His Temporary Duchess (Dukes Ever After #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

E leanor Bennett stared at the opulent ballroom, filled with ladies and gentlemen of the ton in various masks and costumes. Behind her, her half-sisters all gathered as Greek muses, giggling amongst themselves. A quartet played a lively Scottish reel, and a set of country dances had formed in the center of the room.

“Do you suppose the Duke of Ravenscroft will be in attendance?” Isabel, her eldest half-sister at twenty, whispered. “Mama said he was certain to be present, but when I spoke with Lady Eliza, she said that although her mother had extended him an invitation, she thought him unlikely to accept.”

Eleanor did her best not to roll her eyes, though it was tempting. The Duke of Ravenscroft had expressed his intention of calling within the next few days, supposedly with the intention of choosing a wife from among the Bennett girls. Of course, although she was the eldest, Eleanor knew she would not be a part of this ‘honored’ ceremony. Ever since her father had died when she was just seven years old, she had been the bane of her stepmother’s life.

She supposed, in a way, she ought to be thankful that her stepmother had kept her fed and clothed, with a roof over her head. Considering that Mrs. Margaret Bennett had no love for Eleanor’s father, and even less for Eleanor herself, anything more would have been foolish to wish for.

Eleanor had a home, and she had the opportunity to accompany her half-sisters to this ball, which looked as though it would be the largest and most elaborate that Eleanor had ever been to.

Given she had few blessings to count, she made sure to count them all now.

Yes, she did not have a particularly flattering dress—the patterned muslin was from Isabel’s season last year, and it suited Isabel’s blonde curls far more than it did Eleanor’s brown tresses—but she was here.

And yes, perhaps she had little likelihood of dancing, but she had her pet mouse in her pocket—an infraction her stepmother would never forgive if she ever knew about it—and would be sure to have some company that way. Besides, the beauty of the ballroom alone made her feel as though she had stepped into Olympus itself.

“I think he will choose me,” Isabel was saying, fluttering her fan at her flushed cheeks. “After all, I am the eldest.”

“Only by a year,” Annabel, her second half-sister, snapped. “And you can’t be certain he won’t find me far more beautiful.”

“With your dark hair?” Isabel snorted. “ I’ve heard he prefers blondes.”

“How would you know?” Mirabel, the youngest of them all at seventeen, asked with rounded eyes. Of all her half-sisters, Eleanor found Mirabel’s company the most palatable, and if it had not been for Isabel’s spite, she thought that perhaps the two of them might have been friends. “Have you ever spoken to him?”

“Men do not speak of their conquests to ladies,” Isabel said scornfully. “No, I heard it from Lady Eliza. She told me that a few years ago, when her sister first came out, he courted Lady Lydia.”

Eleanor had heard of Lady Lydia, one of the famed beauties of the ton . She had never spoken to the lady, which was hardly surprising; ladies such as Lydia did not spend time with maligned first daughters of a deceased gentleman.

“What happened?”

“Well, I don’t know the details, but he certainly isn’t married now,” Isabel smirked and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “But I would say that it displays his preference for blonde hair, do you not think?”

“Yes, but Lady Lydia is far more beautiful than you,” Annabel murmured, pursing her lips. “She looks like a doll.”

And you do not .

Isabel slapped her fan against Annabel’s arm. “As though he would be tempted to marry you , with your coarse hair.”

“Now, now, girls,” Margaret, Eleanor’s stepmother, said, coming up behind them like a mother eagle guarding her young. With her hooked nose and sharp eyes, the comparison seemed apt, but where eagles did not have the richest plumage, Margaret wore a gown of rich crimson and a nodding peacock feather in her headpiece. As always when she appeared out, she presented herself at her very best. “That’s no way to treat one another. The Duke shall choose a bride from amongst one of you, and I’m sure it could be any one of you.”

Any one of them , Eleanor thought.

That notion did not sting as much as she had once thought it might. To be sure, she was now three-and-twenty with no prospect of a husband, but she found she had little interest in the Duke. She, too, had heard rumors about the Duke of Ravenscroft—about his rakish ways. It didn’t matter that he was due to pay them a visit to choose a wife from among them. Everyone knew that he only courted a lady for a maximum of seven days before moving on to his next victim. Eleanor hardly knew why Isabel so desperately wanted to be yet another on a long list, or why she thought she should be any better.

Margaret turned piercing eyes on Eleanor, and her brows pinched in a frown. “Why are you just standing there? Fetch me a drink before I perish from this heat.”

“Yes, and for myself,” Isabel put in. “You know my constitution is so frail.”

In Eleanor’s estimation, Isabel had the constitution of an ox. With a robust figure and cheeks often ruddy from the heat and exertion, she seemed about as far from fainting as it was possible to get.

“Hurry,” Annabel said, glancing around the crowded room. “Before a gentleman asks us to dance. You do not need to worry about that.”

“We do not all wish to spend the rest of our lives on the shelf,” Isabel scoffed.

Mirabel sent her a quiet, pitying look, but said nothing in her defense. As is usual . Eleanor knew better than to hope for Mirabel’s defense.

“At least you are wearing a mask so no one can connect you to us ,” Isabel smirked. “I do so hate it when people think we are related, and I must explain that you are so much older and yet still unmarried.”

Annabel snorted. “Only because no one wants her.”

“Now then, girls.” Margaret held out a finger, although her lips twitched. “You must not be cruel to Eleanor. She is aware of her inadequacies already, no doubt. Are you not, Eleanor?”

Sometimes, at times like these, Eleanor dreamed of telling her half-sisters and stepmother what she really thought of them. Their pride, avarice, and selfish disdain for the feelings of others made them positively dislikable, even in the soft, golden lighting of a masquerade ball. Perhaps no gentleman would be inclined to dance with her, in her plain, unfashionable gown, but two minutes’ conversation with her half-sisters would be enough to put any gentleman off the very idea of matrimony.

But if she gave vent to her feelings, they would go out of their way to make her life even more unpleasant—and that was no easy feat. Better she hold her tongue than be consigned to her bedchamber for the next week.

“Yes, Stepmother,” she said. “I’ll find some lemonade.”

“Good.” With a wave of her hand, Margaret dismissed her, and Eleanor slipped into the crowd. Finding the table of refreshments meant pushing her way through the bodies, and by the time she emerged, drinks in hand, she felt as though she’d had quite enough for the evening.

Fortunately, her half-sisters were surrounded by a collection of young men and women, and after delivering the glasses in her hands, Eleanor was able to escape. She patted her pocket, ensuring her mouse, Scrunch , remained still curled up there, unscathed.

At least one of us is safe and protected , she thought, casting her gaze about the busy room. Making herself as small as possible, she prowled around the edge of the room, aiming for the stairs leading to the balcony on the second floor. There, perhaps, she would find some privacy and quiet. But before she made it very far, a face popped up in front of her.

“Hullo!” it chimed. Eleanor blinked, focusing, and a young lady with auburn ringlets and merry blue eyes came into view. She had a round, pretty face and a smile so wide, Eleanor half felt as though it could swallow the floor and everyone on it.

“…Hullo,” Eleanor replied.

“Oh, I am so glad to see another friendly face. Is it not such a large ball? I declare I’ve never been to one like it before.” She waved the elaborate silver mask in her hands. “Are you here as a shepherdess? I love your gown—so simple! Are you having fun? I am, although I’ve only danced two dances, and both times the gentlemen were dreadful bores.” She giggled, and although Eleanor had been looking forward to some quiet, she could not help smiling in return.

“Did you find their conversation lacking?” she asked.

“What conversation? I declare, I have never encountered a gentleman with so little of use to say. The first commented on the size of the ballroom and the number of couples present in the dance, as though I should have any concern for such things. Then, if you please, said nothing else the entire time. And the second gentleman—well, I ought to have known when he said I bore the same name as his favorite hound, that he was going to speak of nothing but hunting. I am convinced that he resents the frosts for chasing all company back to Town.” She took a heaving breath and smiled prettily at Eleanor. “Don’t mind me—Mama always says I talk far too much and ladies should be seen and not heard. But, well, when you think that the alternative is listening to gentlemen speak, I don’t think it’s so very bad after all.”

Eleanor found herself smiling at the other girl, oddly charmed by her excess of words and the freedom with which she spoke. It was so different from the atmosphere at home, and a welcome change. She envied that ease, just as much as she enjoyed seeing it on display.

“I would much rather hear you speak,” she agreed. “Tell me, what was the second gentleman’s favorite hound called?”

The girl laughed, her delight contagious. “Oh, forgive me, I forgot we aren’t acquainted! Mama and I lived in America for many years, and I’ve quite forgotten how reserved you English can be. You see, I saw you and thought that we should be friends, and then I spoke with you and felt as though we were already friends.” She held out her hand. “I am Miss Olivia Ashby, although you can call me Livvy. I do hope you will, because then we will feel like proper friends, and won’t that be delightful!”

Eleanor’s stomach gave a flip. Friends . For the longest time, Isabel and Annabel—and of course Margaret—had prevented her from forming any real friendships. Yet here was this girl, seemingly oblivious to the nastiness that surrounded her.

“Miss Eleanor Bennett,” she said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Lawks, are you one of those Bennett girls?”

“They are my half-sisters.”

“Half-sisters, hmm?” Olivia sharpened her eyes, then smiled. “Well, you don’t seem half so superior as them, if you don’t mind me saying.” She glanced around her. “Oh Lord, my mother is looking for me. If she has found another gentleman for me to dance with, I think I shall be done for. Wish me luck, Miss Eleanor.”

“Ella,” Eleanor corrected, feeling as though she had been spun about in a whirlwind, and not minding the sensation so much.

Olivia beamed. “Oh, we are going to be such good friends!” She kissed the air by Eleanor’s cheek, then melted into the crowd as though she had never been there at all.

A smile lingering on her face, Eleanor worked her way around the room until she found the stairs she had originally been aiming for. Mounting them, she found herself on a small landing that led to a balcony overlooking the ballroom. Large curtains hung from the ceiling, and if she tucked herself away, she thought she might go entirely unnoticed by the rest of the ball at large.

Down below, she caught a flash of red hair and grinned. There was Olivia, led into the latest dance by a tall, spindly gentleman. Eleanor wondered if she was speaking as avidly to him as she had to her, but by the way the girl’s shoulders slumped, she doubted it.

“Well,” she said to Scrunch, stroking his tiny form through the material of his dress. “I suppose it has been an interesting evening so far. And Miss Olivia was nice enough to think I came dressed as a shepherdess.” She tugged the plain mask over her face, concealing her features. “When, in truth, I didn’t come dressed as anything at all.”

Behind her, fresh air blew in from a pair of open doors, and she inhaled, relieved at the easing heat. A cool breeze brushed along her neck, pleasantly refreshing. Yes, this was the perfect place to remain for the duration of the night.

“See, it’s truly not so bad,” she said to Scrunch.

“Did you think it would be?” a deep voice asked from behind her.

Eleanor whirled, taking in the figure standing between her and escape. He was tall, dressed elegantly as, she supposed, King Charles I, a white mask over his face concealing all but his eyes and mouth. She noticed his mouth first, in part because of the way his lips curved into a smile at seeing her, and in part because the candlelight played across the dips and lines as intimately as a lover’s fingers.

She shook herself at the thought.

“Are you alone?” he asked, peering behind her. “Who were you speaking to?”

Instinctively, she cupped a hand over Scrunch in her pocket. “No one. Myself.”

He made no attempt to approach, merely surveyed her through the gloom. Now more than ever, she was glad she’d chosen to keep the mask over her face; it was the only thing standing between her and ruin.

“If you would allow me to pass,” she said, unwilling to approach him. “We should not be seen together.”

“Oh?” His fingers came to toy with the edge of his mask, feathered like a bird, but he made no attempt to remove it. “Because you are a lady and I am a gentleman? Fear not, shepherdess, you are safe with me. I am no wolf, here to prey on unsuspecting young ladies in search of some peace and quiet. In fact, I came here for the same.” He gestured to the other side of the balcony. “Do not feel as though you should leave for my presence. See, I shall remain here and you can remain where you are, and no one down there shall be any the wiser.”

If there was another place she could go where she might find some relief from the crowd, Eleanor would have been tempted to find it, but she could see nowhere else, and with the gentleman out of arm’s reach, she didn’t feel particularly unsafe.

“You had better stay where you are,” she warned.

He gave a mocking smile. “Your virtue is safe with me.”

She gave an unladylike snort, searching for her newfound friend amongst the dancers. It was not her virtue she feared for, but her reputation and her peace. Both, he threatened.

A few minutes passed in silence, during which time she felt his gaze upon her. Determined to ignore her unwelcome companion, she kept her own fixed on the crowd below, but his attention bored into the side of her neck.

“Why are you not dancing?” he asked, one elbow propped insouciantly on the balcony railing.

“No one has yet asked me.”

“I find it unusual that a young lady would wish to be here rather than below.”

She pursed her lips. “You have no idea whether I am young or not.”

“Am I wrong?”

“My sisters would not consider me young,” she said without thinking, then winced.

“Ah, so you have sisters?”

“You can stop attempting to discover my identity, good sir.” She adjusted her mask, ensuring it covered her entire face. “I have no wish to be known by you.”

“No?” His tone warmed, as though he was smiling, but she refused to look at him. If she did, she would no doubt notice his mouth again, and that was not what a proper young lady ought to do. “And why is that?”

“Because you are a shocking flirt.”

He gave a bark of laughter. “And you have come to that conclusion because I am avoiding the ballroom below just as yourself?”

“I am not so much of a greenhorn that I don’t recognize your rakish antics,” she said as primly as she could. “I realize you are attempting to seduce me.”

“Did I not say when I arrived that your virtue would be safe with me?”

“And that, sir, is exactly what a seducer would say.”

“I see. According to you, my character is a sad one. You are wrong, little shepherdess, but let me assure you now. If I had intended to seduce you, I would have succeeded already.”

For the first time, she turned to face him, noticing as she did so how very tall he was. His hair hung to his shoulders, dark in the dim lighting, and a certain gravel in his voice made her shiver. She felt suddenly as though he were a wolf and her a sheep, and although he had promised her safety, an unusual prickle of trepidation came over her… along with excitement. Nothing about him or this encounter ought to make her feel this anticipation in the base of her stomach, and yet she felt warm like never before.

“You think it would be so easy?” she demanded. “You seem very sure of yourself.”

“Why, that’s because I am.”

“You will not find me so readily persuadable.”

“Will I not?” He stepped closer, head tilting as he looked down at her. From this angle, he seemed overly grand, a man playing at being a god—and perhaps she was susceptible, because something inside her quivered at the thought of being so close to him. “You see, seduction is very simple if one knows what he is doing. All a man needs to do is make the object of his admiration feel as though she is the only lady he has ever seen.”

Eleanor folded her arms. “A ridiculous concept. I don’t believe you can do any such thing.”

“Oh, it’s not the work of a moment. Rather, several strung together. Proximity helps. And compliments, aimed at just the right level, tailored to each lady’s particular beauty. You, for example—I would tell you that you hold yourself with rare elegance, and that this mark, here”—he touched the mole near her collarbone, the flash of heat against her skin informing her that he wore no gloves—“is singularly compelling.”

Unsteadied by the sincerity in his voice, and from having a gentleman stand so very close and speak to her so familiarly, Eleanor could not move away. “That—that is all?” she stammered, digging her nails into her folded arms so she would not lose focus. “You must have been seducing weak-minded ladies indeed if that is all it takes to charm them.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps. But let us not forget the efficacy of a well-placed touch.” He reached out and took a curl in his fingers, letting the soft lock slide across his knuckle. She glanced down, watching, hypnotized despite herself. “And then, of course, the anticipation of what is to follow. A lady who has been kissed before may know that a kiss is forthcoming; she might look at me with shy hunger. Yes,” he breathed, tipping her chin up with his other hand. “Just like that, pretty shepherdess. Have you ever been kissed before?”

“N…no,” she whispered.

“Then you are a lucky girl that this is your first.” As he spoke, he bent his head, and as though she were in a dream, she allowed him this freedom, allowed him to slide his fingers through her hair and tilt her chin a little further, so his breath brushed across her lips. And then, after a pause, where she could have fled if she were so inclined—where she ought to have fled—he brought his mouth down to hers.