The Black Duke's Prize (3 page)

"I do not
believe this to be a subject one discusses with one's mother." He drained
the snifter and refilled it, knowing that would annoy her even further.

"Someone
has to discuss it with you. You've frightened away everyone else whose advice
you could trust."

At that he
turned, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. I haven't frightened anyone into
anything."

"You
forget, I lived with that temper for thirty years, in your father. I know how
it is. You have a way when you are angry that frightens people. And you are
afraid to trust those you could."

He sat in the
chair opposite her and held the brandy up. Instead of drinking, he swirled the
amber liquid, examining it against the firelight, He knew he had a temper, and
he knew that, like his father, he tended to use it as a weapon to keep the
people around him at a distance.

"Nicky,
you could do so much better than the likes of Josette Bettreaux,' his mother
said quietly. "Don't you realize that?"

"Is that
why you came here, to show me my sins and attempt to marry me off?"
Nicholas took another swallow, enjoying the light, burning sensation as the
liquid traveled down his throat. "Who is it this time? I saw you talking
with the Marchioness of Belning the other night, before all hell broke loose.
Is it her simpering daughter―what's her name, Azalea?"

"Althaea,"
his mother retorted. "Have you ever even spoken to her?"

"I tried
to, last year. Chit looked as though she wanted to faint."

Julia became
occupied with her tea for a moment. "You can be a bit―how shall I
say―intimidating," she finally responded, unable to stifle her
smile.

"Well, I
can't very well have a wife who becomes unconscious every time I set eyes on
her. Besides, in the bare minute we conversed I believe we covered everything
we had in common."

This time his
mother's chuckle was audible. Abruptly she sobered. "You're almost thirty,
Nicky. When?" Julia put her cup aside and sat forward in her chair,
catching his dark-gray eyes with her own.

"Maybe
never," he replied, and abruptly stood and strode toward the window again,
more uncomfortable than was usual with the familiar line of questions. He had
thought about marriage from time to time, but it and his temperament and style
of living simply did not seem to be in any way compatible. "Don't you ever
consider that letting the Varon black temper dwindle out of existence might be
doing society a favor?"

The Dowager
Duchess stood as well, facing his six-foot height squarely, as though she
weren't a full foot shorter than he. "Never say that, Nicholas. You insult
yourself, you insult your father, and you insult me."

He immediately
regretted the words. He hadn't meant to offend her, but had only been trying to
express what he had been feeling more and more strongly of late. "You
don't have the black blood, Mama," he responded evenly.

"I fell in
love with it," she answered softly.

He knew she
still deeply mourned John Varon, though her husband had been gone for nearly
eight years now. Silently he closed the distance between them and leaned over
her hand to kiss her knuckle. "I do suppose London would be sadly flat
without us," he conceded. He and his father had been too much alike to get
along well, but there were times when he sorely missed the old duke.

She nodded,
smiling, and tightened her grip on his fingers. "Please try to avoid
Josette and DuPres for a time, will you?"

"No,"
he answered, freeing his hand. "I'll not hide from that woman or that
fool." Her look darkened, and he went on without pause. "If they wish
to avoid me, however, I shall not seek them out."

She nodded
again. "Thank you, Nicky."

He bowed
elegantly, then seated himself again. "You know as well as I, though, if
it's not one of them, it will be someone else. It always is. It's one of my
main talents, angering people."

"You
shouldn't practice it so much," she replied.

3

K
atherine stood looking up at Hampton House. It was
~s large as Crestley, and her godparents also owned the grand Clarey estate,
several days to the west. She had no idea why they would want her to stay with
them, goddaughter (jr no. It abruptly occurred to her that they might not even
be in town. She wasn't aware of whether her uncle had sent them a firm date
for her arrival or not, and as she had been hoping somehow to avoid coming to
London, she hadn't notified them either. They might very well have given up on
her and left on another of their exotic travels.

Well, she
wouldn't find out by waiting in the street. She picked up her heavy valises,
squared her shoulders, and walked up to the front door. Setting one of the bags
down, she reached out and firmly swung the intricately tooled brass knocker
against the door. With the sound still echoing, the door swung open. She found
herself looking up into the sternest, thinnest face she had ever seen.

"Yes?"
the butler prompted after a moment.

"I am
Katherine Ralston," she said, dismayed that her voice broke in the face of
the man's stare. "I am here to see the Hamptons."

''The baron and
baroness are not in this evening," the butler replied. He looked down at
her valises and then back at her face. "I suggest you call again in the
morning." He began to close the door.

At least they
were in town. "Wait," Katherine protested, fighting abrupt panic at
the thought of being left on her own in London at night. "My mother was
Lady Anne Ralston, an old friend of the Hamptons. They invited me to come here
... and I have nowhere else to stay this evening."

He nodded,
acknowledging that he had heard of her mother, but still did not move aside.
She knew that she must look ridiculous, standing outside with her bags and
arguing with this impossibly tall person, and she began to grow angry.

"Are you
going to let me in?" she asked, stamping her foot

"I am
inclined not to," he replied.

"Tell me
this, then," she countered. "Are the baron and baroness more likely
to hand you your papers for letting a stranger in to wait for them in their
hall or for putting the daughter of one of their dearest friends out into the
street?"

The butler
blinked. "I see your point," he finally said, and she thought she
heard amusement in his voice. "This way, Miss Ralston."

He stepped
aside, and, chin up, she walked past him into the elegant hall. The open door
off to the left must have been the library, for she caught a glimpse of a shelf
lined with books. In front of her the main staircase turned once and led to a
balcony, behind which she could see more doors. The hall widened out to the
right past the door to the sitting room, and it was to this shallow alcove that
the butler gestured her. She sat on the narrow bench, her valises on the floor
beside her.

"I will
have someone bring you a cup of tea," the butler said, and then turned
away. Before he passed out of sight he looked back over his shoulder. "My
name is Rawlins, if you should require anything further."

"Thank
you, Rawlins," she answered, and with a small nod he disappeared into the
depths of the house.

She had arrived,
though not nearly in the manner she had anticipated. At least the hallway was
warmer than the night air outside, and after a maid had brought her a cup of
hot, strong tea she began to feel more composed. Even with the master and
mistress gone from the house it seemed more alive than Crestley had for years.
In. the background she could hear occasional quiet conversation, and pots and
pans rattled in the kitchen as servants cleaned up for the night.

She had hardly
realized she was sleepy, before she was awakened by the sound of the front door
opening. Rawlins stood there accepting the outer garments of the couple entering
the house. Katherine shot to her feet as Rawlins gestured in her direction.

"My lord,
this young lady arrived earlier this evening, claiming to be one Katherine
Ralston. I thought it best she wait here for your return."

Katherine
ignored his somewhat prejudiced version of events as Lady Alison spun around,
her blue silk skirts rustling. Light-blue eyes widened as they took her in, and
Katherine self-consciously smoothed out the simple material of her own dull,
well-traveled dress.

"Kate?"

"Yes, Lady
Alison. I'm sorry not to have written that I was coming." Before she could
say anything else the plump blond woman swept forward to embrace her.

Katherine's
uncertainty over whether she would be welcomed vanished as Lord Neville
stepped up and put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "My turn, Alice."
In a moment he was embracing her as well. "You are the image of your
mother, Kate."

"We were
so sorry to learn of Anne's death," Lady Alison said quietly, taking her
hand. "I wish we had been there for you. We should never have gone to
Spain."

Kate nodded,
half in tears at their unexpected kindness. "You couldn't have
known."

Lord Neville
seemed to realize her distress, for he cleared his throat and motioned at
Rawlins, standing inconspicuously in the background. "Rawlins, have Miss
Ralston's bags taken upstairs to the green room and the bed made ready."

"Yes,
m'lord." The butler bent his long frame and lifted the valises himself,
then headed up the stairs and vanished into one of the rooms.

"Come into
the drawing room." Lady Alison, still holding Katherine's hand tightly,
led her through one of the doors off the main hall.

The room was
large and comfortable, with two long couches placed at right angles to each
other on a huge Persian carpet. Ornaments and knickknacks from several different
countries and cultures decorated the walls, mantel, and tables. Lady Alison
brought her to the nearest couch and sat her down, taking a place beside her.
Lord Neville followed a few moments later and took one of the chairs by the
fire, which crackled in the intricately carved fireplace.

"How was
your trip here?" Lady Alison asked.

"I'm a
little tired," Kate confessed, bringing her eyes back to the baroness from
her perusal of an African wood carving. "The stage was delayed by a dairy
herd this afternoon,
 
and the walls of
the inn last night were so thin, I had to listen to the squire next door
snoring all night."

"The
stage?" the baron exclaimed. "Why didn't your uncle send you in your
own coach, or hire a private one for you? The mail stage is no place for a
lady."

Katherine
flinched at the indignation in his voice. She had no wish to pour out all of
her troubles immediately upon her arrival. "Uncle Simon thought it
best," she muttered, angry again at this latest insult her uncle had
handed her. "And I didn't come here to burden you with my problems."
Even with her gaze set on the floor, she sensed the look that passed between
the baron and his wife.

"Kate,
would it make any difference if I said that, while I always had and always
shall bear great affection for your father, I never could countenance that
wretched brother of his?"

"Neville!"
Lady Alison reprimanded.

"Neither
could I," Katherine responded feelingly. She grimaced. "I mean to
handle this on my own," she stated as a preface, looking down at her toes,
"but now that I am here I suppose you should be made aware of the circumstances."

And so she told
them, beginning with her mother's illness and her uncle's timely―or so
it had seemed―arrival, and proceeding to the provisions of her father's
will, which were disclosed upon her mother's death. After a hesitation she told
them of her suspicions concerning Uncle Simon's plans for Crestley and her
present inability to do anything about it.

"The
scoundrel," Lady Alison breathed when Katherine had finished the tale.
"What are we to do?"

"I mean to
handle it myself," Katherine repeated firmly. "I only told you
because you have been so kind."