not for nothing, Gen.”

“How do you know?” Her cousin’s blue eyes glittered in the lamplight. “What if you get everything you have ever wished for?”

A little self-deprecating, Phoebe laughed. “When have I have ever deserved such a thing?”

“You always have,” her friend swore. “Your parents just… they were not forthcoming with that sort of praise.”

“That is one way to put it,” Phoebe muttered. “Nonetheless, I am still excited.”

“Good,” Genevieve huffed. “As you should be! You deserve tonight! This one, singular, glimmering moment for yourself. Do not forget that, after tonight, you shall be the soon-to-be—”

“Do not remind me,” Phoebe cut her off in a murmur, pressing her thumb and forefinger to her temples. “Please, do not.”

“Actually, I think you need such a reminder,” Genevieve laughed. She could afford to be light, and bright, and everything that Phoebe was not; at least not yet, and perhaps might never be. “For you will be the future Marchioness of Birchwood.”

“Gen,” Phoebe whispered in a tight, strained voice.

“I am only saying that this, what we’re doing tonight, is what you need, and I am honored to be the one escorting you.”

The ladies had been carefully guarding their words for good reason. No one could find out about the masquerade ball. The dance was set to commence at an exceptionally late hour, and those who had been invited were sworn to secrecy.

When Phoebe first received her own invitation, she was astounded. She had no reason to think she might be offered a spot at this coveted soiree. But then, she grew to appreciate the invitation for the gift it was.

This event would grant Phoebe one last night of freedom before she did indeed have to force herself to look towards her future.

I shall be the Marchioness of Birchwood.

“I just did not expect that a night to myself meant this,” Phoebe fiddled with the folds of her dress nervously, unable to shake her worry and doubt.

“Heavens, Genevieve, you are taking me to the most notorious and scandalous party in all of the ton, one that hides in the darkness. That speaks loudly, doesn’t it? ”

Her cousin flashed her a smirk. “And that is precisely why you must attend with me. You have been hidden from the ton for too long. And I cannot allow you to hide away forever. By the end of this Season, you will marry Birchwood, but before that happens, you must have an experience—this experience.”

Phoebe shook her head gently. She was amazed at Genevieve’s behavior.

“What will people say when we arrive at the ball without any chaperones?” She arched an eyebrow at her cousin and waited for a response.

Genevieve laughed nonchalantly. “What can they say? We were invited. Our parents were not. The matter is very simple.”

Knowing she ought to be fortified by this reassurance, Phoebe tried to stop fussing with her dress or ease the twisting sensation in her stomach, but both nervous habits persisted.

“I do not think we are behaving prudently.” The carriage bounced slightly, jostling Phoebe closer to the door. She pressed one gloved hand to the wall and inhaled sharply.

Geneveive nearly toppled right out of her seat, but her zeal was not shaken. “Breathe, Phoebe. Just take a slow, deep breath. We shall be there in no time and…”

“No.” Phoebe argued, suddenly sure she must do something to squash their momentum and encourage her cousin to have the driver turn the carriage around at the next bend of the road.

“We should not be going to a…” She paused and lowered her voice so that the next word was hardly audible. “…masquerade.”

“Ha!” Genevieve laughed lightly. “Lord Spencer invited us himself.” She pulled her invitation from her reticule and held up the piece of creamy white parchment that was outlined in a faint silvery trim.

“You know he famously only invites the upper crust. We should feel honored to be amongst those His Lordship selected to attend.”

“I am honored,” Phoebe barely managed to utter as her stomach gave another anxious lurch. “But…”

“But what?” Genevieve teased. She leaned forward, and Phoebe caught a whiff of her cousin’s signature rosewater scent.

“You are afraid to see what will happen when the most prestigious members of the ton lower their inhibitions?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Are you feeling shy because you do not wish to consort with Lord Spencer and his collection of friends?”

“Lord Spencer is the son of a respectable Earl,” Phoebe countered.

“Not tonight.” Genevieve’s eyes continued to blaze with excitement and mischief, and that look in her cousin’s eyes extended Phoebe’s unease.

Still, there was another part of her that was thrilled by the prospect of going to this ball. Phoebe had been locked up for far too long. Even as the carriage jounced and jostled them through the streets of London, she felt the kind of freedom she had hitherto only ever fantasized about attaining.

Impulsively, wishing to embrace that adventurous side of her personality, Phoebe twitched aside the curtain on the window and peered out into the inky blackness.

Just as she caught a glimpse of the passing buildings, the carriage jolted once more and nearly sent Phoebe toppling.

What am I doing?

A rush of trepidation crowded out all of Phoebe’s dauntless feelings.

“We must go home!” Phoebe pulled herself upright and rapped on the top of the carriage with her knuckles. “Turn round at once,” she demanded of the driver.

“Stop that!” Genevieve scolded, and grabbed Phoebe’s hand. “Drive on, Rochester!”

The coach did not slow or halt, and it was unclear if Rochester simply did not hear Phoebe’s earlier command or elected to obey Genevieve’s.

“Phoebe, you must…” It was clear that Genevieve had abandoned her playful attitude and meant to give Phoebe a lecture, but then, quite suddenly, Genevieve’s tone softened and she started massaging Phoebe’s fingers.

“You are shaking, Cousin. What has come over you tonight? Are you really this frightened?”

Phoebe gulped loudly. “I cannot say what worries me more… going to this masquerade, or being caught out by my parents.”

“How can I help you?” Genevieve asked as she gazed at Phoebe with a look that was full of concern. “What can I say to assuage your fears?”

“Nothing.” Phoebe flexed her fingers and pulled her hand out of her cousin’s grip. “My only wish at this point is to return home.”

Genevieve continued to give Phoebe a long, quizzical stare, then she huffed prissily and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “That, I cannot do.”

“What?” Phoebe squawked in disbelief. “You will not deliver me to my parents’ townhouse?”

“I will not allow you to miss this opportunity.” Genevieve tipped her head to the side and fixed another sympathetic look on her face.

“Come now. Let us evaluate the situation rightly. If we go to the party, we will dance, flirt, and spend the rest of the evening enjoying ourselves. But if you go home, what will you do?”

Genevieve cocked an all-knowing eyebrow at Phoebe, making it clear that her question was rhetorical.

“I know you, Cousin. If I ask Rochester to turn this carriage around and take you home, you will run into the house, dive beneath your bedsheets, and pray that your parents have not noticed your absence.”

“Yes,” Phoebe murmured, already accepting this interpretation of her behavior as a premonition of what was to come. “That is precisely what must happen.”

“You cannot give into your fears so easily,” Genevieve cried in an almost hysterical manner. “I will not let you.” She drew in a slow breath then said in a much more relaxed manner. “Do not fret about your parents. They will not send anyone to check your bedchambers this evening.”

Silently, Phoebe agreed with this summation.

No one will think to bid me a goodnight, she thought bitterly. As long as I show up for breakfast, they will not care what I do in the meantime.

“You have a point there,” she conceded after a beat. “But just because my parents do not care how I spend my time does not mean I am free to roam.”

Phoebe swallowed the lump building in her throat, making it difficult to speak. It was almost as if her body was protesting her next words. “I…I am engaged to be married, and Lord Birchwood will not want me if I…I…tarnish my reputation.”

Genevieve guffawed loudly. “I would not think you cared one fig for what that stuffy, old, Lord Birchwood thought of you or your reputation. Not when he is the most horrid scoundrel.”

“Genevieve!” Phoebe was alarmed to hear her cousin speak so disparagingly. “You should not say such things.”

“Well, he is,” she insisted. “He is old and he is desperate, not to mention an awful snob. You deserve far better.”

Phoebe stared at her friend in disbelief. “Is that what all this has been about? You have cajoled me into accepting Lord Spencer’s invitation because you hoped that I might find someone far better at the masquerade.”

Now that the pieces were falling into place, Phoebe was flabbergasted. “You do know that everyone there will be shadowed beneath masks so they cannot reveal their true identities, right?”

“Oh, my dear Phoebe, that is precisely the point.” Her smile flashed wickedly from across the carriage bench, and Phoebe’s dread only grew.