My Divinely Decadent Duke Page 2

  Cassandra’s heart pulsed. They would talk about her departure from the ball with Harold Viscount Fox and her re-entrance on the arm of the Duke of Althorn and wonder what took place. They would ponder if there was a broken engagement and why? Was she compromised?

  “Ignore them. They need fodder for their gossip. At the moment, it is you and I, my lady.”

  “I have never caused a sensation when it was Viscount Fox’s arm. Perhaps my fortune will change for the better. There just might be an agreeable fiancé out there.” Her grip on his hand tightened.

  His soft breath at her ear, his voice low and husky, “I repeat my offer. Let’s you and I dance away the evening and scandalize this tiresome crowd.”

  “They wouldn’t be bored for long. While your invitation flatters, my brothers would seek a duel with you. May I suggest you take all the dances I had pledged to the Viscount and we shall see how the evening ends? By the way, the last waltz will be ours, too.”

  A mischievous grey-flecked gaze held hers. “Perhaps I can frighten some of the other men away with a scowl? It works well.”

  “You are a glutton for punishment.” She punctuated her conversation with enticing smiles, and nodded on occasion to several groups in a nonchalant manner as they went in search of her brothers. “Let this polite society of the ton be damned.”

  “I marvel at your strength of purpose. I wouldn’t consider a dance with someone as courageous as you, punishment at all.” His schoolboy grin curled, a hint of a scandalous smile.

  Cassandra blushed. “You didn’t abandon me as most men would have done in your situation. Thank you, I was in need of your strong presence.”

  The duke turned to gaze at her saddened face. She reminded him of a lost kitten he wanted to embrace and soothe while she purred. “Perhaps a walk in the garden, in full view, of course,” he was quick to state, “would ease the situation? I shall not converse if you do not wish.”

  Cassandra nodded and inhaled as they crossed the threshold to the terrace. “The walk would serve well. I have always found conversation is good for the soul so long as we don’t speak of the Viscount again.” She held on to his arm while they strolled to the moonlit balustrade.

  Why did he have a penchant to protect wounded creatures?

  Cassandra stood alongside him. “I’ve changed my mind. There is a need for me to discuss this with a man and by process of elimination, I choose you.”

  Laughter escaped his lips. “You’ve a sense of humor that surprises me under the circumstances.

  “It is obvious you heard the entire conversation. You might have questions and seek answers.” She played with the half-empty dance card on her wrist and then let it dangle as she engaged him. “I thought I knew my fiancé well. We played together as children before he grew up and realized I was a nuisance. Then I was sent away to school at the age of thirteen where my life changed dramatically, I should say. I can say in truth I didn’t love him.”

  At her remark, he took a step back.

  Her voice a monotone, her stare distanced from him. “Does it shock you? He needed a dowry—a small one at that. I wanted a husband. I thought we could have a good marriage together.”

  “Why would a woman such as you settle for less than you deserve?” He frowned.

  “There’s a long history along with the story. Suffice it to say since I already cared for him as my brother’s friend, love would happen sooner or later. It does, you know. A man and a woman live together, share good times and bad, have children, and their lives change for the better.”

  The duke guided her to the balustrade. “It doesn’t always happen that way. My lady, there has to be a basis for friendship to form. Love cannot grow in a vacuum. Nor can you put it in a glass jar on a shelf and take it down to use when convenient. You speak as someone who has never experienced the pierce of Cupid’s arrow.”

  A guileless gaze crossed her face. “No, I have not. Such arrows never found me as their target.” Cassandra moved closer to him uneasy with the subject at hand. “Your scent of spicy cologne complements the flowers in the garden.” She paused, but didn’t speak for a moment, and then turned to him. “Let’s sit, if you please. I am already half way to complete ruination. To be seen with a man who is not my fiancé will not affect what will happen tomorrow when the entire world learns of my broken engagement.”

  He led her to a stone bench with carved corbels and sat beside her. “There are worse things that could happen to you.” He tried for levity in hope to lighten the conversation.

  Cassandra shivered, about to speak, then became silent.

  He crossed one ankle over his other leg, straightened his back, and tilted his head in her direction. “You were about to talk?”

  Her breasts threatened to spill over her bodice as she chanced a deep breath. “I’ve always liked things to be in a package, neat and forthright. You overhead the Viscount speak of Alicia, who is my ward. He agreed to become her guardian. For legal reasons, my brother is her current custodian, but in truth, she is mine…ward, that is. Alicia is a sweet eight-year-old girl who lost her mother at birth. The biddies here whisper behind my back the assertion she is my child from a previous liaison, but it’s not true.”

  Cassandra lowered her lashes. “Moments ago, your expression flashed. Don’t you believe me?” She rose in haste from the seat.

  He stood. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. Tongues like to wag.”

  In obvious frustration, she pounded her hands against her skirt. “This is still hard for me to believe. He’s gone. I’m left behind to face the denizens of this cruel society. I’d rather face a dragon’s hot breath.” Her hand went to her lips. “At first, I thought Viscount Fox was teasing.”

  Her fingers played with the ribbon of the bow below her breast that cinched her waist and accentuated her voluptuous form. He looked away. Not because it was a bad view—but because of what it was doing to him. If only—

  “If it now angers you, perhaps you should consider in retrospect that he did you a great favor. You didn’t deceive him, and it was his choice to take a chance on the marriage. He couldn’t be all bad.”

  “Whose marriage—mine or his? What a typical male excuse.” She stopped and stamped one foot on the stone walkway. “I believe you attempt to make excuses for his boorish behavior. All you men aid each other. It is a game you play,” she huffed.

  “Cassandra, calm yourself. The more you analyze, the less you’ll understand.”

  “This is unreal. My first reaction was to pummel him on his chest and beat upon him until he fell to the ground. My second reaction was to throw something at him, something large, valuable and breakable. I settled for the paperweight and the book in deference to my hostess’ possessions. My third reaction was to control the queasiness in my stomach and not cast up my accounts.”

  “Those are all typical responses to embarrassment and rejection.” He strode toward her, and placed his hand in hers. “Suffice it to say, I rather admire how you reacted. Any other female would swoon or run away. You own a tower of courage, Cassandra.” He kissed her gloved hand then slipped into the shadows against the trellis.

  “Althorn, do you know what affected me most of all?” she asked, held his gaze, her tone tinged in memory.

  “No, but I suspect you’re about to tell me.” He gave a rakish smile.

  “His happiness was an irritation. The Viscount will run—no gallop—home to his father, marry the woman they’ve selected, inherit a fortune, produce progeny, and damn him, live happily ever after.”

  Gordon Althorn echoed a robust laugh. “I doubt the last part. He sounds like a greed-stricken blackguard to me. I don’t envy him his nuptial night, but I would envy him a night with you.” He approached in swift steps. Soon he was a whisper away.

  “Would you now? I do not need flirtatious words. It is sweet of you to try to alleviate my situation, but it’s not necessary. I won’t fall apart at this. Tomorrow is a new day.”

  She glanced at the
dance card. He didn’t want her to dance, he wanted to kiss her—long and well. He bent his head low.

  A male voice yanked him out of his reverie.

  “There you are, Cassandra. I’ve looked for you everywhere. Where is your fiancé?” His tone was frigid enough to freeze hot chocolate.

  “Harold Viscount Fox is gone and sends his regrets. He spoke about short notice.” Her gaze locked to Althorn’s, the intent clear to him about the white lie. “He left me in his Grace’s hands. May I introduce you?”

  Cassandra turned to her brother. “Brent Montgomery, Earl of Stratton. May I introduce you to his Grace, Duke of Althorn.”

  The two men nodded and exchanged glances. Montgomery’s voice was softer. “The dances are about to start, Cassandra, and I’m first on your card.”

  “Yes, Brent.” She went to him and took his arm. She stopped, turned, and offered a generous smile, a curtsy, and a wink. “Your Grace, you have the second dance.”

  The duke followed them to the ballroom and headed for the gentlemen’s parlor for a strong libation.

  Chapter Three

  Brighton Beach, 1822

  Two weeks later

  With the season in London over, the ton moved to the fashionable resort towns. Brighton was prestigious since it was the favorite of His Majesty, King George IV. Its popularity with the self-indulgent made it the center of sophisticated and jaunty society. And of course, there was his Royal Pavilion considered either a world wonder or a first-class monstrosity.

  The duke strode along the beach at an early hour. He wore his light colored breeches, a white lawn shirt and cravat with his jacket carried over his shoulder. The ocean air was cool to his cheeks. This was his time of day when he could be alone and free from sycophants, maidens, and matriarchs.

  He cherished the time with the waves and the sand. It fueled his soul. Here, he had time to think and ponder his life. Restlessness had overcome him of late. The duke searched his soul. He had an advantageous life as heir to the fortunes his father had amassed for the dukedom.

  Gordon picked up a stone and threw it at the waves as they crashed on the beach. His gaze moved to the horizon, which brought back memories of a long ocean voyage. Fate had played a wicked trick on him. Gordon had been sent to Barbados by his father to quell a rebellion of slaves on their plantations. The ripples at his feet roiled, surged, and challenged in monotony. Yet it could not emulate memories of the trip to Barbados with his best friend, Tomas Martinez. He had no recollection of the return trip since he contracted an island disease, malaria, whose fevers left his mind blurred of everything. Tomas shepherded him on the ship home. Upon arrival in England, a weakened Gordon learned of his father’s death of disease and his older brother’s death in an accident. Deep within his soul, the fright, the uncertainty and the dread of the future rained over him like a monstrous storm. He was no longer Gordon Sedgewick, second son of the Duke of Althorn. He was Gordon Althorn, totally unprepared to assume the mantle as the Eighth duke foisted upon him by a series of circumstances. Fear closed its fist around his heart. It was he and his beloved mother now. Nonetheless, and in spite of all, his health improved.

  There were years when relapses occurred and the malarial symptoms flared into fever and chills, and incidents where he’d gone a year or two without an episode. He thanked God this disease had an effective medication, quinine taken orally, which quelled the illness into submission.

  Gordon Althorn accepted his responsibilities and ran a stern ship, so to speak. Yet he tired of his life as it was now. Considered a renowned rake, often he was the hunted, and not the hunter, yet the ton chose to place blame at his door.

  Back in the present, in the distance, he viewed a woman poised at a large telescope. The ocean met the sky in uninterrupted vastness. The lady was dressed in a charcoal skirt, white balloon-sleeved blouse and collar, with a matched vest. Her full breasts were outlined by the form fitting ensemble; strong ocean breezes which clung to her like a second skin. His breath caught and Althorn was struck by the sight.

  Her wide-brimmed hat, turned up by the wind, was held by a bow under her chin. With one hand at her side and the other on the telescope, she reminded him of a nymph. Her long ash blonde hair flew in the windy gusts like strands of brilliant spun silk.

  Althorn continued toward her, and soon shortened the distance between them. Something was familiar about her. Though indeed, a lot of women were alike—some more than others. They all had the same body parts. A memorable thought awakened him and he recognized her as the jilted fiancé he’d befriended a few weeks ago.

  He approached. “Lady Cassandra, how delightful to meet you again,” he stated with sincerity as he donned his jacket.

  She turned and smiled. “Your Grace, likewise for me also.” Her lilted tone was warm and invitational.

  He found her a fascination and in quiet moments alone pondered her strength and fortitude for a woman so deceived. It belied her statement to him that momentous night when she alleged he would leave her and not give her a second thought. In fact, he gave a third and a fourth.

  Cassandra’s cheeks were rouged by the lusty currents of air. The lady’s lips were puffy and looked luscious enough to kiss, a danger sign he knew too well. He took note she surveyed his body as one would a favored statue.

  “There is no need to take to your jacket, your Grace. We are alone and this is the time to enjoy informality away from unfamiliar people. I come here often. Do you?”

  “Yes. Whenever I am at my villa you’ll find me on the beach barefooted with my dog. Although I haven’t seen you this past week for I would have remembered.”

  “I only arrived last night at the Inn with my brother Brent and couldn’t wait to breathe in air that doesn’t stifle or cause me to gasp. The zephyrs clear the cobwebs in my head.” Her laugh was contagious, and he joined her.

  “What of the telescope? Do you search for a ship that is late?” Did he sound curious?

  “I’m not sure. I do believe I wait. A gypsy at a market stall read my fortune yesterday and informed me my life would take a momentous turn. Some part of the prophecy is already true, as you well know. She also foretold a handsome prince would enter my life. Of course, she’d hoped to receive sufficient remuneration for that daydream.”

  He noted she raised her head to laugh again, this time a touch more vibrant. Her left brow quirked. “And there you were, Althorn, in all your regal glory.”

  “I regret I’m not the Prince you seek, although a duke is next in line of the honorific titles. Will I not suffice?”

  “I’m not sure, your Grace. I would like to know your qualifications and references, although perhaps I don’t need details. Such information might not be appropriate for me.” Both hands flew like wings to her mouth. “Please accept my apologies. I didn’t mean the words the way they were spoken. Humor isn’t one of my strong points. I am always much too practical.”

  “Understandable since you have many responsibilities. Yet I do believe underneath all that seriousness, there is a tad of joviality. Have your brothers forgiven your former fiancé?”

  “They are convinced I’m much better off without him. I did have misgivings about a marriage to Harold Viscount Fox. His actions caused me to realize the kind of man I seek. Perhaps it is why I search with my telescope—the expectation a god will come out of the ocean to claim me. Foolish, I guess.”

  “If this god did decide to show himself, I would hope he’d be clothed. All the pictures I’ve seen of Neptune have him stark naked with a rather large…trident in his hands.” He winked. “He might shock you.”

  A blush colored her cheeks and she took his remark in good stride. “Now wouldn’t that be the talk of the ton.” She pouted her lips with a dimpled smile. “It would be something else to wag their sharp tongues.”

  Cassandra reached for the telescope to retrieve it and return from whence she came, but he insisted, folded the instrument, and carried it. They walked back to the Castle Inn where he handed i
t to a footman.

  Her feet stamped her boots to dislodge the sand as she retrieved gloves from her waistband. “I dislike this society and all its manners, pomp, and circumstance. Without a doubt, I am a fraud and do conform. Do you believe in conformance?” She answered the question for him. “For a moment, I forgot to whom I spoke. No, I would say you do not. Jolly good for you. I would love to stuff everything up their proper uplifted noses as you do. You will just have to be scandalous for both of us.”

  Althorn’s cautionary grin emerged, his brow arched at her suggestion and the implied levity. He searched her face with more than interest at the invitation. Was this a natural tendency of hers? She gave no indication of grief at the loss of her fiancé. He should be wary of such a delightful woman. Did she flirt with him? He took full note she stared in surveillance.

  “And when I read about your escapades in the Tattler Tales, I will live vicariously through you.”

  Her exhaled sigh caused him to reassess her.

  “I am simply a woman.”

  “And a rather delightful one.” His tone was more than humorous. “You have wit, charm, amiability, and I might add, you are outspoken. Are you always so?”

  He found he wanted to know more about her. In addition, her body could tempt a saint. To his good fortune, he was more of a sinner.

  “All my life, I’ve done the proper things. I avoided temptation and protected my virtue. My nature is to be kind and considerate to all. Rather dull, I’m sure.”

  He sensed her nervousness as her gaze withdrew from his. She stared beyond him. “Then there was a circumstance that changed my life through no fault of my own. And I was never the same carefree girl again.”

  She further intrigued him. What other circumstance? She referred to herself as a girl. So it could not be about the lost fiancé. Something happened in her young life. But what? He hoped there’d be time to find out.