Duke of Dalliance (Revenge of the Wallflowers #53)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

D alliance was shown to the family parlor of Viscount Davies’s London townhouse. Through the open doors, he could see the telltale shimmering black hair coiled softly upon Truly Hancock’s head. He wanted to see it down, wrapped around his hand like the lead rope of an unbroken mare. It was a task he would find great pleasure in. Not to tame her. No. But to feel the force of her unbridled nature before she tore away with wild abandon.

“Dalliance.” A mischievous voice, years in the making, came from his right, followed by another happy chirp, “Dalliance, you devil.”

It was the two elderly aunts of Phineas Davies. The women were gold, fine gems full of laughable conversation and wholly inappropriate most of the time.

“My dear ladies,” he turned to say just before they took up on either side of him like bookends, sliding an arm under his, one a mite shorter than the other. “It’s always such a pleasure.”

“You missed out on our Sunshine. Don’t be a dullard and pass over this little mouse,” Miss Nora said.

“No,” Lady Vada added. “Truly, is absolutely ravishable.”

Lady Davies and Miss Hancock did not miss that comment as the elderly women on either side of him led him into the parlor.

“You mean ravishing, Aunt Vada,” Lady Davies said quickly.

Dalliance eyed Miss Hancock, who did not look stricken by the comment. She gave him a knowing smile, which he took to mean that she knew the aunts well enough and suffered no offense.

“She is a beauty, my dears,” he said, hoping to placate them and halt their thread.

“Like an Arabian mare,” Miss Nora said, a bubbling pitch to her voice like something she’d only just discovered.

He helped them find a seat on a gold-striped settee, like a gilded cage, as he grimaced apologetically at Miss Hancock.

“Don’t you think he’s a handsome rogue?” Lady Vada asked Truly.

“I wouldn’t say so,” Miss Hancock said with a beaming smile. “Not out loud, anyhow, because I fear he knows it too well.”

Lady Vada leaned forward, whispering louder than a strike of thunder just before a hail storm, “Dalliance is a well deserved title for him. Any woman who weds him will be lucky for all his practice.”

“Aunt Vada, the tea is cool enough for you to sip. Perhaps it’s a good time to test that.”

“She’s afraid we’ll say something we regret,” Miss Nora said.

“I cannot imagine,” Miss Hancock said with mock severity. “I find you the height of propriety.” Then Truly Hancock turned her beguiling smokey-gray eyes on Dalliance.

“I took the liberty to hang the painting in the little salon so you might consider whether it’s something you’d like to keep,” Lady Davies said, directing him with a slight jerk of her head. “I believe Miss Hancock had some ideas as well.”

Having not taken a seat, Dalliance bowed over the older women’s hands, gave an appropriate nod to Lady Davies, and then offered his arm to Miss Hancock.

The little salon looked out over the front walkway, the window draped in sheer silk, allowing in light and keeping the room privately cozy at the same time. The painting hung by a nail and twine against a burgundy wall.

“Will you keep it? Or was this simply an excuse?” Miss Hancock said, standing before the modest painting.

Dalliance sidled up, his hands behind his back, his gaze focused on the work of art on the wall and not the work of art next to him. “I’ll keep it as a reminder.”

She turned. “Of what?”

He faced her. “Of you.”

“Dead lilies. What a compliment.” Her eyes sparkled, and her mouth held a delicious smile. “I suppose we shouldn’t waste time on triviality. So, why did you wish to call upon me at all?”

“Is it possible I may simply like you?”

“No.”

His eyebrows struck a pose. “You fear my reputation.”

“I fear you read too much into our first encounter.”

“Not nearly. Would you care to sit?” He motioned to the settee, taking the seat beside it so they might speak more quietly. “My intention was and is honorable, I assure you. I only hoped to offer my help.”

“I don’t remember asking for your help. But I’m curious what you have in mind?”

He sat forward at an angle, cupping his fist and resting his elbows on his knees. “Miss Rutledge is the woman who jilted you.”

She nodded, saying nothing but watching him with curiosity like she had at the ball. He wondered at this quiet side when she’d been so verbal after tripping over him on the balcony.

“May I inquire if there were others who failed you as well?”

She nodded again.

He didn’t need to guess at that since he knew most of Miss Rutledge’s friends. “If you want to teach them a lesson, you must play them at their own game.”

* * *

Truly, sat there stunned. Did she hear him correctly? This high society duke of dalliances sat almost knee to knee with her on a cozy settee, suggesting she mete out some kind of revenge on Genevieve Rutledge and her kind. What was in this for him?

She continued, “And what game is that, exactly? Shall I outdress them? Invite them to all the right gatherings from the right people and then deny them entrance?” It all sounded childishly silly, but if she accepted that line of thought, then she must consider her pain an insignificant thing.

“No. Find out what they want. Fight them with that.”

If Genevieve had seen him in a mirror and not a skeleton—a game girls played when imagining who their husbands would be—then Truly knew what her friends wanted. “They want you.”

“Exactly.”

She pulled back, examining him because she hadn’t wished to believe what she already knew. His ego was renowned for the title itself. Dalliance was not a minor slur; it was a badge of honor among men and a challenge for women to conquer. She banished all hope that he might inhabit some kind of humility. She gave him a dubious look, folding her arms and then unfolding them when his eyes were drawn to her bosom.

“It’s not conceit,” he said as if he read her mind.

“I see. It’s only that you know what you’re worth and what women value. Is that it?” Her heart pounded, and she wanted to throw him off course. This was new ground.

“I simply know what a title is worth.”

“And I know what the bastard daughter of a duke is worth.” She gave him a self-deprecating smile.

“When we have more time, I’ll argue that comment. Right now, you’re missing the point.”

That didn’t help her galloping pulse. Did she hope to have another encounter with him? Was she as much a ninnyhammer as her friends? Or was she responding to his heady, handsome, good looks? They didn’t call him Dalliance for no reason. She filled her lungs, gave her brain the oxygen required for comprehension, and sat forward, ready to listen.

“How many young eligible dukes are there?”

“Not many,” she answered. “But I promise age is of no concern to them. Title is everything.”

He gave her a slow, blinking stare.

“But if they have a choice?—”

“They’ll take young.” He raised a brow. “Or old and frail,” he added with humor.

“Except the only way I can think to make that work is to be seen in your company. On your arm, I suppose.”

“Courted.”

“You can’t court me.” Her brow creased, her mouth drawn in a half-frown of confusion. “What’s to happen when I’m jilted?”

“You’re still thinking like a nice girl. Open your mind and think like a mindful woman.”

She shook her head, a rattle between her ears. “When we discuss my earlier comment, let’s add this one of yours, shall we?”

“Don’t be distracted by my idiocy.”

She chuckled at that. “All right. Then what happens, Dalliance?”

He smiled, a satisfied, almost surprised look in his eyes. “I like that. Dalliance. Please keep that up, it fits.”

“With what? You are a cauldron of confusion.”

“I won’t argue there. What I’m trying to say is I don’t jilt you. You jilt me.”

She sat back. “What do you get from all this? You barely know me.”

“I know your brother.” Now he sat back, topping the backrest with his arm, his hand inches from her shoulder, a roguishly confident position if she ever saw.

“And I know him not at all. What does the one have to do with the other?”

He sat forward again. “Nothing, I only meant to make you more comfortable. It wasn’t a good turning point. Let’s just say that I have a lesson to teach someone, myself.”

“And the scandal sheets? Are they true?”

“Does it matter?”

Her gaze darted between his eyes, searching for truth. Not his, but hers. Did it matter to her if they were true? This plan of his worked better if he were indeed a scoundrel, but first, she needed to admit to herself that she was dangerously attracted to him. Emotional distance was called for.

“This will take more planning than can be done here right now.”

He tilted his head, his arm draped again across the back of the gold silk settee. “Which is why I asked to see you in your home.”

She allowed a heavy sigh to escape. “I’ll accept that.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Yes.”

That remarkable half grin of his sent her into a coy, head-dipping, debutantish shyness that she could not replicate if she’d tried. She felt a friendship growing, and she wasn’t sure it was wise.