He's a Duke, But I Love Him Page 4

  She withdrew herself from her musings to throw down the four of clubs. Pay attention now, Olivia, she told herself sternly, as she watched the seven, eight, and Jack of clubs being thrown down, the trick being won by the Duke, who had played the highest card in the leading suit. The next round finished with a win by Olivia, who played a card from the trump suit, which always won out. Play continued on, and when they came to the twelfth trick, few cards remained as the game was tied. Olivia saw the concentration on the faces of all the men as they struggled to remember which cards had previously been played. For Olivia, however, it was an easy feat, as the suits and numbers of cards were clear in her mind.

  Knowing which cards remained in the hands of the players, she easily won the twelfth hand, followed by the thirteenth.

  With the final score tallied, she and the Duke were ahead, though primarily due to her winnings. He had not fared quite as well, and while signs to one another were prohibited, she looked at him with a grin on her face, and he nodded in return.

  The betting increased for the second hand, which Olivia and the Duke won handily. She smiled as she collected her winnings and thanked their opponents. They were no longer as cheerful, and looked at her warily before Lord Branson left the table abruptly.

  Olivia rose from the table, eager to find another game to join, when a hand wrapped around her elbow, leading her away from the games and out of the room.

  “A word?” came the familiar voice.

  “No,” she hissed back at the Duke. “I see an empty space at a table over there and I wish to play again.”

  “Another game will await you in due course,” he insisted, and led her out to the hall, opening the nearby closed doors until he seemed satisfied with a room.

  “In,” he said, pointing inside.

  “No,” she responded, crossing her arms. “Duke you may be, you have no right to order me about.”

  “In, Mrs. Harris,” he ground out, and with a huff she finally acquiesced, flouncing into the room in front of him, taking in the cheery parlor, warmed by the fire crackling in the hearth, and the comfortable sofas before them. She looked around in appreciation before turning to look at him. “Well, then, Your Grace,” she said. “What would you like to speak about?”

  5

  Alastair took in the woman standing in front of him and shook his head.

  “Lady Olivia, what in the blazes do you think you’re doing?”

  “Gambling,” she replied, as she seated herself on the mint green upholstered sofa, crossing one foot over the other and leaning back nonchalantly. Her posture caused the bosom that was already straining at the fabric of her dress to shift up even further, and he had to turn and begin to pace the room to keep himself from staring at it.

  The vixen had no idea what she was doing to him. Alastair knew she was an innocent, that much he had ascertained during last year’s house party. But seeing her here, in that get-up, her normally blonde hair covered by the dark wig, the dress that hugged her generous curves … the coy smile on her lips was an invitation to him, one he found difficult to ignore. Do not indulge yourself, he said in his mind, and attempted to return his thoughts to the reason he had requested her presence away from the gamblers.

  “First of all,” he asked her, “What was that in there?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her eyes wide and innocent.

  “With the cards!” he exclaimed. “At first I thought it was beginner’s luck, but it didn’t take long for me to realize you were counting the cards. You knew what could be thrown and when. You knew down to the last card. How did you do it?”

  “What do you mean, how did I do it?” she said, her face turning into a scowl. “I remembered the cards. It’s how one plays whist. Are you accusing me of something, Lord Ken — Your Grace?”

  “Did you have a system? Someone helping you?”

  Her indignation seemed to rise as she did, as she strode over to him, bringing with her the scent of jasmine he suddenly remembered from the house party last year. “Excuse me?”

  “You cannot have been working alone.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “You mean to tell me you remembered 52 cards, over and over again.”

  “Yes.”

  “It is simply not possible.”

  They stood toe to toe, glaring at one another. As angry as he was at the fact she was most certainly lying to him, Alastair could hardly ignore the heat coming off her body, and he seemed to involuntarily twitch toward her.

  “Whatever your story is,” he said, dropping his arms to his side and turning away from her, “Those men will not believe it. They were whispering to one another already and making to speak with Lady Atwood about you. Perhaps it would be fine had you nothing to hide, but clearly you do, Penelope Harris. What a terrible name, wherever did you come up with it?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Does it matter? I certainly couldn’t come here as Lady Olivia Jackson. Can you imagine what it would do to my mother should she find out where I am?”

  He couldn’t help a grin at that. He remembered her mother from the house party they had attended. She was quite the dragon — nothing at all like her spirited daughter. She had been intent on finding Olivia a husband, while Olivia seemed to be doing everything in her power to keep from finding a match.

  “Your mother would have an apoplexy.”

  “That is exactly what I said,” she responded. She circled around the table that now stood between them and came face to face with him again.

  “I came tonight because, whether you believe it or not, I am good at card games, especially whist. And I just … well, I was bored. I needed to have some fun, and I am tired of the balls and the parties and the stupid gatherings we have. Any man can come and have his fun, whether it be here or a gentlemen’s club or even a gaming hell. And yet I can barely enter another lady’s house to play some cards. It is unfair, and for tonight, I simply wanted to know what it would be like to be someone other than myself.”

  Her breath came fast after the impassioned speech that had burst forth from her. She seemed surprised herself that she had shared so much with him, and he shifted from one foot to the other as he tried to find the words to placate her without encouraging her behavior.

  “Have your fun, Lady Olivia,” he finally said. “But you must be careful.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I said those men were fixed on speaking with Lady Atwood, they were going to her to make accusations against you, to have you removed from her home. Whether you are guilty or not, being that you are not actually Mrs. Harris, you likely do not want questions raised about your identity.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “But I didn’t do anything wrong! Why should I be punished for simply being skilled at a game of cards?”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Life is not fair, my lady. Surely you know that.”

  Something in his tone must have caught her attention, for she whipped her head around to look closely at him.

  “My — Your Grace, I must apologize. I was sorry to hear of the loss of your father,” she said, as her blue gaze stared up at him from beneath long eyelashes with honest emotion shining forth.

  “Thank you,” he said stoically, not quite meeting her eyes.

  “What happened?” she asked softly, placing a hand on his arm. He nearly jumped from the unexpected, though not unwelcome, contact, but he swiftly stilled his body.

  “His health failed him,” he responded, his gaze now trained on the flames licking the grate of the hearth. “One moment, he was striding the grounds, commanding everyone as if he were the admiral of a fleet of navy ships, and the next he was on his deathbed.”

  He cleared his throat, not wanting to say anymore in the moment.

  It had been months since his father’s death, and Alastair still had not quite come to terms with his new place in life. He and his father had never gotten along well, but now that he had stepped into his father’s
role, Alastair was beginning to understand more of what made his father the man he was. His father had become duke at quite a young age, just into his teen years. The responsibility the role entailed had been a part of him for all of his formative years.

  The strain his father had been under in the months prior to his death now also made more sense to Alastair. The first day following his mourning period, he had sat behind his father’s desk to make some semblance of order out of the estate’s ledgers, which were now ultimately his responsibility. He had to call the steward in to double check that he was reading the accounts correctly. He had been aghast to find that they were apparently quite deep into debt.

  “How could this have happened?” he asked the man, who shrugged and cryptically said that expenses had become higher than any revenue they brought in. Alastair had poured over the ledgers for days, but had come up with nothing other than what the man said. It was the expenses that nagged at him, though. There were large sums of money borrowed against the estate by his father, yet no accounting for what he had taken the money for, and no one seemed inclined to provide any idea of where they had gone. Alastair had to find out — and fast. As it was, he was here at this makeshift club tonight to see if he couldn’t win a quick pound or two. He was fortunate he had been partnered with Lady Olivia, for she had helped him win a good deal of it already.

  “What do you say…” he began, “we play together for the rest of the night? You can win, certainly, but you must not win so handily or boastfully. I will stay with you, and advise if any shift in your countenance is required, and will keep you aware of the circumstances. I am much more familiar in such surroundings.”

  “Yes, I can tell,” she said, with one polished eyebrow raised high. “Fine then. Only because I like you, Your Grace. You were a good friend to Isabella this past year, and I also appreciate a man who can tell me the truth of a matter.” She nodded at him. “Shall we return?”

  “Lead the way, Mrs. Harris.”

  He tried not to watch her as she walked out of the room ahead of him, he really did. But the swish of her skirts over the thick round of her backside was almost more than he could bear.

  Stop Alastair, he told himself. She’s not one to trifle with and you most certainly could not handle a wife at the moment, especially a wife like her — she was a spitfire, this one. He currently wanted to worry about nothing more than whether to drink brandy or whiskey, to play whist or hazard, and to decide which gaming hell to visit that particular evening. He was already responsible for his sister, his mother, and the Dukedom of Breckenridge.

  He sighed as Lady Olivia called to him from the door. She was so alluring, it was hard to think straight when she was next to him. He had realized upon first meeting her that one would never know what to expect from the woman, but he certainly had not foreseen this. What was she thinking, dressing up as a harlot and coming to a gambling house such as this, albeit in the house of a lady? He shook his head and felt a smile creep into his cheeks for the first time in quite a long while, as he followed her to the door.

  They played a few more games, winning handily — although not too handily — before Lady Olivia excused herself, telling the other players that she must retire for the evening. Alastair himself rose and walked with her to the door, as he could feel sets of eyes trained on them.

  “I must apologize,” he said, as he looked down at her with a sheepish grin, his hands clasped behind his back. “I was entirely in the wrong. You did not have beginner’s luck but do seem to have an aptitude for the game.”

  “It’s not the game,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “It’s the cards — the memory of the cards.”

  “Even still,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Most people cannot remember the cards within their hand let alone which have been thrown.”

  “Perhaps we should do this another time,” she said as her rosy lips turned up in a smile. Whether it was the change in her hair color or the dim light of the tallow candles in the hall, she looked like an entirely different woman in the moment, her blue eyes popping as she looked up him. He didn’t know what came over him, but he leaned down and gave her a quick, innocent kiss on those plump lips of hers. He pulled back immediately, suddenly aware of their circumstance and who she really was.

  “May I accompany you home?” he asked, seeing the red of her blush seeping up her cheeks to her hairline. “To assure your safety,” he hastily added.

  “No!” she said with force, before softening her tone. “I mean, no, thank you, Your Grace. I deeply appreciate it, but I have Billy.”

  “Billy?”

  “Yes, a friend — Mr. William Tell. He accompanied me here this evening.”

  The man seemingly appeared from nowhere, and began to escort Lady Olivia to her carriage. Alastair felt a twinge as he scowled at the well-dressed, good-looking Mr. Tell, who nodded at him in turn. He was determined to ignore the ire that this man raised, and instead turned back towards the house.

  “Goodbye, Your Grace,” Olivia called out as she walked down the drive. “I hope your evening and your purse improve this night!”

  He raised a hand in response, and returned to the card tables but unfortunately after she left, his luck seemed to have disappeared with her.

  6

  It had been a week since her foray into a new world with another identity at Lady Atwood’s house. It was strange, really — while nothing had actually changed, in the same breath it felt as if everything was different. For once, Olivia had taken the opportunity to do something that made her feel well and truly alive.

  She opened the correspondence in front of her, pleased to find an envelope from the Duchess of Carrington — one of her greatest friends, formerly Miss Isabella Marriott. It was an invitation to a dinner party she and her husband were holding at their London home at the start of the season, and they requested her presence. Olivia was delighted. She had not been to their townhouse in the city and it had been some time since she had seen her friend, who was most often at their country home. She wondered who would be present at this dinner, her thoughts touching on Lord Kenley — no, she reminded herself, he was now the Duke of Breckenridge. The Duke was a close friend of Isabella’s husband.

  She wrote back swiftly, telling her friend she would be more than happy to attend. Unfortunately it also meant her mother would be along as her chaperone, which caused Olivia to groan aloud. Out five seasons and her mother still had to accompany her. At what point could a spinster attend such events without a chaperone, she wondered. She had never deemed to find out, but as she was near to reaching such status, she supposed she should look further into what that would mean for her. Shrugging her shoulders, she rose to find her mother, as well as the butler to send her response posthaste.

  The Carrington’s London home on Queen Street was one that spoke of wealth through its subdued charm and elegance, not the garish display of her mother’s home, Olivia noted as their carriage pulled up to the front of the columned townhouse.

  “How quaint,” her mother said with a sniff as they alighted, causing Olivia to roll her eyes at her back. Perhaps she should marry simply to be rid of her mother’s constant presence at such events, Olivia thought.

  As they walked through the arched entryway, Isabella came forward to greet them, holding Olivia in a tight embrace for a moment.

  “It is wonderful to see you!” she exclaimed. “How I have missed you.”

  “And I you,” answered Olivia, stepping back to look at her friend. “Marriage certainly agrees with you, Isabella. Why, you are positively glowing.”

  Isabella waved a hand at her and bade them enter, her husband standing to greet them as they entered the parlor where the dinner guests awaited.

  “Lady Olivia,” he said, his dark head bowing over her hand. “I am very pleased you are joining us this evening. I do not believe I have ever properly thanked you for your assistance in my affairs at the house party last year.”

  “Oh, it is I that would
thank you, Your Grace,” she responded. “It was the most thrill I’ve had in all my life!”

  Her mother snorted as she walked by them, hearing Olivia’s words. She had found the entire affair quite sordid, of course, however she never knew the entire story behind all that had happened.

  Isabella joined them then, her hand coming onto her husband’s arm as she smiled up at him. How happy they looked, thought Olivia. Their love story had been one of adventure and intrigue, and she had been pleased to have taken part in it during a turbulent week at the home Isabella’s parents had left to her upon their passing. While Olivia found the Duke to be a serious sort, she was rather fond of him. Above all, he made Isabella happier than one could ever imagine possible, and for that Olivia would always be grateful to him.

  There had been one other person who was a part of their allegiance last year, who had helped Bradley in his quest — Alastair Finchley, who was now walking up to them, with a devilish look in his eyes and a mischievous smile on his lips. Her heart began to beat faster despite her best efforts to be unaffected by his presence.

  “Ah, if it is not my co-conspirators all together, awaiting me!” he exclaimed as he greeted them. “Lady Olivia, I must tell you, I met a woman the other night who looked just like you, but for the color of her hair. A Mrs…. oh drat, I have forgotten her name. Oh yes! Mrs. Harris.”