Once Upon a Duke's Dream Read online

  Was it possible that whoever it was who had shot Roger had been aiming for him? Had he been the intended target and Roger simply in the way? Or had the murderer intended to shoot them both ?

  "It's all been a setup," Bradley muttered to himself, heaviness filling his soul. "Roger died because of me ."

  The truth was that, had Bradley chosen not to involve himself in the Foreign Office’s affairs, then he might now be awakening to a brand new day with nothing but balls and soirees in his calendar. Roger might still be alive, and together they might have gone to Whites as they had so often done before. His choices had led to Roger’s death, he was quite sure of it, and the burden of culpability lay heavily on him .

  Letting his gaze wander around the room, Bradley knew he had no other choice but to remain here in London and to try and find Roger’s killer, the man with links to France. There were a number of gentlemen he wanted to investigate, but nothing concrete, in any respect. At the moment, he was standing in front of a very large wall with no way to overcome it .

  The truth was that he could, very easily, put the last few months behind him, find himself a wife and return to the country, choosing to step away from the Foreign Office and all his involvement with it. That would be the easy option, and certainly one that held a certain measure of appeal .

  The weight on his mind had only increased with every passing day, and escaping it all seemed like a very good idea … but Bradley knew that his nightmares would not stop and that his need to find his friend's killer would continue to drive him, no matter where he was. In addition, he was not particularly interested in finding a wife, even though he was a duke. He reasoned that he had a younger brother, already married and settled, who could take on the title if the worst happened. Having to re-enter the fray of society was not something that brought him any kind of pleasure .

  Knowing that he was most likely going to have to dance with a great many ladies – a different one for each dance – Bradley scowled in annoyance. He had to attend such things to continue his surveillance of the gentlemen known to have connections to France, although now he was looking for someone who had a great deal to hide. Passing information to the French was strictly forbidden, and a man could be hung for treason were it discovered, which meant that this gentleman, whoever he was, had a lot to lose. It also meant that Bradley would have a particularly difficult time in finding him .

  Seeing Alastair already leading a lady onto the floor, Bradley wondered whether he too should dance straight away, but decided that he would, perhaps initially at least, stay in the corners of the ballroom and simply observe. He did not know which of the gentlemen on his list would be present, and it was best that he took some time to study the other guests as unobtrusively as possible. That meant that he would have to find a quiet space where he would not be interrupted .

  His gaze was drawn to the darker areas of the ballroom, some hidden entirely in shadow, and it was to one of these corners that he made his way. Walking carefully through the throng of guests, Bradley smiled to himself as the crowd grew less and less congested, until he felt as though he finally able to breathe freely. Turning to look behind him, Bradley felt a rush of relief run through him as he realized just how well hidden he was going to be .

  “Oh, excuse me !”

  As he had not been paying attention to the path in front of him, Bradley stumbled over something, and, on righting himself, realized that he had practically walked into a young woman who was sitting on a chair, looking up at him with the biggest eyes he thought he had ever seen .

  "I do beg your pardon," he muttered, heat rippling up his neck. "I must apologize, I was not looking where I was going ."

  “Yes,” she smiled, apparently quite at ease over what had occurred. “I can see that. Did someone distract you? Or is it that you are trying to hide from a particular lady ?”

  Warmth infused his cheeks as he cleared his throat, his gaze dancing away from her. “Truthfully, I was simply looking for a place to hide for a time. I have been away from society and this is my first venture since I have returned,” he said, with a half smile. "Even now, I find that not everyone here is favorable company." His embarrassment lessened as he looked back at her and saw that her expression was one of sympathy, as if she could easily understand his situation .

  “I quite agree,” she murmured, softly. “Do not let me keep you from melting into the shadows !”

  It was his cue to leave her side but Bradley found his feet quite fixed to the ground, as he was overcome with a strange desire to sit by her. She was quite a beautiful creature, with jet black hair and dark brown eyes that darted from here to there as she watched the other guests. He wondered why she sat here alone .

  A certain tension radiated from her, and Bradley saw her shoulders lift a little as she stiffened, her eyes fixed on a certain spot in the room. It took everything in him not to turn around and see who the lady was watching, knowing he would appear quite rude if he did so. Instead, he chose to take a few steps to his left, blocking her view of whomever she was looking at, and, he hoped, hiding her from sight. Bradley smiled as her eyes lifted to his, a look of confusion on her face .

  “I know this is quite untoward, given that we have not been introduced,” he began, with a slight bow. “But might I sit with you for a few minutes ?”

  Her smile was immediate. “But of course! I would be glad of your company, Lord…?” Her eyes twinkled and Bradley grew frustrated with himself for, yet again, blundering over the introductions .

  "I do apologize. I am the Duke of Carrington." He gave an ornate bow, lifting his head to see her eyes widen just a little .

  "Your Grace," she stammered, making to get to her feet. "I do apologize for —“

  "None of that, I beg you," he interrupted, gesturing for her to sit back down. "I am not a stickler for propriety, nor do I hold myself above any other simply because I hold a title ."

  She swallowed, biting her lip for a moment. Bradley found himself filled with a strange urge to reach forward and brush his finger along her lower lip so that she might free it. The longing was so strange and so strong that Bradley had to clench his hands tightly into fists so as not to move. He had never responded to a lady like this before! Was it because she had no awareness of his true title and so had spoken to him with candor and a kindness that held no pretense or falsehood? All the ladies he met at balls such as these were far too complimentary of him, practically gushing with pleasure on seeing him and attempting to talk with him about their great many attributes, in the hope that he might think them worthy of being his bride .

  “Might I ask your name?” he said, softly, thinking that the pink in her cheeks made her even more appealing .

  “I am Miss Isabella Marriott,” she said, quietly, lowering her lashes for a moment. “My father was Viscount Marriott .”

  Bradley frowned. “I do not recall meeting him .”

  “My father chose to move to France some years ago,” she explained. “He married again but, on his death, I returned to England .”

  At the mention of France, Bradley's ears pricked up, but he dismissed her as a suspect almost at once. There was no earthly way that a woman such as this could be a traitor to the Crown! Besides, the Foreign Office had made it very clear that there were only gentlemen to be watched, and all of them born in France. Clearly, Miss Marriott did not fulfill that requirement .

  “Did you miss England?” he asked easily, sitting down next to her .

  “Oh, yes, Your Grace,” she replied, earnestly. “I have very much enjoyed being back on England’s shores these last couple of years .”

  “And do you live alone ?”

  A shadow passed over her expression, and, for a moment, her eyes darted to the crowd of guests, before returning to him. "No, I do not. My stepbrother came to join me a few months after my return ."

  Bradley lifted his eyebrows. �
�Your stepbrother ?”

  “Gerard Durand,” she explained, with a tight smile. “He was my stepmother’s son. She had lost her own husband some years before, and when my father remarried, he gained both a wife and a stepson .”

  “And he is here now ?”

  She nodded, her gaze drifting away. “Yes,” she murmured, softly. “He is. He enjoys balls and the like .”

  “And you do not?” he asked, lightly. “I would have thought that a lady such as yourself would have had her dance card filled almost at once !”

  A blush filled her cheeks, although her eyes sparkled with delight. “You are very kind, Your Grace .”

  He smiled, seeing that she was entirely unused to receiving such compliments. Something about her put him more at ease than he usually found himself at such gatherings. ”Might I ask for the honor of dancing with you ?"

  She looked completely taken aback, although her hand lifted and he was able to reach for her dance card. To his surprise, it was nearly empty. “You truly do wish to hide away, do you not, Miss Marriott ?”

  He glanced up at her and saw that she opened her mouth as if to explain, only to give a slight shake of her head, closing it again. He filled his name in two places. When her eyes flew up to meet his, it seemed a spark flew between them, which seemed to catch her off guard as she quickly looked down .

  Bradley knew that it was not like him to look forward to a dance, but he thought dancing was better than hiding here among the wallflowers for the remainder of the evening. Of course, the temptation to sit by Miss Marriott for the next few hours was great indeed, but Bradley knew he could not show her such a great amount of attention. It was bound to be noticed at some point and rumors would fly around the room by the end of the evening. No, he would have to pull himself away from her company, but the promise of two dances with her put a smile on his face .

  “I should leave you now,” he said, rising from his chair and letting her dance card fall. “I look forward to our first dance, Miss Marriott. Thank you for speaking with me .”

  “You are very welcome, Your Grace,” she murmured, her eyes going to his name on her dance card. Bradley moved back into the throng of guests, quite sure he could feel her eyes on him as he walked away .

  4

  F or some time, Isabella was quite overcome with astonishment at what had occurred, hardly believing that she was to dance with a duke, and not only once, but twice! He was an incredibly attractive man, with dark hair and brilliant blue eyes that always seemed intensely focused – and she had felt a flurry of excitement in her belly as he’d signed his name on her dance card. The way he had smiled at her had sent a warmth to her cheeks, making her feel as though she were the only woman in the room .

  She had not intended to dance at all again, after her turn with Lord Belrose, for to do so would have her stepbrother notice her. As had happened before, she would then have to deal with a barrage of questions on each and every gentleman, as though Gerard was to decide which of them might be worth pursuing. It did not matter that Isabella had told him repeatedly that she did not wish to marry, for he ignored her completely and was often very insistent that she accept suit from various gentlemen – which, of course, she refused to do .

  In addition, he always appeared to be in search of extremely wealthy gentlemen for her hand, which Isabella could not understand since she would be bringing a large fortune into the marriage anyway. Gerard confused her greatly, which only added to the fear she had over his determination to rule her life .

  Her eyes remained on the Duke as he walked away, and she felt a rush of excitement at the thought of being in his arms. Something about him tugged at her deep inside. Of course, once he discovered the truth about her father and the scandal his failed business had caused – which was the very reason he had left to live in France in the first place – she was quite sure he would want to take himself as far from her as possible. Nevermind that her father had redeemed himself by finding success in France — that would not be known or remembered in England. Besides that, she was a simple viscount’s daughter and certainly nowhere near the Duke’s rank .

  She had heard the Duke's name being spoken now and again during her time back in society but had never met the man. Remembering how he had said to have just returned to town, Isabella smiled to herself, thinking that it was obvious the man did not want to fling himself, head first, back into all of society's pleasures. There was a certain gravitas about him, as though he was quite determined not to be what society expected .

  A duke, after all, could do very little wrong. Even if he were to rob maidens of their innocence, or to take every last penny from a man of lesser title at the card table, society would perhaps shake their heads, but there would be no true shunning. No one would give a duke the cut direct, there would be no penalty for his behaviors — but yet, this one did not seem so inclined .

  His eyes had been sharp as they'd studied her, drinking in everything about her. He had asked pertinent questions and seemed truly interested in what she had to say. There was no leer on his face, nor any ribald words escaping from his mouth as she had come to expect of some of the more wealthy and titled gentlemen. No, it seemed that the Duke was, as far as she could tell, quite the opposite of what society expected of him .

  The minutes seemed to take hours as she waited, with a growing impatience, for her first dance with the Duke. She even rose from her seat and walked a little closer to the other guests, only to frantically rush back to her chair, afraid that the Duke would be unable to find her .

  He is not about to turn around and ask you to marry him, Isabella, she told herself firmly, and her stomach began to swirl with nerves. Enjoy being in his arms but do not lose yourself in a dream .

  It was not as though Isabella did not have her fair share of suitors, but they had each been introduced to her and then encouraged by her stepbrother and that meant that she disliked them all almost immediately. Those that Gerard did not introduce her to were usually scared away when he made their acquaintance. To have a gentleman introduce himself to her as he had, without Gerard being near, meant a great deal to Isabella. It meant that he was interested in dancing with her without any kind of encouragement or promises from her stepbrother. That in itself brought her joy, if nothing else .

  “Ah, Miss Marriott. I believe this is our dance. I do hope the rest of your dance card has been filled in my absence .”

  Isabella did not reply, but simply smiled at him and placed her gloved hand on his as she rose. The Duke smiled at her in return and made some comment about the evening having been brightened by her company, which only made the warmth in her heart burst into life. The music began and, realizing that it was to be the waltz, Isabella stepped into his arms and allowed him to lead her around the floor .

  The Duke was a wonderful dancer, moving effortlessly through the other dancing couples, his steps firm and sure. Isabella lost herself entirely, feeling as though she were in a dream. The Duke said very little, though she hoped he was enjoying the moment just as much as she, and was unwilling to break the quietness that surrounded them. Even the music seemed to fade as Isabella looked up at the Duke, their gazes locking. She found she could not look away, as she drowned in the depths of his eyes. His hand tightened a fraction on her waist and Isabella felt his breath brush her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed as she fought the urge to reach up and kiss him, knowing that she was being utterly ridiculous .

  The dance came to an end, and Isabella allowed the Duke to lead her from the floor, returning her to her seat. His hand clasped hers as he pressed a light kiss onto the back of it, making her heart quicken .

  “I look forward to our second dance, Miss Marriott,” he murmured, quietly. “You are a wonderful dancer .”

  Isabella tried to find something to say in response, but instead, only managed to smile at him, keeping her composure until he turned his back and walked away from her .

  Sagging slightly in her seat, Isabella wished she could
fan her face, feeling the heat rise up in her cheeks. She could not stop herself from being overwhelmed with emotion, sighing as though she were a maiden in love. It was quite ludicrous to be caught up in feeling over a man after only one dance, but Isabella chose to revel in it instead of pushing it away. She would allow herself this one delight, this one moment of happiness. Even if she never met the Duke again after this evening, she would always remember the night with fondness. In his arms, all the worries and burdens she carried had slipped away for a moment, giving her a taste of the freedom she had almost forgotten .

  Unfortunately, she was brought back to the reality of her situation with the sound of a sharp voice speaking to her .

  Gerard.

  “Who was that you were dancing with, Isabella ?”

  Sighing, Isabella shook her head. “It is not of importance, Gerard .”

  “Was it not the Duke of Carrington ?”

  Irritated, Isabella looked up at him. “If you already knew, then why did you ask ?”

  “I am just surprised to see that he chose to dance with you, of all people,” Gerard replied, dryly. “Took pity on you, did he ?”

  Not rising to his taunts, Isabella shrugged. “Something like that.” Isabella did not want to show her stepbrother that his words needled her, digging into the doubts she already felt. It had come as something of a surprise to be asked to dance, but perhaps the Duke was only making up for practically falling into her lap. Gerard may be cruel, but he was right. There could be no true attraction there, no particular interest on his part. After all, he was a duke and could dance with anyone – and court anyone – he chose .

  Isabella knew that a duke would have to marry well, and usually with a lady who held as high a title as he could find. She certainly did not fit that particular requirement! Sighing inwardly, Isabella resigned herself to the fact that she would have one more dance with the man, and then their acquaintance would draw to a close. It was what she could expect, given her station, and to have any further hopes was quite ridiculous .