Once Upon a Duke's Dream Read online

  “You do not have to squeeze my arm so,” she continued, calmly. “The fact is, Gerard, I am English and you are French. If anyone is to talk about how to behave at a ball, it should be me .”

  “I need no instruction,” Gerard growled, his grey eyes glinting as he glared at her. “Two years we have lived here, Isabella, and I expect nothing but propriety from you .”

  Wanting to mention that he had never experienced anything other than propriety from her, Isabella wisely chose to keep her mouth closed but wrenched her arm from his grip regardless. Gerard had never been a kind man and had used almost everything he could think of to have her do what he wanted of her. However, although Isabella agreed to some of his requests in order to keep the peace, of late they had become a little more perturbing and she had often refused to do what he had asked .

  He had become rather angry at her constant refusals but had been forced to back down, aware that she was not entirely under his control. Yet, Isabella was always on her guard, aware that if she pushed Gerard too far, he could erupt. She had seen the murderous glint in his eye on too many occasions, which rippled a coil of fear through her soul .

  The only thing that saved her was the knowledge that, were anything to happen to her, the fortune she was to come into would not be handed over to Gerard, but was to go to some distant cousin of hers. She had realized that Gerard felt it was in his best interests to keep her close, although she was not quite sure why he had always seemed so keen for her to wed. She did not have to do as he asked, however, although she had to confess that the idea of finding a husband and getting away from Gerard had often crossed her mind .

  Walking into the ornate ballroom with its shimmering glass chandeliers imported from Venice, Isabella watched Gerard hurry away from her side almost at once, leaving her quite alone. She wore a white gown with red trim that was simple, yet becoming. She loved the delicate embroidered flowers above the ruffled bottom of the skirt, and the short puff sleeves lined with red lace. As she normally did, Isabella found herself a seat in the quietest area of the ballroom, hoping she would blend into the shadows and remain almost entirely unnoticed. She did not want her brother to see her, and demand that she dance with a great many eligible gentlemen, each of whom would look at her with greed in their eyes .

  That was one of the difficulties that came with being a woman of means. Gentlemen did not care for her heart, nor her thoughts or interests. They wanted her fortune, and that was all. The last thing Isabella wanted to do was find herself in a marriage to a man exactly the same as Gerard! It was too bad, for she actually quite loved to dance for the dancing itself, not the men partnered with her .

  Isabella smiled as a few of the young ladies made their way past her, and she stood to converse with them for a few minutes. It seemed she was well enough liked by other young women in society, most likely because she didn’t appear to be much of a threat. After her return from France, she had at first been looked upon with some animosity due to her beauty and the large inheritance that awaited her upon marriage. However, she did not push herself on any of the young men, nor have a mother to do it for her, which resulted in her getting lost amongst the many others vying for the attentions of the gentlemen. Soon enough, she was included in polite conversation .

  As she listened to the words of gossip float around her ears, Isabella’s expression grew distant as she thought about the last time she had been without any worry, without any kind of cares. She had been quite unaware, of course, that her father, Viscount Marriott, was on the verge of ruining all of his business interests in England, and she had thrown herself headlong into all that society had to offer. At just fifteen, she had made her come out a little early, but, regardless, she still had been readily accepted by society. Without a mother to guide her, it had been a difficult experience at times, but she had made the best of it .

  Within a few months, however, her father had moved them to France and Isabella had been forced to start life all over again in a country she knew very little about. Her father had eventually met a lady of means and had remarried. Isabella had acquired a stepmother and a stepbrother within a few months of living in France, and life had become very different for a time. She had never found her stepbrother to be particularly kind, but they had avoided each other for the most part .

  Unfortunately for Isabella, life was to take another turn when her father and stepmother had been killed in a tragic carriage accident, along with three others. She had been entirely lost, struggling to cope with the news, before discovering that her father had arranged for her to inherit his entire fortune — but for a small stipend for Gerard — although she could only access a part of what he had left her. The rest came to her on the occasion of her marriage. The title went to her cousin, but the fortune and the English manor were hers .

  Isabella’s musings came to a halt with the arrival of Lady Olivia Jackson. Isabella adored Olivia. Their mothers had been friends as young girls, and when Isabella returned from France, Olivia had been one of the first to welcome her back. They were very different from one another, but perhaps that was why they got along so well .

  “Isabella!” cried Olivia as she came over to her. “Why are you hiding in this corner? You such a wonderful dancer, you should be out on the floor. The dress you are wearing is meant to be seen .”

  “It’s lovely to see you, Olivia,” she responded. “Although you know very well I am perfectly content watching the dancers from here .”

  “I know why you are hiding, and it is not because of the dancers,” Olivia said with a frown. “It’s because of that boar of a stepbrother of yours. Really, Isabella, I wish you would send him back to France. Does he not have enough to live off of from what his mother and your father left for him ?”

  “It seems not,” said Isabella, with a shake of her head. “He seems quite intent on remaining in England .”

  “And close to you as he wants any money you do have,” said Olivia with a snort. “Thank goodness you’ve at least refused to give him any .”

  Isabella had left France over two years prior as she was determined to escape from the clutches of her stepbrother. She had made arrangements to return to her family home in England, through her father’s faithful steward, and so had left without telling Gerard. The monies she had access to were not of a large amount, but she had lived quietly for three months .

  It was a small estate, just outside of London, and Isabella had very much enjoyed returning to her childhood home. The furnishings had been sparse, but with careful accounting, Isabella had been able to purchase what she needed. Her father’s steward had supplied her with a small staff, and Isabella, once settled, had lived quietly, simply enjoying the freedom she had been blessed with — but those happy times had come to an end much too soon .

  Isabella listened to Olivia chatter, until the next dance began and Olivia left to find her partner — at every ball she ensured her dance card was always full. Isabella resumed her seat as her eyes roved around the ballroom. She tried to focus on happier times and of happier things .

  The guests were a great many, and there was something of a crush already. She chuckled as she saw one of the more robust ladies of the ton pulling out her fan, clearly declaring to all who would pay her any attention that she was about to faint. It did not take long for the hosts to take note and, within minutes, the French doors were thrown open and a welcome burst of cool air made its way towards Isabella .

  And still, the guests continued to arrive .

  Watching them idly, Isabella felt herself somewhat arrested by the presence of two particular gentlemen descending the stairs. They were both very finely dressed, but it was the expression on their faces that caught her notice most of all. The blond man was grinning broadly, gesturing to a group of gentlemen and ladies that he was, evidently, keen to join, whereas the second man held something of a stern expression .

  She watched him closely, not quite certain why she was so drawn to him. Well, perhaps she knew part o
f the reason why. He was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen — dark haired, with a tall, strong frame and a firm jaw to match. But did he never smile? Most of the guests were laughing and talking, but he seemed lost in thought, in whatever serious considerations were running through his mind. Even when his friend left his side, the gentleman stood alone and quiet, moving away from the other guests as his gaze took in the room .

  There was a sternness about his expression that made her heart squeeze in sympathy for him. Had he gone through some kind of tragedy? Or was he the kind of gentleman who simply did not enjoy such things as a ball? Or did he not belong here ?

  She laughed quietly at her silly musings, shaking her head. He was wealthy, of course, given that his clothes were of the highest quality, which meant that there would be a great many ladies seeking his acquaintance .

  Perhaps that was why he did not look particularly happy, although men of that ilk were few and far between. She had always thought that gentlemen appreciated being fawned over, but perhaps this man, whatever his name and title, was the exception. How had she never noticed him before ?

  Dragging her attention away from him, Isabella tried to concentrate on the other guests, but could not stop herself from flickering her gaze back to the gentleman in question, only to discover that he was gone .

  “Ah, Miss Marriott .”

  Seeing Lord Charles Belrose approach, Isabella inwardly cringed, but rose at once, putting a smile on her face that she did not truly feel. Lord Belrose was one of the many gentlemen that Gerard had introduced to her and, while he was not a unkind man, Isabella simply was not interested in him. However, he appeared quite determined to further their acquaintance, even though Isabella had not given him even the slightest note of encouragement .

  “I see that you are sitting here all alone, and that cannot be a good thing!” Lord Belrose said, smiling broadly as his fair hair flopped over his forehead. “Come now, you must dance !”

  Isabella held out her dance card, sighing inwardly. “Have you spoken to Gerard, Lord Belrose ?”

  “Indeed,” he grinned, with a somewhat boyish look on his face. “It was he who alerted me to your plight !”

  She frowned. “Plight ?”

  "Yes, of sitting here alone, out of sight of all the amiable gentlemen who might wish to dance with you!" he exclaimed, looking at her as though she had unknowingly put herself into such a situation. "Come now, let us dance ."

  Isabella bit back her retort and allowed him to lead her onto the floor, hating that Gerard was, once more, trying to push his influence on her .

  She smiled at Belrose, who made a few statements about the weather and their hosts, but then seemed quite unsure what else to speak with her about. Isabella pitied him, but truly they simply had nothing to discuss between them. He pasted a simple grin of his own on his face, and as he led her around the dance floor in silence, her mind began to wander .

  One day, completely by surprise, her stepbrother had appeared on her doorstep and she had been unable to remove him. Declaring himself determined to look out for his sister, for that was apparently how he thought of her, he had invaded her home and her privacy. He had tried to take over her life, choosing to dominate her existence in whatever way he could and she continually had to fight to prevent him from ruling her. It was exhausting and she had no one to assist her, for who exactly could she turn to? There were no other relatives to speak of. He had come to England to live with her, apparently in order to find a wife of his own, but in two years, she had never seen any singular interest from him in that regard. He seemed much more intent on adding to his coffers and ensuring that the gentlemen of his acquaintance knew that he was not to be trifled with .

  Isabella had always known that Gerard had a cruel side, but had soon come to see the full extent of it. He cheated at cards, stole from whomever he chose and, should anyone put up any kind of complaint, he had brute force to prevent them from saying anything more. No one stood in his way. Her staff shrank before him, hardly daring to breathe whenever they were in his presence. In addition, he continually insisted that Isabella should marry, telling her that the monies she had from her father would not last long and that she would need to find herself a husband to keep her content for the remainder of her days. Isabella, however, was not at all convinced .

  She was quite sure that Gerard wanted her fortune for his own, although she was unsure how he intended to go about getting it. She continued to run her household as she saw fit, refusing to buy the most expensive cuts of meat or latest styles of furniture that Gerard demanded and, up until now, he had never once struck her for refusing to do as he asked, though he seemed tempted. It was as if he was aware that he had to remain in her good graces, for whatever reason. Isabella had seen him angry often enough, but, with a great force of will, he had kept his temper under control. Isabella was sure he was ensuring that their relationship remained cordial for his own ends .

  Now he had been more and more adamant that she find a man to marry, and he seemed particularly focused on Lord Belrose. She figured he was trying to get her out of the house so he could keep it for himself, although without her inheritance, she wasn’t sure where he would find the funds for the upkeep .

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gerard trying to become acquainted with a small group of young ladies, but they seemed to be doing their best to avoid him. As a Frenchman without English property or title, he wasn’t much of a catch. He was handsome enough, but the cruel expression he wore on his face along with his air of self-righteousness turned off most English mamas and daughters .

  Which was why he was focused on her prospects, thought Isabella as she turned back to Lord Belrose. When the dance came to an end, he began to ask for another, but she made a polite excuse to retreat from the dance floor before he could complete the sentence. Grabbing a glass of champagne, she made her way back to her corner, being sure to find deeper shadows this time .

  3

  B radley and Alastair entered the ballroom together, having made their way to Lord and Lady Fitzgerald’s home without incident. This was the debut ball of the Fitzgeralds’ daughter, Lady Lydia, and, as she came from a titled and wealthy family, Bradley was quite sure that she would find herself a suitable husband within a sennight .

  Joining the long line of guests, Bradley waited in silence until he was introduced to the lady in question, having first shaken hands with her mother and father. He ignored the faint blush on the girl's cheeks and was nothing but respectful, moving away as quickly as he could .

  “I do believe that Lady Lydia has her eye on you,” Alastair muttered out of the corner of his mouth as they moved away .

  Aware that Lady Lydia and her mother had been scrutinizing him, Bradley shook his head and laughed. "I am not interested, I'm afraid. Besides, I am a good twelve years the girl’s senior, if not more !”

  Alastair shrugged. “I doubt that matters. There have been marriages with a bigger age difference before .”

  "Not for me," Bradley growled, a shudder of revulsion going through him as he thought of the many older gentlemen who were suddenly engaged to young ladies, some of whom were only just out of the schoolroom it seemed. No, that would not be the trap he would fall into. He did not want to behave in such a way. "If I am to marry – for I doubt I shall remain alone for my entire life – I shall make every endeavor to find a lady similar to me in both age and temperament ."

  Grinning, Alastair slapped Bradley on the back in a friendly manner. “Of course, I was just ribbing you. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I shall find those I am acquainted with and put my name down on some dance cards. After all, I do not intend to spend the entire evening standing by your side !”

  “You will not forget our purpose ?”

  Alastair shook his head, his grin fading. “No, indeed. How could I? I have the names of the gentlemen you wished me to notice up here.” He tapped the side of his head, his gaze measure
d. “Excuse me .”

  Bradley watched his friend leave, aware of just how easily Alastair was able to converse with those he was acquainted with, as well as the effortlessness at which he greeted new people. It was not something that Bradley found particularly simple, for his words often came out in a rush, tumbling over one another. It was not that he was nervous about new acquaintances, but rather that his mind was so busy thinking about other things that he found himself struggling to focus .

  Since he had returned from France, his sole focus was justice. He could not get over his friend’s death, the pain still slicing through his heart. Roger had been his closest friend for a great many years. They had spent their growing years together at Eton and had talked and joked about finding a suitable wife for one another. Roger had been the brother he had never had, and the loss of him left a large hole in Bradley’s life. If only they had never become mixed up in the whole France business, then none of this might have happened !

  Knowing that it was unwise to start thinking of regrets now, Bradley shook his head and tried not to allow himself to go over the decisions of the past. He had made his choice, and with that decision had come some deal of danger but, then again, that was exactly what he had been looking for. Roger had not been involved at first, but had known of Bradley's activities and was always interested in the goings-on. Perhaps, if Bradley had not told him so much about what was happening, then Roger might still be alive .

  Frowning to himself, he was pleased to see Lord Rousseau out of the corner of his eye, and he made his way over to speak further with him. He was one of the few Frenchmen here tonight, and often took part in society events. Bradley knew it had been some time since Rousseau had been in France, however, so it was unlikely he was the man in question, but it was worth speaking further with him .

  Bradley thought back to the journey home with Roger .

  Even now, he was not quite sure what had occurred. At times, he thought he could recall another bullet whizz past him as he had reined in his horse, turning back to find his friend, but such had been the fear and horror racing through his veins that he had been unable to think of anything other than getting Roger to safety .