The Black Duke's Prize (8 page)

"Whatever
were you thinking?" Thomas asked as she looked down at her card. He had
chosen a waltz late in the evening.

"Heavens,
everyone's been ignoring him for a week. And perhaps I'll step on his toes, and
he'll never ask me again," Kate answered, flashing him a smile.

"More likely
he'll
be stepping on
your
toes,"
Reg suggested. The orchestra struck up a country dance, and he took Louisa's
hand, while Thomas led Katherine out onto the floor and Althaea's partner
stepped up to collect her.

The viscount
was right; it was a sad crush, and Katherine had never had such a wonderful time.
She loved to dance, and did not lack for eager partners. As the evening
progressed, though, it became increasingly warm and stuffy in the huge room,
and her feet in their thin rose slippers began to ache.

"I believe
this is my dance?" a voice said right in her ear, and she jumped.

Francis DuPres
held out his hand, and with an apology to Lady Alison she stepped away from the
chairs bordering the room and walked out onto the floor. He was only a
tolerable dancer, and Reg's comment about whose toes would be stepped on came
to mind. When halfway through the waltz he suggested they step out onto the
balcony to get some air, Kate thankfully accepted. The night was dark and
shadowy after the brightly lit ballroom, and it was blessedly cool. She
breathed deeply and sighed, brushing her fingers over the petals of the summer
bouquet that filled the blue vase beside her. A dozen more evenly spaced vases
covered the length of the stonework railing.

"You are
lovely, Kate," DuPres murmured from her side, and he reached over to
finger the frothy material at her wrist before he slid his hand down over hers,
were it rested on the balcony.

She removed it
quickly. ''Thank you, Mr. DuPres," she said stiffly, abruptly realizing
that she should not have left the room with him.

"Francis,"
he corrected, moving over smoothly to block her path as she retreated.
"Don't go; we haven't had a chance to become acquainted."

They were
already acquainted better than she would have liked. "Excuse me," she
grated, and started to walk around him.

He grabbed her
hand and pulled her up against him. "Come now, Kate, you should be more
friendly," he murmured, leaning closer.

She shoved at
him, but he was stronger than she. "Let go," she commanded, angry.

"Not until
I claim my prize," he insisted, and yanked her closer still.

His other hand
reached up to grab the back of her neck and pull her head forward. His lips
touched her cheek, seeking her mouth. Very angry and very frightened, Kate shut
her eyes and at the same time lifted her knee. Hard.

An explosion of
hot breath blasted her face as DuPres doubled over. Before he could straighten
again, something yanked him backward onto the hard stone. A figure clothed all
in black hauled DuPres back to his feet, and then dragged him over to where
Katherine stood.

"Apologize
to Miss Ralston," came the quiet voice of Nicholas Varon. Even in the dim
light it was clear that the Black Duke was furious.

"I'Il kill
you for this, Sommesby," DuPres wheezed, still half doubled over.

The duke shook
him by the collar and shoved him away. "Apologize, or you can try it at
dawn with pistols," Nicholas said, even more quietly than before.

Nicholas Varon
was not the only one who was angry. Now that she had gotten over the initial
shock of the assault, Kate was furious. This was her battle, and she didn't
need the Black Duke to fight it for her. As DuPres faced Sornmesby, she stepped
sideways, grabbed one of the pretty blue vases, and raised it over her head.
"Don't touch me again, you cad," she said with a growl, and dashed
the vase against the side of his head. It shattered, water and . flowers and
pieces of porcelain going everywhere, and with a grunt Francis DuPres collapsed
among the debris.

Sommesby took a
step backward his eyes on DuPres. After a moment he looked up at her, his
expression one of stunned surprise, then glanced down and flicked a piece of
daisy off his lapel. When he raised his head again, his eyes were dancing.
"Well done, Miss Ralston," he murmured.

Breathing hard,
Kate unclenched her hands and sagged back against the railing. DuPres remained
slumped on the stone where he had fallen. "Oh, my," she whispered, beginning
to realize exactly what she had done.

The duke
stepped over the mess to steady her with both hands on her shoulders. "Are
you all right?"

"I'm
trying to decide if I'm going to faint."

He chuckled and
pulled her closer. "I somehow don't think you're the fainting type,"
he noted.

She wound her
trembling hands into his jacket and rested her cheek on his shoulder while he
held her. Perhaps he wasn't as dastardly as she had thought. Laughter sounded
from inside the doorway, and she started and pulled away. He released her
immediately, but putting distance between them left her little reassured. To
be out here on the balcony with a man―or, worse, two men―was enough
to ruin her. If anyone found out that she had knocked one of them unconscious,
her godparents would probably have to ship her off to America and she'd never
see Crestley again. "Your Grace, please don't tell," she begged, paling,
and regretting every cutting remark she had made to him over the past weeks.

"No
worries," the duke replied immediately, his expression still amused.
"This is a secret I shall very much enjoy keeping." He glanced back
at DuPres. "And if our sleeping fool has any pride at all, I don't
believe he'll be repeating the tale, either." His eyes met hers and slid
to the doorway. "I do believe we should exit the battleground before we
are discovered, however."

She nodded,
then glanced into the gloom of the balcony behind him. "You are out here
alone?" she whispered.

He gazed at her
for a moment, then nodded. "You refer, of course, to Eloise LeMonde."

Katherine
shrugged, reluctant to anger him. "I wasn't―"

"Her interests, if she has any, are her own," he replied, and
pursed his lips ruefully. "How was
Figaro?"

She smiled.
"Wonderful," she replied enthusiastically.

Impulsively she
touched his sleeve. "Thank you again for helping me, Your Grace," she
said, looking up at him.

"You're
welcome, Miss Ralston," he answered.

"Kate,"
she said.

"Beg
pardon?" he queried, raising an eyebrow.

"Please
call me Kate," she explained. They were conspirators of a sort now, and
she owed him for keeping her secret.

He looked down
at her for a long moment, then shook his head. "Katherine suits you
better," he said thoughtfully.

DuPres groaned,
and Sommesby took her hand and tucked it over his arm. "You shouldn't be
here when he emerges. I think you should have another headache." His lips
quirked. "You won't be the only one with a pounding skull tonight, I'll
wager."

She nodded,
smiling uncertainly at him. He wasn't exactly whom she would have imagined as
a chivalrous ally, but something in his eyes as he looked down at her made
Katherine believe that he would keep his word. ''Thank you again."

Just inside the
ballroom he looked sideways at her. "By the way, my friends call me
Nick," he murmured.

Katherine took
a breath, wondering what she was about to get herself into. ''Then I shall call
you Nicholas," she returned, and was rewarded by a surprised look that
quickly turned to one of appreciation and then was as swiftly gone.

He started forward again and nodded. "Nicholas it is, then."

7

F
rom
a distance Nicholas watched Katherine explain to her godparents what had
happened. Neville's already ruddy face went redder as the two women were forced
to head him away from the balcony. After a moment of hushed argument they left
the room. When they were well away Nicholas made his way over to where his
mother sat with Lady Ann Sefton.

"Mama," he drawled, "I believe it is time for us to depart."

She looked up at him curiously, but when he said nothing else she took
leave of her companion and accepted the arm he offered her. "What is going
on?" she murmured.

"Something rather interesting just happened, and I don't want you
to pay for it," he returned, nodding as they passed the Hillarys.

''Oh, dear." She sighed. "What this time?"

"Francis DuPres is, how shall I say, sleeping, out on the balcony.
I imagine he'll be coming around any moment now," he said mildly, and her
fingers tightened around his sleeve.

"Mon dieu,
what happened?"

"He was pawing Katherine Ralston." As he remembered her
frightened face he had to fight the temptation to return to the balcony and
throw Francis DuPres off of it. "Quite vulgar of him, actually. He should
have realized a true rake would never stoop to such methods for a kiss,"
he said, trying to make light of the incident. "Charming a lady out of her
favors is a much more satisfying task."

"Nicholas," his mother reproved with a reluctant smile.
"Kate is all right?"

"She's fine." He grinned as he signaled for her shawl and his
greatcoat to be brought to them. "In fact, she did a rather excellent job
of rescuing herself. I felt quite unneeded."

"Oh, yes?" Julia Varon queried, eyeing him closely. He
recognized the look. "Don't get any ideas, Mama.

She's barely out of the schoolroom, for God's sake."

"You're hardly in your dotage, Nicky," his mother replied
with a smile. "She stands up to you; yes?"

"She's hardheaded," he retorted, looking away from the amused
curiosity on her face and hoping she wouldn't set Kate Ralston dangling after
him. He wanted nothing to do with any schoolroom chits or their missish
prattle. In all honesty, though, he couldn't picture Miss Ralston setting her
cap at anyone. And woe to the man who attempted to obtain her favors without
her permission.

To his relief Julia dropped the subject, and he saw her to her coach
with no more than a few commonplace exchanges about the weather and upcoming
social events. When she was gone he signaled for his own coach and headed off
to one of his clubs, though his thoughts turned often enough to an outspoken
schoolroom chit armed with a vase of flowers that he lost a hundred and fifty
pounds at hazard.

The next morning his man of business met him in his study with news
about the status of Crestley Hall. "Well, Gladstone, what have we gotten
ourselves into?" he asked with a smile.

"A great deal of trouble, if you ask me, Your Grace,"
Gladstone returned, fingering his graying moustache.

"Details, please," he returned. "And you remembered my
instructions?"

"Yes, Your Grace, though I have told you that I do not like to work
under these conditions. It is folly for you to invest any of your money in
something that you seem determined to know so little about."

"And?" Nicholas prompted after a moment.

Gladstone shifted some papers about the desk. "The owner's
representative is calling himself Jonathan Smith."

Nicholas smiled at the distaste in Gladstone's
voice. "I told you what kind of purchase this was likely to be."

"Yes, Your Grace. I did not expect the man to be so obvious about
it, however." He paused, and Nicholas could practically see the wheels
turning in the older man's head. ''The story is that a youth has inherited the
property but will not actually come into possession of it for another two
years. This young man does not wish to keep Crestley Hall, but would be willing
to entertain a cash offer for it."

"So the problem is only that the boy is too young to inherit,"
Nicholas commented, disbelieving that to be the difficulty.

Apparently Gladstone did as well. "I doubt it, Your Grace. Mr.
Smith went to great lengths to keep the young man's name from me. It is more
likely being sold out from under the boy."