The Duke's Legacy Page 2

  “Yes, damn it!” Jenkins thumped his clenched fist against his thigh. “We’ll never get a look in now, what with this load of jackals having stolen a march on us.”

  “Care to have a wager on that?” Sebastian drawled, sensing there might be some sport to be had at this dreary affair after all.

  “A monkey,” Trump said with asperity.

  Jenkins perked up. “I’ll take some of that, too.”

  “Agreed.” Sebastian disguised a yawn behind his hand. “A monkey says she’ll stand up with me before the night is out.” He removed his shoulder from the wall that had been supporting it and pulled himself up to his full, not inconsiderable height. “Which one is she?” he enquired languidly.

  “That one there.” Trump pointed across the room. “The prime piece in blue, having her toes trampled on by Samuels.”

  Sebastian raised a brow. “Not bad. However, she’s hardly likely to present me with much of a challenge.” He grinned at his friends. “Gentlemen, prepare to surrender your blunt to a worthy cause.”

  When the dance came to an end Sebastian and his friends contrived to get close to Lady Abigail. Fortuitously she happened to be beside her aunt and thus the necessary introduction was seamlessly accomplished. Sebastian hid his surprise behind a sangfroid façade. The child was unquestionably attractive. Honey-coloured curls framed a lovely face dominated by laughing eyes that had clearly inspired her seamstress. Like her gown, they were of a sparkling blue randomly flecked with silver. Temptingly plump lips curved upwards in a sweetly innocent smile, hinting provocatively at passions just waiting to be released. Sapphire and diamond earrings adorned her ears and a small tiara—presumably part of the famed Penrith collection—sparkled in her hair.

  Her position within society would cause any man with an ounce of sense to overlook any defects of nature, Sebastian mused, but he could discern none in the specimen before him. The body that her beautifully cut gown displayed to such advantage would be enough to entice the most discerning of his sex, fortune-hunter or no, and that could only bode ill for Lady Abigail if her uncle didn’t keep her well protected. All that money, expectation and responsibility resting on such slender shoulders caused Sebastian to feel a moment’s concern for the child. Realising it brought him to his senses. Since when did he waste sympathy on rich, over-indulged heiresses—or on anyone at all for that matter?

  Sebastian executed an elegant bow and raised the girl from her curtsey. He released her hand again immediately and smiled only in the most perfunctory manner. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Abigail. I’ve heard much about you.” But he ensured that the statement sounded merely polite, bordering on the disinterested.

  “Thank you, my lord.” Her calm response failed to hide her surprise at his casual manner, presumably because it followed so closely on all the flummery she’d had to endure during the course of the evening. Recovering quickly, her eyes lit up with amusement and, predictably, a degree of interest. “And I you.”

  She turned towards his companions, who treated her with much greater civility, responding to them with a degree of maturity that surprised him. There was a marked lack of the giggling and simpering he might have expected, and for that he was grateful. If he had to stand up with the baggage for half-an-hour, the experience would be less painful if she could manage to conduct herself with a degree of decorum.

  “Your parents were well known to me, Lady Abigail,” he said in an aside when the attention of the others was diverted. “I know they would be inordinately proud of you this evening.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Sadness briefly clouded her eyes but was quickly replaced by a dazzling smile. It was the last reaction he’d expected and left him feeling disadvantaged, especially when his body responded in the time-honoured fashion. “You know,” she said in a contemplative tone, “I rather believe they would.’

  Sebastian inclined his head in the direction of the dancers. “I believe a quadrille is about to form up. If you aren’t already engaged, would you to stand up with me?”

  Confident that she would acquiesce, he didn’t wait for her answer but merely reached for her hand.

  “Thank you, my lord, but I’m not inclined to dance again at this juncture.”

  Sebastian dropped her hand as though it had scorched him and looked at her askance, his temporary bewilderment soon replaced by feelings of abject shock. Did she just decline his invitation? Impossible! He must have misheard her. Sebastian couldn’t recall the last time a female had rejected his advances, whatever form they might happen to take. He looked at her with renewed interest. Jenkins and Trump appeared to be having difficulty maintaining their respective countenances. Lady Bevan let out a small gasp of dismay.

  “I beg your pardon,” Sebastian said in a level tone. “Do I understand you to…”

  Sebastian’s words trailed off, his eyes resting on the flowers at her waist as he attempted to come to terms with the fact that he’d actually been cut. His eyebrows snapped together as the truth struck home. He’d been cut direct, in the middle of a ballroom and in front of half the ton, by a mere chit of a girl.

  He watched her as she impulsively made an embarrassing situation worse by plucking a loose bloom from the corsage at her waist. She stood on her toes and slipped it into his lapel. Lady Bevan groaned and clutched her daughter’s arm for support. Sebastian, who’d recovered his composure and now found the whole situation amusing, spared a moment’s sympathy for Lady Bevan. He was well able to imagine the thoughts that must be running through her mind as she observed her niece committing several faux pas simultaneously.

  “So, my lady,” Sebastian said, feeling a stab of admiration for the child’s courage. “Do you really imagine you can fob me off with a mere flower?”

  She met his gaze and held it, her remarkable eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Then you damned well should be.” He lowered his voice. “I’m a very dangerous man.”

  Sebastian could see she now understood the nature of her transgression but far from being contrite she appeared to be having trouble suppressing her mirth. For once a woman had wrong-footed him and he wasn’t sure how to regain the upper hand. No, not a woman, he reminded himself, but an unruly child.

  It was unthinkable.

  “I give you due warning, I don’t enjoy being bested.” He paused, fixing her with a significant look. “At anything.”

  He issued his challenge with a raffish smile, not sure precisely what he meant by it. His interest in Abigail Carstairs was at an end. He’d lost his wager and that was that. Lady Abigail dropped into a curtsey and offered him the ghost of a sultry smile. God’s beard, did she really mean it to come across as being quite so flirtatious?

  Sebastian bowed and walked away, accompanied by his friends. He tolerated their high-spirited joshing with an air of unruffled calm and then escaped in the direction of the card room, dismissing the incident with Lady Abigail from his mind.

  Chapter Two

  Sebastian was jolted awake when the curtains in his chamber were thrown back, flooding it with more daylight that his jaded constitution could withstand. He shielded his eyes with his hand and glowered at his valet.

  “What in the name of Hades do you think you’re about, Graves? What hour is it?”

  “A little after eleven o’clock, my lord.”

  “Eleven o’clock?” Sebastian hadn’t returned to his establishment until daybreak. “I left strict instructions I was not to be disturbed until mid-day.”

  “I’m perfectly aware of your instructions, my lord.”

  “Then why the devil are you disregarding them?”

  “A lady has called, my lord, and desires of an immediate interview.”

  This got Sebastian’s attention. “A lady, Graves?” Who would be inconsiderate enough to call at such an early hour? Only his married sisters were likely to attempt it. If it was one of those sour-faced pusses intent upon berating him for his disinclination to
marry, Graves would know better than to grant her admittance. “Does this lady have a name?”

  “I dare say she does, my lord, but she declined to disclose it.”

  Sebastian sat up, as naked as the day he was born, and rubbed his face vigorously with both of his hands. “Let’s see if I’ve got this straight,” he said in a minatory tone. “An unknown female has called in the middle of the morning and refused to leave a name or state her business. Far from showing her the door, you’ve seen fit to admit her into my house and are now disturbing me over the matter.”

  Graves inclined his head. “Exactly so, my lord.”

  “Then I suppose you expect me to ask why.” Sebastian sighed. “Out with it man, what possessed you?”

  “The lady was most insistent, my lord.”

  Sebastian rolled his eyes. “What does she look like?”

  “I really couldn’t say, my lord. She’s wearing a cloak and has pulled the hood close about her face, so I couldn’t quite see her features.”

  Sebastian, now more intrigued than annoyed, raised a brow. “Is this mysterious lady alone?”

  “No, my lord, she’s accompanied by her maid.”

  “And what made you suppose I would consider receiving this unnamed lady, however insistent she might be?”

  “I took the liberty of posing that very question to the lady, my lord, and she asked me to present you with this token.”

  Graves proffered a silver salver, upon which rested a single cream rosebud. Sebastian let out an oath of astonishment.

  “What the Devil!”

  Abigail Carstairs, for it could only be she…what business could she possibly have with him that would cause her to risk her reputation by calling upon him in such a singular fashion? His mind reeling, Sebastian acknowledged that at least she’d had the presence of mind to conceal her features and have a maid accompany her. But still? Intrigued in spite of himself, Sebastian pushed the covers aside.

  “What have you done with the lady?”

  “I took the liberty of showing her into the morning room, my lord.”

  “All right, bring up my shaving water. I’ll see the lady as soon as I’ve attended to my ablutions. In the meantime, ensure that the door to the morning room remains closed and that no one enters it, on any pretext whatsoever.”

  “I anticipated your lordship’s instructions and set Hodges to guard the door.”

  Sebastian grunted his approval, secure in the knowledge that no inquisitive servant would get past his henchman and gain sight of Lady Abigail. He slid his arms into the robe that Graves held out to him, still pondering upon her ill-advised decision to visit his home, wondering what in the world could have persuaded her to behave so rashly.

  ***

  Abby could scare believe she’d found the courage to execute her plan. Desperation, she was fast learning, transcended caution, to say nothing of the rules laid down for the conduct of well-bred young ladies. She sat in Lord Denver’s elegant morning room, nervously pleating the folds of her cloak between her fingers, awaiting the appearance of his lordship with a combination of impatience and trepidation. That a gentleman of his ilk would decline her request for assistance hadn’t previously crossed her mind. But now she was actually here, had somehow found the courage to stand up to his formidable butler and equally severe valet, and gain admittance to his house. What next?

  Abbey recalled the aftermath of her spontaneous actions at the duchess’s ball the previous night when she’d so negligently cut the most eligible gentleman in the ton by declining his invitation to dance. Her face flooded with colour. She had never seen her uncle and aunt so discomposed. Her aunt, by nature a kindly and tolerant soul, had lectured and scolded for a full ten minutes, more out of charity with her than Abbey had ever known her to be. But it was her uncle’s displeasure she most regretted. He hadn’t railed against her, but instead fixed her with a reproving look.

  “You’ve disappointed me, Abbey,” he said, his tone only mildly censorious but infinitely more wounding than if he’d delivered the trimming she deserved.

  Abbey would have given much at that moment to turn the clock back and handle the situation with Lord Denver differently—anything to regain her uncle’s good opinion. He had sacrificed so much to bring her to this point and she’d repaid him on her first sojourn into society by behaving with blatant disregard for the conventions.

  “Oh, Uncle Bertram, please do excuse me!” she cried. “I didn’t realise what I’d done. So much excitement, you see, so many people, and I…well, I forgot myself for a moment.”

  “I dare say you did. Even so, I’m surprised. I thought you knew better than to behave in such a manner with a gentleman of Lord Denver’s stature, or any gentleman at all for that matter.”

  Abbey had hung her head, thoroughly ashamed for briefly allowing the spontaneous side of her nature to overcome years of stringent training. She was quite unable to account for it herself, so what could she possibly say to her beloved uncle in response to his very justified complaint? She suspected she would have enjoyed dancing with the Lord Denver. Some instinct told her he would be a superb dancer. It would also have provided her with the ideal opportunity to broach the subject uppermost in her mind. So what had made her spurn him so publicly, making an enemy out of him in the process? It defied explanation.

  “Yes, Uncle,” she said meekly. “But some of the blame must surely lie with Lord Denver, too? He invited me to dance and didn’t even wait for my response. He just assumed I would accept him. It was very arrogant of him.”

  “Perhaps, but what do you imagine you achieved by cutting him so publicly?” When she was unable to make a response, her uncle continued in a more kindly tone. “You must remember, Abbey, that every movement you make will be scrutinized, every action subjected to the keenest analysis. You discovered last night just how anxious people are to take you up. Never forget an equal number will be looking for the slightest excuse to brand you as aloof and above yourself.” Uncle Bertram paused and fixed her with a gaze of penetrating gravitas. “Be aware of it, m’dear, and try to behave with more propriety in future.” He kissed her brow to indicate she was forgiven.

  “Oh, Uncle Bertram, I so regret letting you down!” Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck. “I can’t think what came over me. How can I make amends?”

  “There’s nothing you can do without making matters worse. But perhaps if Lord Denver should ask you to favour him on another occasion, you might think to accept him?” Uncle Bertram twinkled at her, his habitual good humour restored.

  “Surely he isn’t the type of gentleman whose attentions you would have me encourage?” Abbey asked, puzzled.

  “No, indeed! But he’s powerful and holds much sway within the ton. It wouldn’t do to make an enemy of him. And as for presenting him with a flower, well…” Uncle Bertram’s words trailed off, his expression sufficiently eloquent in its own right.

  “Perhaps I could send him a note of apology?”

  “Certainly not!” cried her uncle and aunt in unison. “That would be an unpardonable transgression.”

  Undoubtedly. But, Abbey reasoned, her nerves strung as taut as a bow as the waiting appeared to last forever, they hadn’t said it would be improper for her to call upon his lordship and beg his pardon in person. Or to crave his assistance with her other concerns, for that matter.

  Abbey snapped out of her reverie and jumped like a scalded cat when the door to the morning room was thrust open with considerable force. Lord Denver’s intimidating figure filled the aperture. Abbey lifted her eyes to his face and gulped as she took in the stony set to his features. He was scowling at her most ferociously, which was hardly an encouraging start. Irritatingly, though, it did little to detract from his lethal form of attractiveness.

  He was freshly shaven, his rugged features projecting an air of tough resourcefulness, his coruscating eyes amplifying his obvious anger at her intrusion. His expression of thinly-veiled hostility would have been enough to
terrify a soul less intent upon her purpose, but Abbey was made of sterner stuff. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, desperation coming to her aid and lending her the courage to meet his hostile glare with equanimity. She had beaten the odds by gaining admission to his house and was damned if she’d be intimidated just because he was in a bad mood.

  Abbey chanced a surreptitious peep at his person, trusting that the sweep of her lowered lashes would conceal her appreciation for all she observed. She wasn’t surprised to see he was impeccably attired in a green coat of the finest kerseymere which displayed his powerful shoulders to considerable advantage without, she suspected, the aid of any padding. A stripped waistcoat in green and cream topped his snowy white shirt and his cravat was tied in a fashionably intricate knot, the name of which escaped her. Close-fitting inexpressibles clung to strong thighs, adding to his prohibitive allure. There could be no doubting he deserved the reputation he’d acquired as a formidable sophisticate.

  Her eyes came to rest on his shiny Hessians and it took every ounce of her courage to raise them again and absorb the full force of the displeasure emanating from his eyes. He closed the door behind him, and advanced towards her with purposeful strides. Abbey shivered and pulled her cloak more closely about her.

  “Come with me.”

  Abbey knew it wasn’t an invitation, even before he grabbed her by the wrist, opened the double doors to the adjoining room and pulled her through them in his wake. Her maid stood but hastily reseated herself when Lord Denver barked at her to stay where she was. He left the door slightly ajar but manoeuvred Abbey into a position from which they couldn’t be observed by her maid. Sally was obviously cowed by the note of authority in Lord Denver’s voice. Abbey understood why because she was, too.

  Releasing Abbey’s wrist, Lord Denver propelled her until she was backed against the wall and glowered at her.

  “What in the name of the Devil are you doing here?”