DARING DUCHESSES

They’ll scandalise the Ton

Back in society after becoming widows,

three duchesses dare to contemplate the

wicked delights of taking a lover …

Except they haven’t bargained on the

gentlemen who rise to the challenge being

quite so gloriously devilish!

SOME LIKE IT WICKED

December 2012

SOME LIKE TO SHOCK

January 2013

Also read Sophia’s story

SOME LIKE IT SCANDALOUS

November 2012 Historical Undone!

AUTHOR NOTE

Welcome to the second story in my world of the Daring Duchesses. The introduction to these two books appeared in the Historical Undone! eBook, SOME LIKE IT SCANDALOUS, which told Dante and Sophia’s story.

This book is about Pandora and Rupert.

The stories of these three duchesses, and the men with whom they fall in love, have been especially fun to write. The women are all so different, and their background stories equally so, yet their friendship, although newly formed, is one that they all know will endure. Just as they know the love each one finds with the gentleman of their dreams will last a lifetime.

Enjoy!

About the Author

CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon®. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

Previous novels by the same author:

In Mills & Boon® Historical Romance:

THE DUKE’S CINDERELLA BRIDE*

THE RAKE’S INDECENT PROPOSAL*

THE ROGUE’S DISGRACED LADY*

LADY ARABELLA’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE*

THE LADY GAMBLES**

THE LADY FORFEITS**

THE LADY CONFESSES**

*The Notorious St Claires

**The Copeland Sisters

You’ve read about The Notorious St Claires in Regency times. Now you can read about the new generation in Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance:

The Scandalous St Claires:

Three arrogant aristocrats—ready to be tamed!

JORDAN ST CLAIRE: DARK AND DANGEROUS

THE RELUCTANT DUKE

TAMING THE LAST ST CLAIRE

Carole Mortimer has written a further 150 novels for Modern™ Romance, and in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

AT THE DUKE’S SERVICE

CONVENIENT WIFE, PLEASURED LADY

SOME LIKE IT SCANDALOUS†

† Daring Duchesses

Did you know that these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Some Like It
Wicked
Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To Peter, With All My Love

Chapter One

May 1817—Highbury House, London

‘Do smile, Pandora; I am sure that neither Devil nor Lucifer intends to gobble you up! At least … it is to be hoped, not in any way you might find unpleasant.’

Pandora, widowed Duchess of Wyndwood, did not join in her friend’s huskily suggestive laughter as they approached the two gentlemen Genevieve referred to so playfully. Instead she felt her heart begin to pound even more rapidly in her chest, her breasts quickly rising and falling as she took rapid, shallow breaths in an effort to calm her feelings of alarm, and the palms of her hands dampened inside the lace of her gloves.

She did not know either gentleman personally, of course. Both men were in their early thirties whereas she was but four and twenty, and she had never been a part of the risqué crowd which surrounded them whenever they deigned to show themselves in society. Nevertheless, she had recognised them on sight as being Lord Rupert Stirling, previously Marquis of Devlin and now Duke of Stratton, and his good friend, Lord Benedict Lucas, two gentlemen who had, this past dozen years or so, become known more familiarly amongst the ton as Devil and Lucifer. So named for their outrageous exploits, both in and out of ladies’ bedchambers.

The same two gentlemen Genevieve had moments ago suggested might be considered as likely candidates as lovers now that their year of mourning for their husbands was over …

‘Pandora?’

She gave a shake of her head. ‘I do not believe I can be a party to this, Genevieve.’

Her friend gave her arm a gently reassuring squeeze. ‘We are only going to speak to them, darling. Play hostess for Sophia whilst she deals with the unexpected arrival of the Earl of Sherbourne.’ Genevieve glanced across the ballroom to where the lady appeared to be in low but heated conversation with the rakish Dante Carfax, a close friend of Devil and Lucifer.

Just as the three widows were now close friends …

It was sheer coincidence that Sophia Rowlands, Duchess of Clayborne, Genevieve Forster, Duchess of Woollerton, and Pandora Maybury, Duchess of Wyndwood, had all been widowed within weeks of each other the previous spring. The three women, previously strangers, had swiftly formed an alliance of sorts when they had emerged from their year of mourning a month ago, drawn to each other by their young and widowed state.

But Genevieve’s suggestion a few minutes ago, that the three of them each ‘take one lover, if not several before the Season was ended’, had thrown Pandora more into a state of turmoil than anticipation.

‘Nevertheless—’

‘Our dance, I believe, your Grace?’

Pandora had not thought she would ever be pleased to see Lord Richard Sugdon, finding that young gentleman to be unpleasant in both his studied good looks and over-familiar manner whenever they chanced to meet. But, having found it impossible to think of a suitable reason to refuse earlier when he had pressed her to accept him for the first waltz of the evening, Pandora believed she now found even his foppish company preferable to that of the more overpowering and dangerous Rupert Stirling or Benedict Lucas.

‘I had not forgotten, my lord.’ She gave Genevieve a brief, apologetic smile as she placed her hand lightly upon Lord Sugdon’s arm before allowing herself to be swept out on to the ballroom floor.

‘Good Lord, Dante, what has put you in such a state of disarray?’ Rupert Stirling, the Duke of Stratton, enquired upon entering the library at Clayborne House later that same evening, and instantly noticing the dishevelled state of one of his two closest friends as he stood across the room. ‘Or perhaps I should not ask …’ he drawled speculatively as he detected a lady’s perfume in the air.

‘Perhaps you should not,’ Dante Carfax, Earl of Sherbourne, bit out. ‘Nor do I need bother in asking what—or should I say, whom—is succeeding in keeping Benedict amused?’

‘Probably best if you did not,’ Rupert chuckled softly.

‘Would you care to join me in a brandy?’ The other man held up the decanter from which he was refilling his own glass.

‘Why not?’ Rupert accepted as he closed the library door behind him. ‘I have long suspected that my stepmother would eventually succeed in driving me either to drink or to committing murder!’

Pandora—having found herself trapped in a corner of the ballroom with Lord Sugdon once their dance came to an end, and only managing to escape his company a few minutes ago when another acquaintance had engaged him in conversation—could not help now but overhear the two gentlemen’s conversation as she stood on the terrace directly outside the library.

‘Then let it be drink this evening,’ Dante Carfax answered his friend. ‘Especially as the Duchess has been thoughtful enough to conveniently leave a decanter of particularly fine brandy and some excellent cigars here in the library for her male guests to enjoy.’ There was the sound of glass chinking and liquid being poured.

‘Ah, much better.’ Devil Stirling sighed in satisfaction seconds later after he had obviously taken a much-needed swallow of the fiery alcohol.

‘What are the three of us even doing here this evening, Stratton?’ his companion drawled lazily as he threw wide the French doors out on to the terrace with the obvious intention of allowing the escape of the smoke from their cigars.

‘In view of your dishevelled state, your own reasons are obvious, I should have thought,’ the other gentleman remarked. ‘And Benedict kindly agreed to accompany me, once I told him of my need to spend an evening away from the cloying company of my dear stepmama.’

Dante Carfax gave a hard laugh. ‘I’ll wager the fair Patricia does not enjoy being referred to as such by you.’

‘Hates it,’ the other man confirmed with grim satisfaction. ‘Which is the very reason I choose to do it. Constantly!’

Devil by name and devil by nature …

The thought came unbidden to Pandora as she remained unmoving in the shadows of the terrace, having no wish to draw the attention of the gentlemen to her presence outside by making even the slightest of noises.

The aroma of their cigars now wafting out of the open French doors was a nostalgic reminder to Pandora of happier times in her own life. A time when she had been younger and so very innocent, with seemingly not a care in the world as she attended such balls as this one with her parents.

Occasions when she would not have felt the need, as she had this evening, to flee out on to the terrace in order to prevent any of Sophia’s tonnish guests from seeing that Pandora had finally been reduced to humiliated tears by Lord Sugdon’s blatant and crude suggestions …

Not that most of the ton would care if she did find herself insulted, many of society not even acknowledging her existence, or troubling themselves to speak to her, let alone caring if she constantly found herself being propositioned by those gentlemen brave enough to risk her scandalous company.

Indeed, if it were not for the insistence of Sophia and Genevieve in having her also received at whatever social functions they chose to attend, then Pandora believed she would have found herself completely ostracised since she had ventured to return to society a month ago.

‘A futile exercise, as it happens,’ Rupert Stirling continued wearily, ‘now that my father’s widow is also recently arrived at the Duchess’s ball.’

‘Oh, I am sure that Sophia did not—’

‘Don’t get in a froth, Dante, I am not blaming your Sophia—’

‘She is not my Sophia.’

‘No? Then I was mistaken just now in the perfume I recognised as I entered the room?’

There was the briefest of pauses before the other gentleman replied reluctantly, ‘No, you were not mistaken. But Sophia continues to assure me I am wasting my time pursuing her.’

Pandora’s mind was agog with the implication of this last conversation. Sophia? And Dante Carfax? Surely not, when Sophia lost no occasion in which to criticise the rakishly handsome Earl of Sherbourne …

‘Would not the taking of a wife solve at least part of your own problem, Rupert, in that the Dowager Duchess would then have no choice but to leave off living openly with you in your homes, at least?’ Dante now asked.

‘Do not think I have not considered doing just that,’ the other man rasped.

‘And?’

‘And it would no doubt solve one problem, but surely bring about another.’

‘How so?’

‘In that I would then be saddled for the rest of my life with a wife I neither want nor care for!’

‘Then find one you do want, physically, at least. There are dozens of new beauties coming out each Season.’

‘At two and thirty, my taste in women does not include chits barely out of the schoolroom.’ The to-ing and fro-ing of Rupert Stirling’s voice indicated that he was pacing the library in his agitation. ‘I cannot see myself tied for life to a young woman who not only giggles and prattles, but knows nothing of what takes place in the bedchamber,’ he added disdainfully.

‘Perhaps you should not dismiss the existence of that innocence so lightly, Rupert.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, for one thing, no one could ever accuse you of a lack of finesse in the bedchamber, which would surely allow you to tutor your young and innocent wife as to your personal preferences. And secondly, innocence does have the added benefit of ensuring—hopefully—that the future heir to the Dukedom would at least be of your own loins!’

‘Which may not have been the case if Patricia had succeeded in giving my father his “spare”—an occurrence which would have succeeded in rendering me fearful for my very life whilst I slept,’ the Duke of Stratton stated venomously.

Pandora was aware she no longer remained silent outside on the shadowed terrace merely to avoid detection, but was in fact now listening unashamedly to the two gentlemen’s conversation. Two gentlemen, having seen them from a distance but a short time ago, it was all too easy for Pandora to now envisage.

Dante Carfax was tall and dark with wicked green eyes, his impeccable evening attire fitting to perfection his wide and muscled shoulders, flat abdomen and long powerful legs.

Rupert Stirling was equally as tall, if not slightly taller than his friend, his golden locks fashionably styled to curl about his ears and fall rakishly across his intelligent brow, his black evening clothes and snowy white linen tailored to emphasise the powerful width of his shoulders, narrow waist and long and muscled legs. His eyes would no doubt be that cool and enigmatic grey set in his haughtily handsome fallen-angel face, with a narrow aristocratic nose, high cheekbones and a wickedly sensual mouth that could smile with sardonic humour or thin with the coldness of his displeasure.

A displeasure that at present appeared to be directed at the woman his late father had married four years ago.

Pandora had been only twenty at the time, and not long married herself, but she remembered that the whole of society had then been agog with the fact that the long-widowed seventh Duke of Stratton, a man already in his sixtieth year, had decided to take as his second wife the young woman it was strongly rumoured had been romantically involved with that gentleman’s son before he returned to his regiment to fight in Wellington’s army against Napoleon …

Pandora, along with all of society, was also aware that the new Duke and his stepmother had occupied the same house ever since the death of his father the previous year—or rather houses, because whether in town or the country, Rupert Stirling and his father’s widow invariably now occupied the same residence.

‘As I recall, you always did have reason to fear for your life when in the bedchamber with that particular lady,’ Dante drawled drily in reply to the other man’s previous comment.

Pandora felt the colour warm her cheeks at overhearing such intimate details of Rupert Stirling’s relationship with the woman who was now his widowed stepmother. Perhaps, after all, she had listened long enough to the gentlemen’s conversation, and should now return to the ballroom and make her excuses to Sophia before leaving? Yes, that would probably be for the best—

‘Half the gentlemen present this evening are currently following my stepmama about the ballroom with their tongues hanging out,’ the Duke said scathingly.

‘And the other half?’

‘Appear to be panting after a petite golden-haired woman in a purple gown—’

‘I believe you will find that her gown is violet in colour.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Pandora Maybury’s gown is violet, not purple,’ Dante Carfax murmured.

Having already turned towards the house, with the intention of leaving the men to the privacy of their brandy, cigars and conversation, Pandora found herself stilling, a chill of apprehension now running down the length of her spine at suddenly hearing her own name mentioned.

‘Barnaby Maybury’s widow?’ the Duke asked.

‘Just so.’

‘Ah.’

What little colour had returned to Pandora’s cheeks during the minutes she had spent outside in the fresh air now drained away as she heard the unmistakable contempt underlying the Duke of Stratton’s knowing utterance.

Dante gave a throaty chuckle. ‘I know your preference is for women who are dark of hair, tall in stature and voluptuous in figure, Stratton.’

‘And Pandora Maybury, being petite and fair haired and slender of figure, is so obviously none of those things—’

‘I defy even you to notice anything else about her once you have gazed into the exquisite beauty of her eyes!’

‘Should you, in the circumstances, be noticing the beauty of another woman’s eyes, or any other part of her anatomy, Dante?’

The other man chuckled at the sarcasm evident in his friend’s tone. ‘I dare any gentleman, whatever the circumstances, to ignore the beauty of Pandora Maybury’s eyes.’

‘Pray tell what is so special about them?’

‘They are exactly the same shade of colour as the gown she is wearing this evening. Violets in the springtime,’ Dante added with obvious appreciation.

‘Can it be that your prolonged state of unrequited desire for our beautiful hostess has finally succeeded in completely addling your brain?’ Rupert drawled with obvious derision.

‘You are the second person this evening to suggest that might be the case,’ the other man snapped. ‘But, I assure you, where Pandora Maybury’s eyes are concerned, I merely state the truth.’

‘Violets …?’ The Duke was still the sceptic.

‘The deep, dark colour of violets in springtime,’ Dante maintained firmly. ‘And surrounded by the longest, silkiest lashes I have seen on any woman.’

‘And these are the same violet-coloured eyes and long silky lashes, no doubt, which succeeded in luring not one man to his death, but two?’ The Duke’s tone was scathing.

Pandora drew her breath in sharply even as she dropped down weakly on to the wrought-iron bench seat that stood against the wall of Clayborne House, having long been aware of how society thought of her, but never actually having heard anyone openly make the accusation in her presence before.

Except, of course, she was not in the presence of her accusers, merely an eavesdropper who, as the saying went, wasn’t hearing anything good about herself.

‘I believe I might take my leave as you are so out of sorts,’ Dante now told Rupert.

‘I will stay here and finish my brandy and cigar before making my own excuses,’ the Duke answered.

Pandora was still too lost in her own misery to take any further heed of what they were saying. Too overwhelmed by the unhappiness of the memories their previous conversation had conjured up to do anything other than allow that misery to claim her, as it had so often this past year since her husband and Sir Thomas Stanley had both died so needlessly, and in doing so created a scandal which would be talked about for months, if not years. She—

‘Ah, here you are,’ a familiar voice oozed at her out of the surrounding darkness. ‘And all alone, too,’ Lord Sugdon added with satisfaction as he stepped into the dim candlelight escaping through the lace curtains at the library windows.

Pandora eyed him warily as she rose slowly to her silk-slippered feet. ‘I was just about to go back inside—’

‘Oh, surely not?’ The young Lord Sugdon stepped closer still. ‘It would be a pity to waste the moonlight. And the privacy this terrace affords us …’ he added with a suggestive leer in the direction of the swell of her breasts visible above the low neckline of her gown.

‘Nevertheless, I feel I really should return—Lord Sugdon!’ she gasped in protest as he reached out and pulled her roughly into his arms. ‘Release me at once!’ She pushed against his chest in her efforts to escape the confining steel of his arms about her waist, struggles he completely ignored as he now lowered his head with the obvious intention of claiming her lips with his own. Just the thought of his moist, full lips upon her own was enough to make Pandora’s stomach churn in sickening protest.

‘You don’t mean that—’

‘I most certainly do!’ Pandora insisted emotionally, sure that if she did not escape his steely grip very soon that she might actually swoon. Which she did not believe for one moment, from the expression of carnal intent now darkening Lord Sugdon’s face, would succeed in securing her release either; indeed, the man looked as if he were more than capable of taking advantage of her while she lay unconscious and unknowing in his arms. ‘You must stop this immediately, my lord!’

‘Like it a little rough, do you, my beauty?’ Sugdon grinned in satisfaction. ‘You will hear no complaints from me on that score!’ One of his hands released her waist long enough to grasp the neckline of her gown before pulling on the delicate fabric until it ripped and allowed her chemise-covered breasts to spill into view. ‘Now there’s a pretty sight to behold, to be sure.’ His gaze was heated on her semi-naked breasts as he licked the fullness of his lips in anticipation.

Pandora gave a choked sob, knowing that her life—a life that had been overshadowed by so much unhappiness these past four years—had just lowered to a depth of depravity she could never have imagined before this evening. ‘Please, you must not do not do this!’ she pleaded desperately as she continued to push ineffectively against the strength of Lord Sugdon’s hold upon her.

‘You know that you want me to.’ His hand now cupped one of her breasts, his fingers digging painfully into her tender flesh. ‘That you have been begging for just this all evening.’

‘You are wrong if you think that, sir!’ Pandora gasped. ‘Now please—’

‘It is you who shall please me in a few moments, my lovely— Why, you—!’ He snarled angrily as Pandora’s hand landed painfully against his cheek. ‘You shall pay for that, you little—’

‘I believe you will find, Sugdon, that when a lady says no as vehemently as this one is so obviously doing, that it is better to err on the side of caution and accept that she really might be turning down your advances.’

Pandora staggered back into the bench as she found herself suddenly released from Lord Sugdon’s hot and repulsive embrace, uncaring of the bruising of the metal into the back of her legs as she clutched her ripped gown tightly over her breasts, her face deathly pale as she stared across the terrace at her unexpected—and totally improbable—saviour.

Lord Rupert Stirling, eighth Duke of Stratton. Otherwise known to the ton as simply Devil …

Chapter Two

Rupert had been enjoying the last of his cigar and brandy when his solitude had been rudely interrupted by the sound of voices outside on the terrace. Believing at first that it was merely a man and woman involved in a lovers’ tiff, he had chosen to ignore them and continue his contemplation of the unhappy predicament in his own life. Namely, how best to deal with the problem of Patricia Stirling, his late father’s Duchess.

Having to think of the woman at all was enough to incite Rupert’s ire, at the same time as he accepted that he could not contemplate continuing with their present living arrangements any longer. Something had to be done, and soon. He—

The volume of the conversation outside on the terrace had then become such that Rupert found it difficult to think at all. So much so that he stood up to cross the library to where the French doors stood open, his intention to tell the couple to take their damned argument elsewhere. Instead of which it instantly became apparent to him that it was not a lovers’ tiff at all, but a gentleman whom he easily recognised as being that young pup Lord Richard Sugdon forcing his attentions upon a lady whom Rupert could not see clearly, held tightly in Sugdon’s arms as she was, but who was nevertheless obviously protesting those attentions, both verbally and physically.

A petite and fair-haired lady wearing a purple—correction—violet-coloured silk gown. None other than Pandora Maybury, Duchess of Wyndwood, if Rupert was not mistaken. And he rarely was …

‘Now see here, Devlin,’ Sugdon began to bluster in protest.

‘That would now be your Grace, the Duke of Stratton,’ Rupert corrected icily as he turned his glittering gaze to the younger man. ‘And I believe I have already seen and heard enough to know that you are bothering this lady.’

‘There’s nothing of the lady about her—‘ Sugdon’s insult came to an abrupt halt as Rupert grasped him by his neckcloth before pushing him up against the brick wall of the house.

Rupert lowered his face to within a few inches of the younger man’s flushed one, more than pleased to have a direction in which to vent his own inner frustrations. ‘Firstly, the Duchess,’ he bit out softly and succinctly, ‘is a member of the ton and so most certainly she is a lady. Secondly, she has clearly refused your attentions. Am I correct so far?’ The chill warning in his tone was enough to make the other man’s cheeks pale.

Sugdon’s Adam’s apple moved nervously up and down in his throat. ‘Yes.’

Rupert’s fingers tightened in the neckcloth. ‘Thirdly, if I ever see you within ten feet of her Grace again, I will ensure that you live to regret it. In fact, I believe it would be beneficial to your health if you were to take the next few days in which to deal with your affairs here before retiring to your home in the country for the rest of the Season.’

‘I—’

‘Finally,’ Rupert continued in that same dangerously soft tone, ‘before taking your leave you may apologise to the Duchess for your wholly unacceptable behaviour towards her just now.’

The younger man’s face twisted into a sneer. ‘I have no intention of apologising to one such as her.’

‘Now, Sugdon. Before I forget there is a lady present at all and decide to beat you to within an inch of your life.’ Indeed his mood was such this evening that Rupert would welcome—even positively enjoy—the opportunity of physically venting some of his seething emotions on the other man.

‘The woman has been flaunting her attractions for weeks now—’

‘I most certainly have not!’ Pandora gasped in scandalised protest, having listened to the exchange in ever-increasing dismay, and knowing, from the resentful glare Lord Sugdon now sent in her direction, that he held her totally responsible for his present humiliation. Quite how he came to that conclusion, when Pandora had done absolutely nothing to encourage his shocking behaviour, nor personally called upon the Duke of Stratton for help, was completely beyond her comprehension, but believe it Lord Sugdon most certainly did.

She repressed a shiver of apprehension as she turned away from the promised retribution in his glare to instead look at the Duke of Stratton. ‘I would far rather you just released him, your Grace, so that he might then leave my presence as quickly as is possible,’ she pleaded huskily.

Rupert Stirling did not so much as glance in her direction. ‘Not before he has made his apologies to you.’

Pandora shot another nervous glance in Lord Sugdon’s direction, accepting that, whilst he might fear the Duke’s immediate retribution, he harboured no such feelings of awe where she was concerned.

Indeed, she feared she would even now be prostrate on the terrace if looks could actually kill!

Lord Sugdon drew himself up stiffly as he spoke resentfully, ‘I apologise, your Grace.’

She moistened the dryness of her lips before attempting a reply. ‘Your apology—’

‘Is not accepted.’ Once again it was the Duke of Stratton who answered the younger man. ‘For what reason are you apologising, Sugdon?’ he prompted. ‘In acknowledgement of your unacceptable behaviour just now towards her Grace? Or is it only that you regret being caught in the act of attempting to physically assault her?’ he added knowingly.

The younger man shook his head vehemently. ‘I fail to see why you are making such a fuss when everyone knows the woman is nothing more than an opportunist, on the look-out for the next man to share her bed now that her year of mourning her husband is over. Unless, of course, that next man is you, Stratton, in which case I apologise for having stepped upon your toes—or any other part of your anatomy—’ He got no further with the insult as the Duke suddenly released his neckcloth in order to swing back his arm and land a punch firmly upon the other man’s jaw, resulting in Lord Sugdon toppling unconscious to the ground.

‘Your Grace!’ Pandora stood up to stare down in alarm at the prostrate and unconscious man.

Rupert at last spared a narrow-eyed glance at the obviously dismayed Pandora Maybury, his gaze becoming positively appreciative as he took in the fact that the ripped front of her gown revealed surprisingly plump breasts beneath the thin material of her chemise, the nipples that adorned their firm, pouting tips showing a deep and alluring rose.

Her cheeks flushed a similar colour as she became aware of his intent gaze, her hand once again moving up to clasp the ragged edges of her gown together in order to hide that delectable plumpness from his view.

Rupert looked at her between hooded lids, taking in the gold of her hair arranged in fashionable curls at her crown, with several loose tendrils at her temples and nape, her face a pale oval in the moonlight, lashes lowered as she stared down at the prostrate man, making it impossible as yet for Rupert to see the full splendour of those ‘exquisitely beautiful’ violet-coloured eyes his friend had earlier described with such eloquence.

She moistened plump lips with the tip of her tiny pink tongue before speaking huskily. ‘What shall we do with him?’

Rupert arched dark, arrogant brows. ‘I have no intention of doing anything with him, madam. In fact, it is my intention to leave him exactly where he fell.’

‘But—’

‘No doubt he will have a slight jaw-ache when he awakens,’ he added with satisfaction. ‘But that, and the injury to his pride, will no doubt be all that he suffers. Unless, of course, Sugdon was right all along and you were actually encouraging the roughness of his attentions and now regret my interference?’ Rupert eyed her speculatively.

She gasped, that blush in her cheeks deepening in colour. ‘How can you even suggest such a thing?’

He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘Some women prefer a little … enthusiasm, in their lovemaking.’

‘I assure you I am not one of those women!’ she snapped indignantly. ‘Now if you will excuse me—’

‘You cannot possibly go back into the house with your gown in that condition.’ Rupert made no effort to contain his impatience as he began to shrug out of his black evening coat. ‘Here, put this about your shoulders.’ He held the jacket out to her. ‘And I will go and arrange for the carriage to take you to your home.’

Pandora was careful not to allow her fingers to come into contact with the Duke’s as she took the tailored jacket from him, struggling slightly as she attempted to hold the front of her gown together at the same time as putting the jacket about her shoulders.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, woman, let me!’ The Duke sighed his irritation with her struggles as he strode across the terrace to take the jacket from her and place it about her shoulders himself, Pandora at once enveloped in the warmth it had absorbed from his own body, along with the smell of his cologne and the cigar he had recently enjoyed. ‘I will go inside and see to the carriage and at the same time ensure that our hostess is made aware of your departure due to a headache.’ He glanced down in disgust as the other younger man gave a pained groan as he began to stir. ‘A very large headache!’

Pandora’s lashes lowered as she avoided meeting Devil Stirling’s piercing grey gaze. ‘I—I do not believe I have thanked you as yet for your timely intervention, your Grace. I am much appreciative of your rescue just now.’

‘How appreciative, I wonder?’

Her lashes rose sharply at the speculation she heard in his tone. ‘Your Grace?’

‘Never mind,’ he dismissed tersely as he straightened. ‘Perhaps you should come through to the library, and then you may close and lock the doors after I have left and so ensure that you are not disturbed before I return.’ He gave the rapidly recovering man at his feet another cold glance.

Pandora gave an apprehensive shiver despite being huddled in the warmth of the Duke’s jacket, a warmth accompanied by a wholly masculine smell—the sandalwood and pine cologne, expensive cigar and another pleasant odour that was possibly uniquely Rupert Stirling—which was as reassuringly comforting as it was disturbing to the senses. ‘I will do so, gladly,’ she agreed as she preceded the Duke into the candlelit library, some of her trepidation leaving her as soon as she heard him locking the doors behind them before pulling the curtains across to secure her privacy.

With the lessening of those feelings of immediate danger came the full realisation of what had just happened to her. The knowledge of what more might have happened to her if Rupert Stirling had not come to her rescue. Lord Sugdon, for all of his foppishness, was a large man and so much stronger than her, and if the Duke of Stratton had not come to her aid then she feared the other gentleman would have continued with his ravishment to the bitter end.

‘I believe it would be best if you don’t dwell on thoughts of what might have occurred,’ Rupert advised as he easily guessed the reason for the colour draining from Pandora’s cheeks.

‘Not dwell on it?’ she choked emotionally. ‘How can I not dwell on it when but for your own intervention he—he might have—’

‘Oh, good lord, now you are crying!’ Rupert gave a small groan as he saw the evidence of those tears as they spilled over her long silky lashes before proceeding to fall down the delicacy of her pale cheeks and knowing himself to be as impotent as the next man when faced with a woman’s tears. ‘Recall that I did intervene, madam, and let that be an end to it,’ he begged hastily.

Those long silky lashes now rose, at last allowing Rupert his first glimpse of Pandora’s ‘exquisitely beautiful’ eyes. Eyes, he instantly discovered, that were indeed the colour of the deepest, darkest violets in springtime. Eyes a man—and at least two other men, to his certain knowledge—might gaze into and find himself lost to all reason as he drowned in those seductive violet depths …

‘I apologise for troubling you with my tears, your Grace.’ Pandora was visibly battling to stop any more of those tears from falling as she delicately patted the evidence from her cheeks with a lace-edged handkerchief she had recovered from the beaded reticule at her slender wrist.

Rupert had indeed been troubled—was still troubled, if the truth be told, but by the mesmerising effect on him of those violet-coloured eyes, rather than the tears this woman had shed. ‘If you have any sense at all you will not attempt to move from the library until I have returned from arranging for the carriage to take you home.’

Pandora could not help but flinch at the unmistakable steel she could hear underlying the Duke’s dictatorial tone, along with the expression of deep irritation on his aristocratically handsome face as he glared down the length of his arrogant nose at her, as if he now regretted having come to her aid at all. Or perhaps, having done so, he was merely eager to rid himself of the responsibility of her as quickly as was possible?

‘I assure you that I am perfectly sensible to my predicament, your Grace,’ she confirmed softly. ‘And should you appear out in the hallway without your jacket?’ Her eyes were wide with consternation as she saw that was his intention.

‘It would seem I have little choice when you are obviously more in need of it at present than I.’ With one last brief glance in her direction the Duke turned abruptly on his heel and stepped out into the hallway before closing the door firmly behind him. ‘Lock it,’ he directed audibly from the other side.

Pandora quickly complied before pulling Rupert Stirling’s jacket more tightly about her as she leant weakly back against the door. She felt slightly safer now, but knew she would not feel completely secure until she was well away from Clayborne House and most of the people in it.

Including her reluctant rescuer?

Yes, that did indeed include the Duke, Pandora acknowledged as she now seemed unable to stop her trembling. There had been something in Rupert Stirling’s eyes when he had looked upon her in the candlelight just now, an expression of purely male assessment on his austere and aristocratic features, as he had seemed to take in everything about her in a single glacial glance. Followed by his swift exit from the library just now, as indication, no doubt, that having looked his fill, he was now in a hurry to be rid of her.

No doubt the Duke would have already made his planned excuses to leave if this obviously unwanted sense of responsibility towards Pandora had not delayed him.

Her legs began to shake in earnest as the full horror of what had almost transpired earlier once again washed over her. Indeed, if Rupert Stirling had not interceded, then she was certain that Lord Sugdon would have succeeded in his obvious intention of ravishing her. With or without her permission. And, in the case of Lord Sugdon, it would most certainly have been without!

Oh, she was well aware of what society thought and said about her, of the belief that she had cuckolded her husband with Sir Thomas Stanley, which had resulted in a pistols-at-dawn duel, which minutes later had left both gentlemen lying dead upon the ground.

All, and every part of it, a lie.

But it was a lie which the ton had wanted to believe a year ago, when Pandora had attempted to claim her innocence of any wrongdoing in her marriage. Unfortunately, tonight’s events proved they did not believe in her lack of guilt now, either.

From the conversation she had overheard earlier between Rupert and Dante, it was obvious that they had also heard, and believed, the rumours that had been rife a year ago.

Before her marriage to Barnaby four years ago, Pandora had been the naïve and trusting Miss Pandora Simpson, the only child of the impoverished landowner and Greek scholar from Worcestershire, Sir Walter Simpson, and his wife, Lady Sarah.

With Pandora’s first successful Season behind her, during which she had received several offers of marriage from gentlemen she liked but whom her father considered unsuitable, she had later come to realise that none of those gentlemen had been wealthy enough for her father to tap for the funds necessary to alleviate the family’s impoverished state due to Sir Walter’s complete incompetence as a landowner; her father had always preferred his books to the running of his estate.

Then had come the offer during her second Season, from the young, handsome and extremely wealthy Barnaby Maybury, Duke of Wyndwood, an offer which Sir Walter had grasped greedily with both hands.

Perhaps Pandora was being a little unfair in laying the blame for her marriage upon her father, when he was no longer alive to defend himself, Sir Walter having succumbed to the influenza three winters ago, her mother following him only weeks later. After all, Pandora had been equally as flattered by the attentions of such a handsome and wealthy gentleman as Barnaby Maybury and excited at the prospect of becoming his Duchess.

Neither had there been any indication, during those heady days of her short betrothal to the Duke of Wyndwood, when he had been both charming and attentive towards her, of the nightmare her life would become once the two of them became husband and wife.

A nightmare which had refused to end following the scandal which had dogged her every footstep since her husband’s death in a duel supposedly over her honour and culminating in the final and humiliating indignity of Lord Sugdon’s attack on her earlier this evening.

Final—because this evening had shown Pandora that it would be better for everyone—but most especially herself—if she were to seriously consider withdrawing completely from society.

The majority of Barnaby’s wealth had been left to a distant cousin, his male heir, upon his death, but her marriage contract had ensured that Pandora was left with some funds of her own, along with a property in London which was not entailed in the Duke’s estate. Not in a particularly fashionable part of London, admittedly, but certainly a house she had been able to occupy in quiet seclusion during her year of mourning. But with the money she already had, added to what she might expect to receive from the sale of that house in London, she would surely be able to buy a suitable property and retire to the country, where hopefully she might be allowed to live out the rest of her days in peace and solitude?

She knew that Sophia and Genevieve would both decry such a course of action on her part. Both women had been kindness itself since declaring, when they’d first befriended Pandora, the one with kindness, the other with vehemence, that what wife had not, on occasion, wished to cuckold her husband and possibly even dispatch him?

Close as Sophia and Genevieve now were to her, Pandora could not reveal even to them that she was not guilty of doing either of those things. There were reasons, and others even more innocent than she who could be seriously wounded by the truth.

But after the unpleasant events of this evening, much as Pandora valued the other ladies’ friendship, she now felt sure that the only future left to her if she stayed in London was to become prey to opportunists such as Lord Sugdon. A fate that was wholly unacceptable to her.

‘You may safely unlock the door now, Pandora.’ A brisk knock accompanied the Duke of Stratton’s terse instruction.

Rupert knew at a glance, as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, that Pandora was a little more composed now than she had been earlier. She was very pale still, of course, that pallor giving a haunted depth to the deep violet of her eyes, but the expression on the delicate beauty of her face was one of resigned dignity rather than the emotional upset she had been verging on before he left the library just minutes ago.

Hers was a beauty of such delicacy—ivory skin, high and intelligent forehead, those incredible violet-coloured eyes, a short straight nose above the perfect bow of her full and sensuous lips, with a slightly stubborn tilt to her small and pointed chin—that Rupert found he was not in the least surprised that two gentlemen, her husband and her lover, had challenged each other to a duel in order to claim sole rights to that beauty.

His mouth thinned. ‘Our hostess has been informed of your departure and the carriage is now waiting outside to take you to your home. I have brought this for you to wear.’ He held up the black cloak he had requested from the Duchess of Clayborne’s butler. ‘It has the advantage of returning my jacket to its rightful place, as well as covering your own … damaged gown.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice was husky and she kept her lashes lowered over those violet-coloured eyes as they exchanged Rupert’s jacket for one of the Duchess of Clayborne’s own evening cloaks.

Rupert pulled on his own jacket and straightened the cuffs before looking down at her with disapproving eyes. ‘What on earth possessed you to walk outside with a man like Sugdon in the first place?’

Thick lashes surrounded those violet-coloured eyes as they widened indignantly at the accusation in his tone. ‘I did not go outside with Lord Sugdon! I had been standing outside on the terrace alone for some time when he found me—’ She broke off her protest abruptly, the colour deepening in her cheeks, as she obviously realised she had just revealed her presence on the terrace directly outside the library whilst Rupert and Dante conversed privately.

How much of their conversation had she overheard? Rupert wondered ruefully. Certainly the latter comments concerning herself, if the deepening of that blush in her cheeks was any indication!

‘Indeed?’ His nostrils flared. ‘And did you overhear anything of interest whilst standing there?’

She drew herself up to her full height of a little over five feet. ‘Not in the least, your Grace.’

He quirked a mocking brow. ‘No?’

‘No.’ Pandora had no intention of admitting to overhearing this man’s conversation regarding his stepmother. The remarks about herself, on Dante Carfax’s part at least, had not been too insulting, and the Duke’s less-than-flattering opinion of her had, as with so many of the ton, been formed on hearsay rather than personal knowledge of her.

Or, at least that had been the case before Rupert Stirling had been forced to rescue her from the unwanted attentions of Lord Sugdon!

She sighed heavily. ‘I think it best if I leave now, your Grace.’

‘I think so, too,’ he agreed. ‘The Duchess’s butler has arranged for the carriage to be brought to the back of the house rather than the front so that we might leave through the servants’ hallways and kitchen rather than run the risk of running into any of the Duchess’s other guests, and so cause them to question your current … appearance,’ he added drily as Pandora gave him a startled glance.

‘“We”, your Grace?’ she repeated slowly.

Ah, her surprise was not, as Rupert had believed, caused by their means of leaving the house, but more by the fact that he so obviously intended departing with her. ‘We,’ he confirmed authoritatively as he took a light grasp of her elbow before opening the door and indicating she should precede him out of the room.

Something Pandora made no effort to do as she instead looked up at him with obvious uncertainty. ‘I have long been acquainted with what society has to say of me, your Grace, but I feel I should warn you—’

‘And I am only too well aware of what that same society has to say about me, madam.’

He scowled down the length of his arrogant nose at her. ‘But you may rest assured that I am in no mood this evening to confirm any of the … less-than-complimentary remarks you may have heard in regard to my conduct towards the ladies.’

Pandora was pleased to hear it, having briefly wondered if she might not have succeeded in being rescued from one unacceptable situation only to now find herself in an even worse one!

Although she seriously doubted that most women would find the interest of a man as aristocratically handsome and challenging as the eighth Duke of Stratton in the least unacceptable!

Indeed, once upon a time, before her unhappy marriage, she would have been delighted—nay—ecstatic, to have attracted the attentions of such a handsome and eligible gentleman as he. No longer. Pandora’s only wish now was to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

‘Then let us both depart, your Grace,’ she accepted reluctantly as she reached up to pull up the hood of the cloak so that it covered part of her face and all of her hair.

A disguise that proved absolutely useless in helping her to pass unnoticed through the servants’ hallways and kitchen!

How could it be any other way, when a gentleman as recognisable as Rupert Stirling strode arrogantly along at her side? Sophia Rowlands’s household staff were obviously all agog at seeing a handsome Duke marching through their midst, their gazes speculative as they moved to the cloaked woman at his side.

‘Not quite the unobserved departure we might both have wished for,’ he acknowledged ruefully as they emerged outside into the dark lane at the back of the crowded and candlelit mansion house.

‘No.’ Pandora frowned as she saw there was only one carriage awaiting them there. A fashionable black carriage, which bore the Stratton coat of arms upon the door the groom now hurried forwards to open. ‘My own carriage does not appear to have arrived as yet, your Grace—’

‘Nor will it,’ the Duke assured her briskly, maintaining that firm hold upon her elbow as he strode towards his own carriage. ‘Whatever society may say about me, your Grace, my nanny and tutors ensured that I grew up knowing my manners perfectly, even if I do not always choose to put them into practice.’ He raised an expectant brow as he waited for her to precede him into the interior of the ducal carriage. ‘One of those precepts being that a gentleman does not abandon a lady in distress,’ he added softly.

The only distress Pandora suffered at this moment was the thought of being seen driving through the streets in the Duke of Stratton’s carriage and then arriving back at her home in that so-called gentleman’s carriage rather than her own!

Chapter Three

She drew in a shaky breath. ‘I believe I would rather this was an occasion upon which you chose to ignore the teachings of your nanny and tutors, your Grace.’

There was a stilled and expectant silence for several seconds and then the Duke gave a loud bark of spontaneous laughter. ‘My friend Carfax omitted to mention that you are an Original, Pandora Maybury,’ he finally murmured appreciatively.

‘Possibly because I am not.’ She became flustered as she recognised the speculation in the cool and assessing grey gaze now levelled at her.

‘I beg to differ,’ the Duke drawled.

‘That is your prerogative, of course.’ She nodded coolly. ‘But I really would prefer to return to my home as I arrived, alone and in my own carriage.’

‘Why?’

Her agitation increased. ‘I— Well, because—’

‘Can it possibly be that you are nervous at thoughts of travelling alone in the ducal carriage with me?’

‘Of course I’m not!’ Pandora glared up at him in the darkness.

‘Good.’ His mouth firmed with satisfaction as he all but lifted her inside the lantern-lit carriage and placed her on one of the plushly upholstered seats. He swiftly followed her inside to sit directly opposite her and nodded tersely to the groom to close the door, the movement of the carriage only seconds later evidence that they were now on their way.

On the way to where, Pandora was unsure, when the Duke had made no enquiry as to where in London her house was situated.

Rupert studied her between narrowed lids, able to take in her full appearance in the warm glow given off by the lantern inside the carriage. Her hair and lashes were of pure and deep gold, a perfect foil for those deep violet-coloured eyes, her skin the colour of ivory, her lips—full and pouting lips that hinted at the sensuous nature which had perhaps caused two gentlemen to fight a duel over her—the colour of ripe raspberries. The same colour as the nipples he had glimpsed through her chemise earlier, tipping those surprisingly plump breasts …

If released from their pins, would her golden curls be long enough to fall over those beautiful, pert breasts, thereby allowing those ripe berries to peak through invitingly? More interestingly, once fully unclothed, would the curls between her thighs be that same enticing gold—

Dear Lord, was his life not complicated enough, without sitting here contemplating what the notorious Pandora Maybury looked like naked!

‘It really was unnecessary for you to manhandle me that way, your Grace,’ she now spoke primly into the silence. ‘I assure you I am both young and agile enough to climb into a carriage without your assistance.’

‘And yet you made no effort to do so,’ Rupert pointed out coolly, not at all pleased at the direction in which his thoughts had so recently been straying.

‘Because, as I had already stated, I had every intention of seeking out my own carriage.’

‘And I have already explained why that arrangement did not suit me.’ Rupert’s patience with this situation—what little he possessed—was wearing thin as he glared coldly across the width of the carriage at his reluctant companion.

Her lashes lowered as a blush coloured the ivory of her cheeks. ‘I have told you how grateful I am for your help earlier this evening—’

‘One would never believe so from your manner towards me now!’

Pandora gave a pained frown as she looked across the carriage at him. Perhaps his criticism was merited; she had behaved less than graciously towards him this past few minutes, because, despite wishing it were otherwise, she was utterly disconcerted at finding herself alone with Rupert Stirling in his carriage.

Every wary—and utterly weary—bone in her body had stiffened just now as she saw the speculative way in which his gaze had roamed so familiarly over her face and body. And against the warning of the rational part of her brain, she was equally as aware of his disturbing presence as he sat opposite her.

The gold of his hair now fell rakishly across his brow and curled about his ears and nape, the glow from the lantern lending an austereness to his high cheekbones and firmly squared jaw, his lazy sprawl on the upholstered seat totally at odds with the sharpness of that intelligent grey gaze as he continued to look at her from between narrowed lids. He was, without doubt, one of the handsomest gentlemen Pandora had ever beheld—even more so than Barnaby, who had possessed boyish good looks as well as dark hair and blue eyes.

Unfortunately, the Duke of Stratton’s reputation also rendered him the most potentially dangerous gentleman Pandora ever beheld, too, which was the very reason she felt so totally out of her depth in his company. ‘It was precisely because I did not wish to inconvenience you any further this evening that I asked to return home in my own carriage.’

The nostrils flared on that aristocratically straight nose. ‘Do you suppose we could possibly talk of something else, Pandora?’

She blinked. ‘Of course, if you wish it.’

‘Indeed—’ he nodded tersely ‘—I find myself exceedingly bored with the repetition of our present conversation.’

As no doubt he now regretted driving her home at all, Pandora accepted heavily as the Duke turned away dismissively to look out of the carriage window at the other carriages travelling London’s moonlit streets.

Pandora had been much in society during the years of her marriage; indeed, Barnaby had considered it part of her wifely duties to accompany him to all the balls and parties given by the ton and so she had long ago learnt to engage in the polite and meaningless small talk that made up so much of the conversation at those entertainments, and to keep any of her original thoughts and ideas to herself.

Indeed, until Pandora had met and become friends with Sophia and Genevieve shortly after the start of the current Season, she had long assumed that there were no intelligent ladies or gentlemen left in society, let alone those who found that inanity as tedious as she did herself.

It appeared that Rupert—Devil—Stirling was yet another who did not enjoy meaningless conversation …

She sat forwards slightly, her interest piqued. ‘Perhaps you would care to discuss literature? Or politics?’

His brows rose. ‘Really?’

Pandora nodded as she looked across at him earnestly. ‘My father was a Greek scholar, and ensured that I am quite conversant on either subject.’

Rupert gave a reluctant quirk of his lips as he once again found himself falling victim to those mesmerising and beautiful violet-coloured eyes. ‘I assume that is also the reason you have the unlikely name of Pandora?’ The original Pandora, if Rupert recalled his Greek studies correctly, was reputed to have been a woman given a gift by each of the gods, in order that she might bring about the ruination of mortal men.

There was no doubting that this Pandora possessed the reputed beauty attributed to the original, but did she also have the power to bring about man’s ruination?

If the gossip a year ago concerning that ill-fated duel was to be believed, then the answer to that question was a definitive yes!

Pandora eyed Devil Stirling warily. ‘I believe that by naming me such my father believed I might be gifted with both grace and beauty.’

‘Then he was not disappointed.’ The Duke gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘But did he somehow forget that the opening of Pandora’s box was also reputed to have released all number of evils upon man and beast?’

Pandora felt no warmth at his agreeing to her having been gifted with grace and beauty. How could she, when it was so quickly followed by this softly delivered insult? ‘If my father were still alive, I am sure that he would have enjoyed debating with you as to whether or not that destruction was Pandora’s doing or that of man himself.’

Gold brows rose over derisive grey eyes. ‘Your father was of the opinion that every man—and woman—is instrumental in bringing about their own destruction?’

She arched fine brows. ‘You disagree?’

Rupert could never before remember having a conversation with a woman on the subject of Greek mythology, let alone debating its philosophy. Obviously her father had been a learned man and it appeared to be an education he had felt no qualms in imparting to his only daughter.

Rupert’s physical appreciation of her had already caused him to regret her presence in his carriage. He certainly did not wish to know that there was so much more to her than the flirtatious beauty malicious gossip had led him to believe.

‘—telling me precisely where we are going, your Grace?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Rupert frowned at this interruption to his musings.

‘I asked if you would mind very much telling me where we are going?’ The huskiness of her naturally sensuous voice had sharpened in her obvious anxiety.

He gave a lazy smile. ‘I was unsure, once we were safely ensconced in my carriage, as to whether or not I would find myself with the dubious pleasure of dealing with a hysterical lady and advised my coachman to drive about London until you had calmed down enough for me to ascertain exactly where it is that you reside.’

‘My home is in Jermyn Street, your Grace.’ Pandora’s smile was rueful as she waited quietly whilst he advised his coachman of their destination before continuing. ‘I admit that I was upset by Lord Sugdon’s familiar behaviour earlier, your Grace, but I don’t believe I could ever be accused of being the sort of woman who swoons easily.’ The Duke did not need to know that Pandora had been very close to doing exactly that when the erstwhile nobleman had ripped her gown and then crushed her in his arms so effortlessly.

‘Then what sort of lady would you say that you are?’

She eyed him suspiciously, but could read nothing from his enigmatic expression as he relaxed back against the seat opposite her. ‘The ton would have you believe—’

‘And I am sure I have already made clear my own opinion of what the ton may or may not choose to believe or say, in regard to yourself or anyone else.’ He gave a dismissive gesture with one long and elegant hand.

Pandora moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I am afraid I don’t understand the question when my own opinion of myself must obviously differ greatly from that of others.’

‘Why obviously?’ He frowned. ‘The ton believes me to be arrogant and proud, and something of a rake with the ladies, and I can find no argument with that opinion.’

She smiled at this blunt self-appraisal. ‘But you are so much more than that, are you not?’

His brows rose. ‘Am I?’

Pandora nodded. ‘This evening you have been both chivalrous and kind.’

‘I would advise you not to attribute me with virtues I do not, nor would ever wish, to possess,’ he warned.

She shook her head in gentle rebuke. ‘I have every reason to know you to be both those things after the manner in which you … dispensed so effortlessly with Lord Sugdon’s unwanted attentions towards me earlier tonight.’

The Duke’s mouth thinned. ‘And if I were to tell you that my actions had very little to do with you? That my mood this evening was already such that I merely welcomed the opportunity to hit someone? Anyone? For whatever reason!’

Recalling the content of this man’s earlier conversation with the Earl of Sherbourne, Pandora had some idea as to the reason for the Duke’s bad humour. ‘I would then say that the reason you acted in the way that you did was irrelevant, when it resulted in my rescue.’

Rupert looked quizzically across at her. ‘And, if I may be allowed to say so, Pandora Maybury, I find you are not at all as the ton describes you.’

She laughed musically. ‘Oh, you may certainly say it, your Grace—’

‘Rupert.’

Her humour instantly ceased, her expression now one of uncertainty. ‘I beg your pardon?’

He regarded her beneath hooded lids. ‘I believe I should like to hear you call me Rupert.’

She sat as far back on the bench seat as possible. ‘I could not possibly address you in so familiar a manner, sir.’

‘Why not? You are a Duchess, I am a Duke, therefore we are social equals. Or are you already so awash with friends that you have no need of another?’ Rupert added with cutting humour.

That slender throat moved convulsively as she swallowed before answering huskily, ‘You must know that I am not.’

Yes, Rupert had already observed this evening that the only members of the ton who now bothered with her company were gentlemen who obviously had so much more than friendship in mind. Men like Sugdon. ‘Our hostess, and her friend the Duchess of Woollerton, appear to value your friendship.’

Pandora’s expression softened. ‘They have both been kind enough to bestow that friendship upon me these past few weeks, yes.’

‘So it has been commented upon.’

She looked across at him sharply. ‘I trust not to their detriment?’

‘Would it bother you if it were?’ he asked curiously.

‘Of course.’ She gave every appearance of being agitated, her face flushed, her lace-gloved fingers now tightly gripping the cloak about her. ‘I should not like to be the cause of either of those dear ladies being cut by certain members of society.’

‘As you are yourself?’ he pressed.

‘Yes,’ she acknowledged quietly.

He shrugged. ‘I am sure both those ladies are of an age and confidence to choose their own friends. As am I,’ Rupert added huskily.

Pandora eyed him warily. ‘But we are not friends, your Grace, merely new acquaintances.’

‘That is no reason to suppose that, with time, we might not become more than that.’

Rupert studied her shrewdly. ‘Tell me something of your marriage to Maybury.’

She looked startled at his abrupt change of subject. ‘For what purpose?’

‘It is a natural curiosity, surely, considering the method of his demise?’ Rupert said.

‘I see nothing natural about it, your Grace.’ Her chin was raised proudly.

He gave an elegant shrug. ‘That is possibly because you are too close to the subject.’

Her eyes flashed darkly. ‘How should I be any other, when Barnaby was my husband?’

‘And was it a love match? On Maybury’s part, at least, one might presume it was.’ He looked thoughtful.

Pandora frowned. ‘As is the case with many in the ton, ours was an arranged marriage.’

‘But happy? At least, initially?’ he asked.

Not even initially!

It had become apparent to Pandora, almost immediately their marriage took place, that Barnaby had only married her because he required a young, and therefore malleable, wife for him to escort during the Season and to act as mistress in his many homes, both here in London and in the country. A wife who would not attempt to interfere in the way in which he chose to conduct his own life; having expressed no deep and passionate love for Pandora before their marriage, Barnaby had made it clear he considered it unreasonable of her to expect him to feel that way about her once they were husband and wife.

After much internal soul-searching, Pandora had realised she had no choice other than to accept this loveless marriage as being her lot in life. And if that acceptance had meant putting aside all of her girlish hopes and dreams of love and a grand passion in her marriage, then that was surely her own disappointment to bear, and no one else’s.

She certainly did not intend to now share any of the details of that disappointment with the haughty and mocking nobleman in front of her, despite his insistence on asking her probing questions!

‘We appear to have arrived at my home, your Grace,’ Pandora realised thankfully. She sat forwards eagerly with the intention of alighting from the now-stationary carriage as the groom hurried to open the door for her. ‘Once again, I am grateful to you for coming to my aid this evening.’

‘I will call upon you tomorrow.’

‘For what purpose?’ Pandora, having just stepped down from the carriage, now turned sharply.

The Duke’s teeth flashed a white smile in the moonlight as he stepped down beside her. ‘Why, for the purpose of assuring myself as to your having fully recovered from this evening’s ordeal, of course.’

There was no ‘of course’ or anything else about it, where this arrogant and disdainful gentleman was concerned. Nor did she wish for Rupert to call on her tomorrow or any other time.

She suspected, despite their efforts for it to be otherwise, that the news of the cloaked lady leaving Sophia’s ball this evening in the Duke of Stratton’s carriage, would be all over London by the morning, without adding to that gossip by him being seen calling at her house the following day!

‘I assure you I am already fully recovered, thank you, your Grace.’

‘Nevertheless, having rescued you, I now feel honour-bound to call upon you tomorrow to assure myself of your well-being,’ he insisted.

Pandora looked up at him with frustration, very aware that he had only moments ago denied the existence of any such finer feelings in regard to his character, but at the same time aware of the restraint put upon her answer by the presence of the quietly attentive groom. Just because the man gave every appearance of being totally deaf to their conversation did not mean that he was not listening and remembering every word they spoke, in order that he might relay that gossip to the Duke’s other servants once released from his duties later tonight.

It was pure arrogance on the part of the nobility to believe that their servants were not fully conversant with all their actions. And their foibles …

Pandora drew herself up to her full height before speaking coolly. ‘You must do as you see fit, your Grace.’

‘I usually do,’ Rupert replied mockingly even as he lifted her hand to his lips, his intent gaze deliberately holding her startled one as he placed those lips upon her gloved knuckles. ‘Until tomorrow, Pandora.’

She snatched her hand from his grasp as if burnt. ‘Goodbye, your Grace.’

‘Merely adieu, I assure you, my dear Pandora,’ he murmured throatily, watching closely as she hurried up the steps to the front door of the mansion house, that door opening as she reached the top of those steps to slip silently inside without so much as a backward glance.

A scowl creased Rupert’s brow as he now considered returning to his own London home.

And to the woman who would no doubt have made sure she would be awaiting him there …

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