The Unexpected Duchess (2 page)

Lady Cassandra had been recommended to him. She was considered quiet and demure. “The perfect choice for a wife,” Swift had said. The perfect choice for a man seeking a peaceful life. An obedient wife.

Lady Lucy Upton was the exact opposite.

“Your Grace,” Lady Cassandra began, obviously fumbling to explain the highly unusual situation. “We were just…”

Derek crossed his arms over his chest and watched the two young women. Obviously Lady Cassandra was mortified. Her lovely face was bright pink, and she looked as if she wanted to flee from this entire debacle. Lady Lucy, on the other hand, looked as if she was merely getting started.

“I think I know what you were doing,” he replied, staring down his nose at the two of them. “If I don’t mistake my guess, Miss Upton here was behind the bushes, offering you guidance in the form of things to say to me.” His eyes were riveted on Lady Lucy, who clearly wanted to slap him. “Am I right, Miss Upton? Do words escape Lady Cassandra?”

The beautiful termagant opened her mouth to speak. She was shaking with antagonism toward him. Oh, he couldn’t
wait
to hear this.

“Why don’t you choose someone to provoke who is worthy of your skill?” Lady Lucy shot back at him.

He arched a brow. “Like you?”

Her eyes blazed fire at him. “Exactly like me. I may not match you in height, weight, or arrogance, but I assure you that I am not intimidated by you. And while we’re chastising each other,
Your Grace
, you might be reminded that I am the daughter of an earl and am
Lady
Lucy, not Miss Upton.”

Derek had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at the reprimand. He’d known perfectly well he was speaking to a lady. But there was nothing the peers of the realm hated more than anyone misquoting their precious titles. He himself had been born the first of three sons of a soldier. A complete nobody who rose to his rank purely on his own military merit. Yes, he was a duke now—rewarded by the Crown for his exceptional decision-making skill in battle, or so they’d told him—and everyone was eager to make his acquaintance. It sickened him. And he refused to play. Though interestingly enough, Lady Cassandra and Lady Lucy didn’t seem to care a bit about his illustrious title at the moment, did they?

Derek watched Lucy Upton. He had spent the last few years barking orders. He was a man used to having those orders carried out immediately, and here was a slip of a young woman who not only refused to snap to attention but also seemed to enjoy antagonizing him. He had to reluctantly admit, it fascinated him.

The solider in him admired her penchant for forthrightness. He also reluctantly admired her for standing up for her friend and being loyal. But Lady Lucy was not about to dissuade him from his goal.

“My apologies,
my lady
,” he said with a mocking bow.

He didn’t miss her haughty look of disapproval.

“We’re ever so sorry for deceiving you, Your Grace,” Lady Cassandra said, her voice still quavering. She shuffled her slippers through the gravel, looking as if she’d just confessed to the greatest sin imaginable.

“No, we’re not!” Lady Lucy nearly shouted, her arms crossed, her fingertips tapping near her elbows.

Lady Cassandra’s angelic blue eyes went wide. “Lucy!”

Derek held up a hand. “No. No. Lady Cassandra. Please allow
Lady
Lucy to speak. I’m quite looking forward to her explanation.”

Lady Lucy propped her fists on her hips and took two steps forward. She moved a hand up to her hair and plucked out the errant twig. “We do not owe you an explanation,
Your Grace
. But the truth is that Lady Cassandra is not interested in your suit. It’s that simple.”

“Is it?” he asked, solidly planting a smirk on his face.

“Yes.”

“And is that
your
opinion, Lady Lucy, or Lady Cassandra’s opinion?”

He could tell she was grinding her teeth. “Ask her,” Lady Lucy replied.

“I would,
my lady
, but I’m afraid you would answer for her.” He gave her a false smile.

Lady Cassandra made a noise that sounded as if she were being suffocated. “I suggest we all go back indoors and—”

Lady Lucy continued speaking to Derek as if Lady Cassandra hadn’t even spoken. “How dare you question the actions of a lady?”

Derek stared serenely back at her. “How dare you answer for Lady Cassandra?”

Lady Lucy’s eyes seemed to be changing colors with her mood, the one turning deep sapphire and the other mossy green. “If you were a gentleman,
Your Grace
, you wouldn’t question Lady Cassandra and her disinterest in your advances.”

His gaze remained on Lady Lucy’s face. “Lady Cassandra, are you currently betrothed to another?”

“N … no.” Lady Cassandra gulped.

“Then there is still hope for me,” he replied, continuing to watch Lady Lucy.

She gave him a withering glare. “You’re not listening,
Your Grace
,” she managed through clenched teeth.

“On the contrary. I believe I’ve understood you perfectly. But I’ve fought many a losing battle in my day, fought them and won. I don’t give up easily.”

Derek had no idea why he was even still speaking with them. He didn’t know how to woo a lady. It was hardly something he’d been trained for in the military. But something about the way they both wanted to dismiss him brought out his competitive nature. That, and the fact he intended to master this particular skill before it was all over. True, Lady Cassandra had apparently been out for five seasons already, but he actually preferred that. Marrying a young girl held little appeal to him. And there was the added benefit that his interest in Lady Cassandra appeared to have Lady Lucy near to an apoplectic fit. That was just fun. And then there was his promise to Swift.

“But Cass is not interested,” Lady Lucy continued. “I thought I’d made myself clear.”

“You did make yourself clear, my lady, and I’m sorry,” he said, staring down his nose at her again.

Looking a bit mollified, she pushed up her chin and plucked an errant leaf from a curl near her forehead. “Sorry for bothering Lady Cassandra?”

He widened his grin. “No, sorry you’ve mistaken me for someone who gives a toss what you think, Miss Upton.”

CHAPTER THREE

Two hours earlier

Derek Hunt scanned the crowded ballroom brimming with sparkling ladies wearing the latest fashions and their gallant escorts wearing high-necked cravats. Laughter, champagne, dancing, and revelry filled the large room. Derek straightened his own cravat and slid a hand into his pocket. He swallowed hard. Had it really only been a fortnight since he’d laid his hand on his dying friend’s shoulder on a blood-soaked battlefield outside Brussels? Swift hadn’t died. Not yet. But he expected the news at any moment. And here Derek was. He’d returned to London, been granted a dukedom by the Crown, and was even now in the market for a proper wife. The future mother of his future son. Swift had insisted he go. And Derek had had no choice. He’d had his orders from the War Office, but still, he disgusted himself.

A fortnight ago, Derek hadn’t known whether he’d be alive tonight. Now he was lifting a champagne flute from the gleaming silver tray of a footman bedecked in the finest livery. As if Derek had never stepped foot on the battlefield, never watched as his countrymen were sliced down in front of him, never heard the agonizing screams of his dying friends. In London, the parades and parties given in honor of Napoleon’s defeat were all the rage. And here he was tonight, the celebrated hero, enjoying the victory along with everyone else. As if he’d never seen the real horror of war.

And he was a duke? A bloody duke? It still didn’t feel real to him. Why had he been made a duke above all the other officers? They’d all risked their lives, done their duty, fought honorably. Many had died.

Derek had cut around the outer defense of Napoleon’s ranks. Seeing the opportunity, he’d made the decision in an instant and ordered his soldiers to take the opening. That decision had been a fortuitous one, a turning point in the battle. The Duke of Decisive they were calling him as soon as the reports of the battle floated back to London. Decisive, he was. He’d been made that way, after all.

Derek drew the champagne flute to his lips and took a long swallow. Good stuff, that. French. He smiled at the irony just before narrowing his eyes and scanning the room again. He was no longer in battle, but he still had a goal.

There she was. Lady Cassandra Monroe. Derek’s investiture was dependent on him choosing a wife of whom the Crown approved, and Lady Cassandra Monroe’s reputation and connections were impeccable. She also just happened to be tall, blond, and beautiful. And quiet and demure if Captain Swift had been correct about her temperament. The perfect wife for a man who’d just spent his last years in the upheaval of battlefields. Lady Cassandra Monroe was exactly the type of woman who would ensure that Derek lived his remaining days in peace and quiet. Precisely what he wanted.

But most important, he’d promised Swift. As he’d watched his friend grit his teeth and writhe in pain on the packed earth outside Waterloo, Derek had promised he would find Lady Cassandra and marry her.

And Derek Hunt, whether lieutenant general or duke,
never
went back on a promise to a friend.

*   *   *

Lady Lucy Upton stood on the sidelines of the ballroom tapping her slipper in time to the music. It wasn’t as much of a lark as being at the theater—few things were—but she did love music and she adored dancing. She sighed. She hadn’t been asked to dance in an age, but that didn’t keep her from enjoying the tune.

“Why do you think he’s staring at me that way?” Cass glanced skittishly in the direction of the newly minted Duke of Claringdon.

Lucy stopped tapping her foot and followed her friend’s gaze. “I’m not certain, exactly. But he does seem to be pinning you with his eyes. Not exactly a gentleman, the duke.”

Cass dared another glance. “I must admit he is handsome. But he doesn’t have Julian’s blond hair.” She sighed.

Lucy glanced over at the duke. He was standing by the Grecian column in the middle of the crowded ballroom. She narrowed her eyes. Very well. Cass was right. The Duke of Claringdon was handsome. More than handsome, actually. Spectacularly handsome. He was also huge. Soaring and muscled, he looked like the god of war come down from Olympus. He was well over six feet tall, had midnight-black hair and jade-green eyes, wide shoulders that tapered to a flat abdomen, and muscles from top to toe. A war hero to boot. A lieutenant general known for his decisiveness. He’d won a variety of battles over the last few years and had been sent to meet Wellington in Brussels just before Waterloo. The Duke of Decisive, they called him now.

He was also arrogant and commanding, they said. Which, Lucy was certain, was quite an asset on the field of war, but his way, at the moment, involved making her friend nervous.

And for that, Lucy would not stand. Lucy, bold, blunt, completely without a demure bone in her body, had only two friends in this world—well, three if you counted Garrett—and Cass was one of them. Elegant, modest Cass who was too friendly and kind to rebuff anyone. Yes, Cass had always been quietly loyal to Lucy, and Lucy was nothing if not loyal back. If Cass wanted to avoid the attentions of the Duke of Claringdon, well, Lucy would assist her in any way she was able.

“How do you suppose he managed to have such a golden glow to his skin?” Cass asked, stealing another surreptitious glance at the duke.

Lucy wrinkled her nose and shrugged. “I heard he was on holiday in Italy just before he was called back to battle. Apparently his last mistress was Italian.” She stole another glance herself.

Yes, the duke was powerful and more handsome than he had a right to be. And the whole war-hero bit didn’t diminish his appeal, but he came from a completely unknown family—and most important, Lucy wasn’t about to allow him to bully Cass. And something told her that the duke had set his sights on her friend.

Lucy didn’t exactly blame him. Who wouldn’t love Cass? Why, she’d had more offers than you could count. And she’d refused them all. Yes. Cass had managed to remain unattached for the last five seasons, waiting for her precious Julian to return from the war. Which
would
have been a splendid idea. The only problem was that Julian was all but betrothed to Cass’s cousin Penelope. As soon as Julian returned from the Continent, he and Penelope planned to formally announce their engagement and marry.

“Lady Chambers introduced me to him earlier,” Cass said, referring to their hostess. “She told Mama the duke had specifically asked to meet me.”

Lucy raised both brows. “What did he say to you when you were introduced?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Cass replied. “It was just the way he
looked
at me. As if he was examining me. I didn’t like it. I told Mama so.”

Lucy snorted and then clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the unladylike noise. “And what did your mama say?”

“She said I should be flattered.” Cass bit her lip.

Lucy rolled her eyes and tapped her foot in time to the music again. “Of course she did. He’s a duke. An incomparable catch as far as your mother is concerned, no matter who his family is. His just glancing in your direction has probably got her planning your wedding trousseau.”

“He frightens me,” Cass whispered. “He’s just so big and he looks as if he could kill a man with his bare hands.”

Lucy patted Cass’s shoulder. “I know, dear.” She glanced back at the duke. She didn’t want to make things worse by suggesting to Cass that he probably
had
killed men, a great many of them, with his bare hands. Lucy had no doubts. But he didn’t scare her. Not one bit.

Cass tugged on her gloves. “When he looks at me, I want to shrink back against the wall.”

Lucy had just opened her mouth to offer some additional comforting words when their third friend, Jane, came hurrying up. Jane had chestnut-brown hair, wide brown eyes that were framed by a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles, and a lovely face that she usually kept buried in a book. Despite Jane’s desire to remain unattached, Jane’s mother dutifully dressed her up and trotted her out at every ball every Season, hoping her bookish bluestocking of a daughter would eventually catch some gentleman’s eye. She never did. Which is precisely how Jane liked it.