Taming the Wild Duke

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

“ R emind me why I came to this blasted ball?” Simon asked Aaron as the two strode up the rain-wet steps into Bennington manor.

“Two birds with one stone, my friend,” Aaron quipped. His tone was chipper, and he nearly skipped up the steps, despite their treacherous state. Simon gave him a sideways glance.

“You’re looking particularly dapper tonight,” he muttered. “The girl has already promised to marry you, Munro. Still trying to impress her?”

Aaron grinned, reaching to straighten his pristine white collar. The two men paused in the entryway in preparation of being announced and faced one another. Aaron’s dark, wavy hair had been combed to a careful, smooth shine that matched the gleaming state of his shoes. A gold watch chain glinted against his mahogany vest. Simon knew he looked unkempt—at best—in comparison.

“Are you sure I’m the Duke here and not your stablemaster you mistakenly brought along instead?” he asked, and Aaron laughed.

“You look dashing, Thorne. The ladies go for that rough and rugged look, you know?”

“I have no wish to know,” Simon muttered, but he reached up and ran a hand through his hair, wondering if he should have at least gotten a new cravat for this occasion. Someone had shined his shoes and brushed his jacket, of course, but he still felt a good deal less polished than the Earl rocking on his toes next to him.

“Just mind your manners and talk to the people you came to talk to, old man,” Aaron said. He gave Simon a sly, sideways glance. “Find Lady Lilian and ask her for that dance.”

“You’re the one who said she wouldn’t associate with me again,” Simon reminded him, trying to ignore the way his spirits lifted slightly at the mention of Jane’s intriguing elder sister.

Aaron shrugged. “Prove me wrong.”

The two men entered the hall together, but it wasn’t long before they drifted in opposite directions. Aaron was immediately hailed by a friend and drawn toward the music and light of the dance floor. Simon received polite nods and greetings as he skirted the busier area of the house. Several women glanced his way with varying degrees of judgement.

He didn’t see the Westons or Lord Fiording anywhere, but Lord Pendleton caught his eye and lifted a glass as he passed, and Simon slowed and nodded.

“That was a very fine stallion you were out riding the other day, Your Grace,” the Lord said. His face was flushed, and his voice was jolly—had he already had so much to drink? Simon hesitated.

“Yes, my lord, that’s my latest acquisition and project, Belshazzar. He’s a hot-blooded thoroughbred…as I imagine you can tell. You’re a horse man yourself, aren’t you?”

Lord Pendleton beamed. “I am indeed! I know a fine horse when I see one though I tend to deal more in mares.”

Simon’s interest was caught. Why hadn’t he thought to approach Lord Pendleton before? He’d noted the man’s fine carriage and riding horses more than once, but he hadn’t realized the Lord raised them himself.

“Here, step into the library with me,” Pendleton invited. “I’m always happy to talk horses.” Simon followed him into the warm, smokey room. He noted Lord Vonn enthroned in a generous leather armchair, and his heart sped up a bit. If the Earl was here, surely both daughters were as well.

“You must tell me why you’ve decided to try out a stallion,” Lord Pendleton said, pouring out a fresh glassful for himself from the table by the library hearth. “Planning to put him out to stud?”

“Actually, I’m hoping to raise some foals of my own,” Simon divulged. “In fact, I’m in the market for some mares of breeding age from quality stock if you know of any that are available.”

“Why, I have two or three I’d like someone to have a look at,” Pendleton said, his eyebrows shooting toward his hairline. “But are you sure you know what you’re getting into, Your Grace? Raising horses is a long-term commitment with long-term rewards.” He smiled condescendingly. “From what I hear, you’re more interested in short-term rewards, isn’t that right?”

Simon had to grit his teeth to keep his jaw from dropping open. Indignation swelled within him, filling him with heat that was not from the fire. “I don’t know what could have given you that idea, my lord,” he said stiffly. “I assure you, I have taken trouble to inform myself about exactly what I’m getting into.”

Seemingly unruffled by the rebuff, Lord Pendleton emptied his glass in a single gulp and reached out to pat Simon’s shoulder. “Betting on the racers, my boy, that’s where you shine. Best you leave the raising of them to those of us who’ve learned to be patient.”

Before Simon could pull together a proper retort that would not entirely cut off his conversation with the Lord, Pendleton’s gaze drifted over Simon’s shoulder, and his eyes widened. More annoyed than ever by this casual dismissal, Simon spun around, looking toward the door.

Lady Lilian Weston stood in the doorway, like a vision against the dark wall behind her. She wore a long, violet gown with the faint shimmer of silk. Its generous neckline and tiny sleeves left her pale, slender neck, softly curved bosom, and long, graceful arms bare. Her rich, dark hair was gathered in a pile of curls from which a few ringlets had spilled to frame her face. Her eyes met Simon’s, and she froze.

His anger at Lord Pendleton forgotten, Simon found himself unable to tear his gaze from her, and the moment stretched longer than was polite. It didn’t seem to matter that he had been hoping to see and speak to her ever since deciding to attend the ball. Seeing her standing there, looking as regal and distant as a queen… it startled him in a way he was not used to being startled.

Stop staring. Ask her for a dance.

With nothing left to gain from his conversation with Lord Pendleton, Simon started toward her. But when she saw him coming, Lilian suddenly came back to life. She spun around and fled—actually fled.

“What the devil?” Simon muttered. He quickened his pace, hurrying down the hall toward the spinning music of the large open room where he could see couples twirling in intricate patterns. Just as he reached the doorway, the dance finished, and everyone fell back, clapping.

He’d lost her in the scattering. He glanced around, his exasperation growing. Where had she hidden? And why?

“Oh, Your Grace!”

Simon nearly winced at the shrill exclamation but caught himself just in time. He turned, forcing a smile as Priscilla Talbot shot toward him like an arrow through the crowd.

“I truly didn’t expect to see you here!” the young woman exclaimed as she skidded to a stop before him. She reached out to tap his forearm with her fan. “Ever since the last time we danced, I feel I hardly ever see you at the balls anymore. Don’t tell me I frightened you away from women forever.”

“Very well, Miss Talbot, I won’t tell you that you did,” Simon said gallantly. Priscilla tittered with delight, and he felt a pang of remorse for his sly sarcasm. In his younger years, Simon had found he could get away with saying almost anything to a young lady so long as he said it gallantly. He had quickly become an expert in drawing forth the giggles and blushes—all of the things he needed to get the tongues wagging and fingers shaking. But that was not who he was anymore.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Talbot,” he said, “but I was just looking for Lady Lilian. Have you by any chance seen her?”

“What did you say?” Priscilla leaned forward, tilting her head coquettishly close to his as the strings started up again in a rousing waltz. “Oh, wait, this is my favorite! I don’t know how anyone can keep from dancing to this tune!” She tapped her toe on the ground, excitedly surveying the couples lining up before glancing hopefully up at Simon.

He felt a sigh rising from his toes. It seemed no matter where he went this evening, he could not keep from being in some way waylaid from his goal. But there was no way he was going to find Lilian with all these couples whirling and clapping. Especially, if she was a part of the dance. Unless he was also part of the dance.

Turning toward Priscilla, Simon offered his hand, feeling another prick of guilt as her face lit like a yule fire. “Would you care to dance, Miss Talbot?” he asked politely. Priscilla dropped a low curtsey.

“It would be my pleasure, Duke of Thorne,” she said. There was relish in the way she let the title roll off her tongue. Simon also did not miss the quick glance she cast about, as if to see how many people were noticing. It nearly made him retract his offer, but he couldn’t be such a brute.

Instead, he plastered on a pleasant expression and stepped into the dance with Priscilla. She danced well; her family had obviously invested in many lessons over her lifetime. Every step was correct, and her form was light and easy.

“I see you still know how to dance,” she said in a teasing tone as they came together for part of the dance, twirling in time to the other couples. “I thought perhaps you’d forgotten over the past two years.” She gave an affected little laugh and blinked up at him, widening her already large brown eyes. “Do tell me why you haven’t been attending the balls, won’t you?”

“I’ve been otherwise occupied,” Simon said. “After the death of my father, you know, it’s been up to me to take over the business of the estate.”

“Of course, yes. That must have been very hard for you.” The words, although delivered with the perfect tone of sympathy, somehow felt empty. Priscilla gazed up at him with a rapt expression, once again executing the slow, practiced blink. “How are things going with the business of the estate?”

“Not quite so well as one would hope,” Simon said. He could have lied and said everything was fine, but he found himself lacking the energy to do so. “I’m in search of business partners,” he said when Priscilla cocked her head inquisitively, “but those I have approached so far are uninclined to enter into agreements.” He tightened his jaw, his mind drifting as he fought a fresh surge of frustration at his predicament.

They moved into a more intricate part of the dance, weaving in and out among their fellow dancers, and for a few moments, Priscilla stopped talking. It was an uncommonly long dance, Simon thought. He didn’t see Lilian anywhere among the couples on the floor.

Priscilla twirled back into his arms and smiled up at him. “Perhaps,” she said coyly, “if you were to take a wife, you’d find that other men in business would take you more seriously.” Her lashes fluttered. “Of course, I don’t believe all the rumors that go around about you, but once you are married, I’m sure others would change their minds about you.”

Now it was Simon’s turn to blink. It irked him that even Priscilla had so quickly ascertained that his reputation was behind the recent snubs. But to his mild surprise, her suggestion struck him as being good advice. A married man, especially if he married into a well-respected family, immediately gained more esteem than a young bachelor. He was seen as settled and level-headed.

Marrying for the sake of his business did strike him as disingenuous, but it was only a step away from associating with certain people for the sake of his business…which was the entire reason he’d come to this ball in the first place.

“I see you are giving it some thought,” Priscilla said, sounding breathless. Simon pulled his mind back to the present and glanced down at her, noting her hopeful mien.

“I—well, I’m disturbed to hear that there are false rumors circulating about me,” he said quickly. “Do you mind telling me what people are saying?”

“Oh…” Priscilla’s smile faltered as her eyes skated away from his. “You know, they are old rumors. There’s no need to repeat them now.” She managed to meet his eyes again and offered a charming smile. “I wouldn’t want to spoil this lovely time we’re having.”

Simon gave her a perfunctory smile back, hoping beyond hope that it wouldn’t encourage her rather transparent objective. The dance finally ended, and he bent toward her in a slight bow as she once again dropped an elaborate curtsey.

Over her head, he finally caught sight of Lilian Weston again. She was standing against a wall, holding a glass of something but not drinking it. The deep violet of her dress and her unmoving posture almost made her disappear into the shadows.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he murmured to Priscilla, brushing past her.