The Black Duke's Prize (5 page)

"One does
not leave one's dance partner if one wishes to avoid a scandal, Miss
Ralston," Varon murmured, taking the lead as they headed off the floor.

"I wasn't
aware that my doings concerned you," she responded hotly, a little
surprised that he would care whether she caused a scandal or not.

Lady Alison
wore an expression of slight uneasiness as they approached, but she smiled
readily enough at the duke. "They are about to serve supper," she
explained. "Nick, thank you for your assistance."

Varon glanced
down at Kate, then back at the baroness. "It was my pleasure," he
said smoothly, making Katherine wish to stomp on his foot.

Lord Neville
joined them, and Kate found herself, to her annoyed chagrin, being escorted
into the dining hall by the Black Duke. The seats had been assigned beforehand
by the hostess, and Sommesby brought her to her chair and helped her into it,
then leaned over her shoulder.

"Give me
your card," he murmured.

She half turned
to look at him. "What?"

"A good
turn deserves a good turn. Give me your dance card, Miss Ralston." He
touched her elbow under the level of the table, and after a hesitation she
slipped the card into his hand.

During supper most
of the other women at the table took at least a moment to glance in her
direction, and she could almost see the speculation and curiosity, not all of
it friendly. Belatedly she wondered what kind of favor the Duke of Sommesby had
done for her. He sat close to the head of the table, and was receiving far more
attention than she. She wanted no scandal attached to her, for she was only
there to bide her time until she could return to Crestley.

Halfway through
the meal she turned from conversing with Squire John Delgood of Berkshire and
glanced over to see the Black Duke's eyes on her. She blushed and quickly
looked away. Whatever had possessed her to bait him, she certainly now
regretted the action. As she composed herself over supper, she had time to remember
a great deal more of Emmie's stories concerning the Black Duke. There were
rumors that he had killed or wounded several men in duels, and because of an
argument, he had purposely gambled the Viscount of Worton out of his entire
estate and had then turned around and handed the deed to the nearest footman,
which had caused a second scandal. And now he had been her first dance partner
at her first ball after her return to London.

Supper ended,
and the guests drifted either upstairs to the gaming tables or back into the
ballroom. She looked about, but didn't see the duke or her dance card anywhere.
Likely he had gone to gamble and taken it with him. She began to curse him
under her breath. Then, sensing someone behind her, she turned to see him
standing there, looking down at her.

"A
pleasure again, Miss Ralston," he said, and bent to kiss her hand. As he
released it, her card was slipped expertly back into her palm. He then took
Lady Alison's hand as well, granting her a slight smile, and headed out toward
the stairs.

Katherine
turned the card over in her hand. It was filled with names. Her godmother
looked over at it as well and gave a surprised smile.

"He's partnered you with some of the most respected, and
interesting, members of the
ton.
However did you convince him to assist
you?"

Katherine
shrugged, her eyes on the last name on the card. The bold lettering read only
"N. Varon."

4

T
he Duke of Sommesby spent only a short time up-stairs,
for the games were woefully tame, and the company even more so. Aside from
that, by filling her dance card he had in a manner put himself in the role of
Miss Ralston's host, and he wished to see how she was enjoying her evening. He
entered the ballroom again and lounged against the back wall to watch.

At that moment
she was engaged in a country dance with the Viscount of Sheresford. Thomas
appeared to be pleased, for he smiled as he spoke. She laughed in response,
and Nicholas noted again that despite her rather haphazard manners she was
quite attractive. The silver ribbons in her long black hair glowed in the
candlelight, and the simple blue gown showed off her slim figure admirably.

"Nick?"

Neville Hampton
approached from the chairs lining one side of the room, and Nicholas pushed
himself upright away from the wall. "Neville," he said, shaking the
older "man's hand and wondering if he was about to be warned away from the
baron's goddaughter. Clarey had little to worry about, however, for schoolroom
misses held little interest for Nicholas.

Instead Neville
mimed a punch. "Congratulations on the flusher you handed Francis DuPres.
Anyone knows anything about you, they know you're no cheat." Nicholas inclined
his head but said nothing, preferring to forget the entire incident and Francis
DuPres. Clarey seemed to realize this, for he nodded and stepped closer.
"Will you call on me tomorrow morning? There is something I wish to
discuss with you."

Nicholas
nodded, somewhat surprised that the baron would seek his counsel. "I'll be
there, Neville."

A country dance
was followed by a quadrille; he was not particularly fond of either. He watched
as Captain Reg Hillary was introduced to Miss Ralston and led her out onto the
floor. With a curse that had the women closest to him looking at him warily, he
realized that his heroic efforts to keep Miss Ralston from being the object of
scandal would fail if the Black Duke claimed her for the first and last dance
of the evening and partnered no one else in between. With a put-upon sigh at
what he was
 
having to go through, all
because she had called him on his actions―the ungrateful chit―he
sought out his mother. The duchess was seated again beside the Marchioness of
Belning, the two of them no doubt deep in conversation about how to trap him
into matrimony.

"Mama,
dance with me," he said, holding out his hand. With a surprised look she
rose and allowed herself to be led out onto the floor. "A quadrille,
Nicky?" she murmured.

He ignored her
comment, and instead spent most of the time watching Miss Ralston and Reg. Once
again she was smiling, and he noted that he was not the only one looking her
way. After the quadrille ended he escorted his mother back to her seat. The
orchestra struck up a waltz, and he spied Azalea, no, Althaea Hillary cowering
on the far side of the marchioness. Sighing again, he stopped before her.
"May I have this dance, Miss Hillary?"

She blanched,
but the marchioness smiled at him and elbowed her daughter in the side. With a
murmured word that he assumed to be an affirmative, the girl rose. When an
opening presented itself he swept her out onto the floor.

"Are you
having a pleasant evening, Miss Hillary?" he asked after a moment, eyeing
the top of her auburn hair, as her eyes were apparently occupied with staring
at his boots.

She lifted her
head, nearly knocking him in the chin, and stammered something that he again
assumed to be an affirmative. There was nothing wrong with Althaea Hillary
physically; on the contrary, she was quite attractive, with long, curling
lashes and soft brown doe's eyes that young
 
men inclined toward such things wrote poetry about. If only she had had
the power of speech, and something to say if she could speak .he might have
found her tolerably pleasant. He couldn't help but note the vast difference between
Althaea Hillary and the outspoken Miss Ralston, though he couldn't say which of
the two he found more taxing.

"How are
you enjoying the Season so far?" he ventured, curious to see how she would
react to a question to which she couldn't answer yes or no.

"Qut 'II,
nk you," came out of her mouth in an almost voiceless whisper, and
Nicholas shut his eyes for just a moment.

"Beg
pardon?" he said, leaning closer.

"Quite
well, thank you," she managed to articulate, glancing up at his face.

Feeling as
though he had accomplished something of a miracle, he smiled down at her. And
immediately regretted it. Althaea's face went white, and she stumbled and sank
against his chest, her eyes rolling back in her head.

"Good
God," he muttered, looking about somewhat frantically and trying to keep
her from sliding to the ground. No assistance appeared, and with a curse he
bent and scooped her up in his arms to carry her off the dance floor.

"What have
you done to my Althaea?" her mother asked, gasping as she hurried toward
them, several other mamas in tow.

"I have
done nothing," he snapped, pushing past the mob and carrying the girl to a
settee in the anteroom. He carefully set her down and stepped aside to escape
back into the ballroom.

Thomas Elder
was standing there waiting for him. "Is Althaea all right?" he asked,
glancing over Nicholas's shoulder.

He nodded,
walking over to the refreshment table for a glass of punch and eyeing the
nearest gossips until they moved away. He would have preferred brandy, but
there was none available downstairs. "She fainted."

"Fainted?"
Thomas asked incredulously. "In the middle of a waltz?"

"Yes,"
Nicholas said indignantly, "she swooned. I smiled, and she swooned."

Thomas snorted,
"You're bamming me."

The herd of
mamas emerged from the anteroom to glare at him. ''God's blood," he
grumbled, what remained of his good humor quickly evaporating. "Do they
think I ravished her out on the dance floor?"

"If anyone
could, it would be you," Thomas answered.

"No, don't
scowl at me. Just let me thank you for blackmailing me into dancing with Kate.
She's lovely."

"Kate?"
Nicholas asked, distracted by the sight of Althaea cautiously returning to one
of the chairs in the ballroom.

"Miss
Ralston," Thomas reminded him, following his gaze. "I'll go see how
Althaea is," the viscount offered, patting Nicholas on the shoulder.

"Please
do," Nicholas said feelingly. "I'm bloody well not going near her
again."

Despite the
condition of Miss Hillary, none of the other ladies Nicholas asked to dance
refused him and, fortunately, no one else suffered so much as an attack of the
vapors. Even so, he was grateful when the music began for the evening's last
waltz. Unless he missed his guess, the only thing Miss Ralston would be
suffering from was a rather refreshing case of honesty and quick wits. He
turned to find her, but she was not in sight. A further perusal also failed to
reveal Clarey and the baroness. Cursing under his breath, he again found his
mother.

"Have you
seen the Hamptons lately, Mama?" he asked coolly, trying to keep his jaw
from clenching.

"They left
about half an hour ago, Nicky. Kate, I think she had a partner for every dance
tonight. She was very tired."

"Damned
ungrateful chit," Nicholas muttered, and left the room. unaware of the
surprised look on his mother's face as he turned his back.

Katherine wasn't surprised when Lady Alison suggested they leave the
ball early. It was true that she was tired, and that her head was beginning to
throb with all of the introductions and subsequent invitations and plans, but
she had a suspicion it was more than just her health that concerned her
godmother. She had learned enough about the etiquette of the
haut ton
to
know that dancing twice in one evening with the same man, particularly one with
the reputation of the Duke of Sommesby, was enough to put a lady's reputation
at risk.

That was not to
say she hadn't been tempted to stay. Her initial annoyance at his
high-handedness had faded as each successive partner had appeared to be
introduced. They had all been witty and charming, and for the first time in a
long while she had begun to feel like the fair maiden of the tales she had
enjoyed as a young girl. It had been a marvelous evening, and to her surprise
she had the infamous Black Duke to thank for it.

"I don't
know what got into Nick tonight," Lady Alison commented on the tail of her
thought. "I've never seen him go out of his way to be charming. Even when
Althaea fainted he barely batted an eye."