The Duke's Temptation (2 page)

Chapter 2

“Is it true?”

Within moments of entering the crowded ballroom and separating from her brother Marcus, Elizabeth Blakely became consumed by the question directed at her from her close friend, Emma Dawkins.

“Is what true?”

“Surely you’ve heard. It is all anyone can talk about
.
They say Wesbrook’s daughter moved into his town house.”

Elizabeth took a shallow breath, trying to stop the uneasiness spreading through her body. “Daughter? What daughter? Gabe doesn’t have a daughter.”

“That’s not the latest gossip. In fact, I heard it directly from Lady Upperton. Everyone knows not to
question
the validity of her information.”

No, it can’t be true.
Uncertainty engulfed her as she tried to focus on Emma’s words and not the buzzing in her head.

“Marcus didn’t mention anything to you?”

“I am hardly my brother’s choice of confidant when it comes to his friends.”

A ripple of not-so-subtle whispers beginning to flow through the room caught Elizabeth’s attention and drew her gaze to the man poised at the entrance of the ballroom. He towered above most men in the room but carried his masculine height and broad shoulders with a rakish grace others of his gender desired to emulate.

Women just plain desired
him
.

As usual when he was in the vicinity, her eyes traversed his familiar features, drowning in the sensations swirling through her. Every aspect called to her. Raven hair with a tendency to curl over his collar, midnight eyes that carried a touch of gold one could easily miss if they did not know it was there. A square jaw and set chin that held an undeniable rugged handsomeness . . . and just a touch of arrogance. As he shouldered his way through the members of the
ton
,
she could barely recall a time when she had not loved the Duke of Wesbrook.

“Do you think it is true?” Emma whispered.

Focused on Gabe, Elizabeth barely acknowledged the question.

Apparently an answer wasn’t required as Emma continued to hiss at Elizabeth’s side. “I for one don’t believe it. No matter what haughty Lady Upperton says. Besides, what would your duke know of raising a child?”

That caught Elizabeth’s ear. “He is not
my duke.
”

She chose to ignore the bothersome voice in the back of her mind nagging that it wasn’t for lack of wishing it true. She’d been four when Gabe had first visited her brother during school breaks, and he’d been her hero since the day she started following the two mischievous boys around. Unlike Marcus, Gabe had always welcomed her on their daily adventures, coming to her defense whenever Marcus tried to leave her behind. For that alone, Gabe would forever be her champion.

It had been during the darkest time of her childhood when she’d started to love him as more than a playmate.

“You certainly could have fooled me.”

Instead of responding to Emma’s quiet comment, Elizabeth continued to watch Gabe make his way across the room, but rather than dwelling on the latest rumors, she found herself recalling the tragic death of her parents. Two days after the funeral, Gabe had discovered her crying behind the stable at Foxmoore. As uncomfortable as he must have been when confronted with a bawling child, he’d taken the time to sit with her. That fleeting moment had been more consoling than all the empty but well-intended words others had expressed.

After she’d cried herself dry, Gabe had handed her his handkerchief and took her riding. From those minor actions, sunlight had started to break through her grief and her love for Gabe had found root to grow.

She observed him gracefully shoulder his way through the crush, all the while reflecting on the fact that eleven years later her youthful affection had developed into an all-consuming passion. Her ardor for him had resulted in the rejection of every suitor and offer of marriage since her debut two years ago. Her parents married for love, and she vowed to do the same.

Gabe was the man she loved; she would marry him or no one. A prospect that wouldn’t be so daunting if he’d given even the smallest indication he thought of her as other than his best friend’s younger sister. As it was, she couldn’t be sure he thought of her at all.

“So,
do
you think it is true?”
Emma’s insistent questioning finally broke through Elizabeth’s musings.

She would have to be a fool to not be aware of the endless rumors surrounding Gabe and his various exploits. In spite of it all, her love had never wavered. Until now. Now was different. Faced with the possibility of an illegitimate child, her resolve weakened.
If there is a child, where is her mother? Has she also moved in with Gabe?

Elizabeth tracked him as he greeted her brother. There was only one way to discover the truth. In an attempt to settle her nerves, she took a deep breath. “I might not know, Emma, but I’m going to find out.”

And she started across the room.

Being the focus of the
ton
had never affected Gabe before, but as word of his daughter passed through the ranks and a firestorm of gossip began, the first hint of irritation hit him.

Even entering the ballroom, the multitude of stares had pricked his skin like tiny needles. Of course, he would never let anyone see his discomfort. As a rule, nothing ever bothered the Duke of Wesbrook.

“You had to know word would get out,” Marcus said, as they stood off to the side, next to the terrace doors. It might be the least crowded area of the ballroom, but the room still seemed three sizes too small. Lord Hampshire’s annual ball was more of a crush than normal. And Gabe had a sinking feeling his role in the latest scandal was the cause. No one wanted to miss the chance to gawk at the subject of such prime gossip.

“I’ll be sure to have Lady Hampshire thank me for making her ball such a success,” Gabe returned with clear disdain. He had a sudden desire to slip out of the room and retreat to his club, but his early departure would only encourage the talk. “Before this whole episode, I didn’t fully appreciate the
ton’s
need for gossip and their high effectiveness in spreading it. I learned of Phoebe only two days ago. How can everyone know already?”

“Moving your illegitimate child into your residence is not something you can keep a secret, especially from the
ton
. Hearing the Duke of Wesbrook seeks a governess would be enough to start tongues flapping.”

“It isn’t the
ton’s
knowledge of my daughter that bothers me. Having it compared to my father’s past exploits infuriates me the most,” Gabe grumbled as he nabbed a drink from the tray of a passing servant.

“Conceiving a child with a past mistress does not compare to your father having by-blows scattered throughout England. Gabe, as much as you’ve tried to prove it otherwise, you are
not
your father.”

Gabe’s familiarity with Marcus’s argument regarding the previous Duke of Wesbrook—he’d given different versions of it since they’d been lads at Eton—didn’t make it any less maddening. Marcus, raised by a very upstanding and respected father, never understood what it was like having a scoundrel for a parent. He never had to live with witnessing the unmistakable hurt and pain his father had inflicted upon his mother when mistress after mistress had been paraded in front of her. Or live with the harrowing knowledge that someday he was destined to cause someone the same pain.

The old duke constantly reminded Gabe of what the future held for a Wesbrook. Never in the history of the family line had there been a man capable of fidelity—not to mention, able to resist the demanding compulsion for drink and gambling. What Gabe found most unsettling was how the elder Wesbrook, far from being ashamed of the family legacy, wanted nothing more of his son and heir than to embrace it and carry on with the tradition.

Gabe might do his damnedest to avoid these less than stellar qualities of the Wesbrook heritage, but he wasn’t capable of escaping them completely. Fortune was far from kind. And he’d sealed his fate seven years ago.

Relinquishing his glass to a servant, he returned the conversation to a more pressing issue. “My father aside, I need to figure out how to arrange care for the chit. I have been unsuccessful in locating a respectable governess who would be willing to reside with the Duke of Wesbrook. Apparently, I’m more of a threat to innocent women than I realized.”

“How is little Phoebe?”

“According to Wilkes she needs some time to adjust. Apparently, there are occasions where she just sits and doesn’t speak but then again, I’m not familiar with how often a child should converse.”

“What do you mean,
according to Wilkes
? Haven’t you visited her? Spoken to her yourself?” Marcus asked with a slight scowl.

Sensing his friend’s disapproval, Gabe released a heavy sigh. “And say what exactly? Hell, Marcus, I don’t know what to spout to a child.”

“You had better figure it out soon. Ignoring her existence, especially when she is living under your roof, is far from the answer you are looking for.”

Gabe wasn’t sure how to respond. He certainly blundered in his role of father, but he didn’t know any other way. Besides, if he attempted to have a relationship with her, he’d probably damage her more than keeping his distance would.

Attempting to relieve his dark thoughts, Gabe stared at the couples filling the dance area, vaguely wondering how they all managed not to crash into each other.

He tensed when Marcus’s hand fell on his shoulder. “Stop by tomorrow before we head to Jackson’s. We’ll figure something out.”

At his friend’s offer, a bit of the stress that had built over the last two days lessened. “Thank you.” With one problem delayed until tomorrow, his most pressing crisis became figuring out how to survive this ball before he could escape without too much notice.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice her approach until the scent of lilac penetrated his senses. Even in the crowded, stuffy ballroom, the very hint of her had the power to arouse him to the point where nothing else existed.

Despite his intense longing for this particular woman, he could never sate his secret desire for the very delectable Elizabeth Blakely.

He might be on the threshold of being an out-and-out scoundrel, but he refused to corrupt his best friend’s sister.

“Good evening, Gabe.” Elizabeth never stood on ceremony with him. Probably since he’d known her for more years of her life than not.

“Good evening, Elizabeth,” he replied, clasping her outstretched fingers. Even the light—and somewhat inappropriate—kiss he placed on her gloved hand was enough to send a shot of craving through him. “You look lovely as always.”

At his bold overture, a slight blush warmed her fair cheeks. “Thank you, and may I say you are sure to turn a few heads this evening.”

“Let us hope not. The last thing I desire is a horde of debutantes chasing me.”

Her perfect rose-colored lips curved into a smile that accentuated her already stunning beauty. Faced with her striking womanhood, it was hard for him to recall the elf-like girl who had followed him and Marcus, year after year. Raised an only child, Gabe thought of her as a younger sister.

Well, least he had until she’d appeared in London for her first season.

After his father’s death, he’d stayed away from Foxmoore for the years before her debut into Society, and during this time, she had developed curves any man would worship and her childlike features had matured into an ethereal beauty. She had easily been the belle of her first season—with her blonde tresses that seemed to reflect the sunlight, and those piercing green eyes. The last two years had only enhanced her beauty.

He couldn’t fathom how she was still unmarried, not that she lacked beaux. It grated his nerves to watch the young bucks clamor for her attention. Yet another reason for him to avoid social events. Not that he needed one.

“Do either of you gentlemen plan on moving from this spot anytime during the evening, or do we mere ladies frighten you?”

“Actually, Minx, you all scare the hell out of me,” he replied, watching her eyes twinkle with merriment and, if he wasn’t mistaken, mischief. He’d always enjoyed the ease of their relationship. It wasn’t her fault he wanted something more from her.

Barely concealing a smile of his own, Marcus interrupted, “I hate to be the big brother but Gabe, you shouldn’t use such vulgarity around Elizabeth. She is no longer the scamp who followed us around constantly. She is a lady and should be treated as such.”

Primal urges within Gabe screamed how aware he was of her maturity. He fought the impulse to rake his gaze over her body and take in each delectable curve. Even during the short duration of their conversation, his eyes had—multiple times—absorbed the creamy swell of her breasts above the bodice of her ball gown. If he contemplated how much of a lady she was much longer, he’d have to excuse himself for reasons that had nothing to do with the current gossip and everything to do with the swelling in his breeches.

“Marcus, you know I am not such a lady that I cannot best you in a horse race. If you do not stop teasing me, I will show you up in Hyde Park before your cronies.”

“I never should have let you ride so much when you were a child. I’m merely glad you have enough sense to wear dresses and not breeches.”

This time there was no mistaking the touch of mischief shining in her eyes as she parried, “You have no one to blame but yourself. Maybe you and Gabe should have stayed back from riding when we were young and instead played dolls with me.”

“Enough of that, scamp. Future earls and dukes don’t play dolls.” Marcus smiled. “Shouldn’t you be out breaking more young lords’ hearts?”

Gabe watched the good-hearted bickering between Marcus and Elizabeth and couldn’t help but feel like an outsider. Before their deaths, the Blakelys had treated him as a member of the family. He had always been welcome at Foxmoore, but sometimes it had been difficult for him to accept the love they’d openly shared. He was raised believing love didn’t exist outside fairytales and children’s stories, and if it did, the Duke of Wesbrook was above such emotions. The one time he’d thought he’d outsmarted his father and finally found the elusive sentiment, he’d learned the hard way it wasn’t real.