A Duke’s Distraction Read online

  He watched in fascination as those beautiful glittering eyes widened in surprise. She looked shocked beyond measure.

  Hurt even.

  His stomach twisted in response, as though her pain had a direct effect on his person.

  Then he heard Nicholas’s soft groan behind him as well as a sharp gasp from Claire. A second later he realized what he’d said. Or rather, how it must have sounded.

  Hell and damnation.

  He looked to his mother but even she looked surprised by his rudeness. Bloody hell, he hadn’t meant it like that.

  The now deceased Mr. Cleveland’s philandering ways were one of society’s best known secrets. The nastier members of the ton liked to speculate on the illegitimacy of the Cleveland siblings, particularly the younger ones. He’d heard such rumors about their sister Anne, with her striking red hair, so different from Claire and Georgie’s fair blonde locks. But then, those whispers died off after she married the Earl of Davenport.

  He hesitated now, his eyes seeking out Georgie’s once more, as he tried to think of a way to recover from this blunder. It seemed he did not have to. Georgie recovered before he did and the hurt shock was quickly replaced by laughter. More laughter. Was there no end to this woman’s amusement?

  Perhaps not when he was around to provide her with such ridiculous scenes.

  She gave him a brilliant smile that made it hard to breathe. Those emerald eyes glinted with mischief. “Do you know, you are not the first to notice that anomaly.”

  He arched his brows in disbelief. She couldn’t be—surely she wasn’t—

  But then he heard a most unladylike snort of laughter from behind him and his shock at Georgie’s lighthearted teasing over her family’s scandal was replaced by sheer astonishment at the sight of Claire clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle another laugh. Claire, a woman well known for her pious decorum.

  He swiveled his head back and forth, dimly aware that he must look like a fool glancing between the two ladies with such a look of incredulity.

  Nicholas stepped in, wrapping an arm around Claire as he grinned at Rhys. “Well done, big brother. I’d say this visit is off to a wonderful start, wouldn’t you?”

  Rhys tugged at his cravat. He was used to being the brunt of Nicholas’s jokes, but rarely did he find himself the source of amusement for two ladies, such as the Cleveland sisters. But Nicholas’s comment gave him a chance to recover. “Of course,” he said, with what he hoped was a natural enough smile. “And what a delight it is to have you all here.”

  There. Now that was a charming and welcoming statement befitting a host, was it not?

  He turned to face Georgie and saw that her amusement had faded to something rather sweet. He no longer had the feeling he was being laughed at in his own home, thank heavens. If anything she was studying him with a curious look.

  Something oddly similar to…tenderness.

  But that couldn’t be right. He wasn’t the type to evoke those sort of simpering emotions from women. Even his mother regarded him with loyalty and admiration, rather than warmth or tenderness. He didn’t mind. He’d been raised to be admired and respected, feared even. But not coddled. Never coddled.

  The fact that this little chatterbox was giving him such a soft look made him uncomfortable in the extreme.

  Luckily Hargrove entered to announce that dinner would soon be served. As the others headed toward the doorway, Georgie paused and placed a hand on his arm. The weight of it held him in place, though her touch was as light as a feather.

  “Thank you for letting me stay in your beautiful home, Your Grace,” she said.

  He opened his mouth to say something to the effect of, you are quite welcome, but he never had the chance. She continued on before he could speak and her words shocked him into silence. “I think you and I will get on splendidly. Why, I already think of you as another brother, just like I do Nicholas.”

  Her smile widened into something that could only be described as luminous before she turned to join his mother and the others by the door.

  He watched her delightful form glide toward them with that easy grace he remembered from watching her dance with Nicholas.

  A brother? She thought of him as a brother?

  Something primal and raw and completely unexpected reared up at that thought. Like hell he was her brother, nor was he her guardian or a father figure.

  He was a man, damn it. A highly eligible one, at that.

  He was a duke.

  “Are you coming, dear?” his mother called over, effectively silencing the unbidden and rather alarming voice that had nothing to do with reason.

  The others were watching expectantly, waiting for him to lead the way. Right. Dinner. Of course.

  He avoided looking in Georgie’s direction again, lest she say or do something else to throw his world off kilter.

  Brother, indeed.

  As they made their way to dinner he heard the others talking about the Davies’ ball this coming weekend, which would signal the start of the season.

  Bloody hell. The season hadn’t even truly begun and that little chit had already stirred up trouble.

  Let that be a reminder, he told himself. She was the lightning and the storm would follow.

  He’d do well to prepare himself for trouble.

  Chapter Two

  Georgie pirouetted before her mirror, showing off the swirling skirts of her new gown. Her favorite gown. The most delightful gown anyone in the world had ever seen.

  Claire laughed at her enthusiasm from where she perched on Georgie’s bed. “I’m so glad you’re happy with your wardrobe, Georgie. You deserve fine gowns.”

  The wardrobe in question had been a gift from her brother-in-law, the Earl of Davenport. He’d taken over financial responsibility for all the unmarried Cleveland siblings when he’d married their sister, Anne, and no one could deny that he was a generous guardian.

  Though he wasn’t technically her guardian, per se. Their eldest brother, Jed, held that role but as he’d made rather a mess of their lives when he’d squandered their inheritance at the gaming tables, he was something of a guardian-in-name-only these days. It was a situation that seemed to suit them all quite well.

  It left Jed free to go about his gallivanting ways—minus the gambling, one hoped. Their brothers, the twins, Jonathon and Marcus, as well as Collin, the youngest, were home with him, of course, looking out for him as much as he was watching over them. It was a house full of young men, however, so no one seemed to worry overmuch about their reputation.

  Georgie, on the other hand, was being spoiled rotten by her sisters and their new husbands, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. She traveled between the two, staying with one sister and then the other over the course of this past year.

  They’d all decided it would be for the best if she spent the season with Claire and Nicholas, as Anne was expecting a baby at any moment and unable to travel. That was, her husband had decreed that she was unable to travel, though Georgie and Claire suspected he was being overly protective of the wife he doted on so sweetly.

  Truly, it was little wonder that by the end of a year spent watching Anne and Claire revel in their newfound bliss, Georgie had not only acquired a lovely wardrobe but also a newly solidified belief in true love.

  Oh, she’d always believed such a thing existed in fairy tales. In the real world? That was another matter.

  But now she not only knew it existed—she knew who her love would be. She’d attended a house party with Anne several months before and had met a gentleman who brought about all the delightful feelings she’d read about as a child.

  Lord Malcolm Reynolds had every trait she could wish for. The son of a marquess, he was handsome, clever, and romantic beyond all measure. The man was a poet. An actual poet, in the flesh.

  She’d never dreamt she would meet a man who not only understood poetry but who lived and breathed it, who felt its passion and spoke of it with such eloquence…

 
She sighed wistfully as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

  Her hair was swept up in the latest style, and with this gown she looked as pretty as she could manage. Tonight’s ball at the Davies’ would be the perfect opportunity to catch Lord Malcolm’s eye.

  Her smile faltered in the mirror. For that was the one problem with her grand plan to win the love of Lord Malcolm. He had not quite fallen for her yet. Oh, he had been delightfully attentive at the house party, but then again, he had been attentive to all the ladies.

  He was a charming man, her Lord Malcolm. Which was one of his finer traits, really. Or rather, it would be once he admitted that he was in love with her and her alone.

  Which he would, because it was destiny. Everyone knew that true love went hand in hand with destiny. And tonight was the start of their epic love story.

  Claire sighed behind her. “That shade of gold is perfect for you, Georgie. It looks lovely with your eyes.”

  Georgie’s gaze met her sister’s in the mirror and they both burst out in laughter. It had become their favorite joke, but only in private, of course. Georgie took her cue, lowering her voice and drawing her brows together to mimic that dark scowl the duke always seemed to wear.

  “You have green eyes,” she intoned, imparting all the scorn in the world.

  Claire shook her head. “We mustn’t mock. He is a duke, after all, not to mention my brother-in-law.”

  But even as she said it, Claire was laughing, her eyes alight with mischief. Over the past year that Claire had been married to Nicholas, she had become more and more comfortable letting that wicked side out into the light.

  Georgie loved the fact that Claire found a man who not only accepted her true nature, but who adored it. All those years her sister had made the ton believe she was so virtuous and good, but in the end she’d met and married the one man who’d seen the truth. She was good, but she was also human, with depths of feeling and an intelligence that few had acknowledged thanks to her flawless features and unassuming demeanor.

  But Nicholas had seen Claire in all her glory and he loved her—all of her.

  Georgie’s long sigh sounded silly and swooning even to her own ears. But really, her sisters’ love stories were ones to swoon over.

  Georgie turned to face her sister. “I’m not mocking—” At Claire’s knowing smirk, she relented. “Oh, all right, perhaps I am. But it is all in jest. I like Roxborough.”

  Her sister arched her brows. “Do you?”

  “I do.” She said it staunchly because she meant it. True, the duke was not exactly charming, or even terribly likeable with his constant glowering and his judgmental glares.

  But she liked him nonetheless. She always had. There was something about him that others did not seem to see. They were so busy cowering at the sight of that formidable glare that they did not look beyond it.

  Even Claire would laugh if she tried to explain it, but Georgie had caught a flicker of humanity in him on more than one occasion. He might have perfected the image of the upright, proper gentleman, just as Claire had been the perfect simpering miss once upon a time. But underneath that rigid exterior was a soft center, she felt quite certain of it. She knew without a doubt that she hadn’t imagined his momentary panic after he’d uttered those silly words about the color of her eyes and had realized what he’d inadvertently insinuated.

  Nor had she imagined other moments when she’d seen a chink in his armor. The duke might be self-righteous and forbidding, but he was human, and every man had his vulnerabilities.

  Granted, she nearly laughed aloud at even thinking the word vulnerability in context with the great and ominous duke. Tall and broad-shouldered, the man certainly looked as though he were unbreakable. And his demeanor fooled everyone into thinking he was unfeeling and humorless.

  But she knew better.

  Georgie liked to think she had a keen sense of character. She’d always enjoyed puzzling people out, seeing past what they wanted the world to see and into the human heart beneath.

  In that way she fancied herself a poet, to some extent. An artistic soul without the talent to express it. Which was why it was so very fitting that she’d found herself a true poet to wed.

  “I have to admit, I am surprised that you like Roxborough,” Claire said. Then she hesitated, and Georgie understood why in an instant.

  She flashed her sister a mischievous smile. “Why? Because he seems to dislike me so very much?”

  That startled a laugh out of Claire, as she’d intended. Claire folded her hands in her lap, a left over remnant of her rigid upbringing. “Yes, I suppose that’s why I am surprised.”

  Georgie laughed too. “You more than anyone ought to know how much I enjoy a challenge.”

  Claire’s pretty blue eyes sparkled with mirth. “Indeed, I do. I am quite certain that accounts for at least half of your current obsession with that poet fellow.”

  She scowled at her sister. “His name is Lord Malcolm, as you very well know.” She threw her chin up in the air with a sniff of only partially exaggerated self-righteous indignation. “And the fact that Mary Beaucraft has also set her cap for him is not the reason for my interest.”

  The truth niggled at her. She never had been able to tell a lie, even if it were a minor one. “Well, not all of it.”

  It was true that Lord Malcolm first came to her attention because Mary had seemed so smitten with him. She and Mary were of the same age and had similar tastes, in fashion and in gentlemen. They also both enjoyed being the center of attention and since there could typically only be one center to any social circle, this often left them as rivals.

  When they weren’t friends, of course. She truly did consider Mary a dear friend. She just wished her dear friend would stop trying to steal her thunder, so to speak.

  And there was no way she would concede on Lord Malcolm. Mary might have spotted him first, but everyone knew that Georgie was by far the more romantic of the two. If anyone were to be courted by a poet, it ought to be her.

  That thought buoyed her as she finished getting ready. It fueled the competitive side of her so she was bursting with energy by the time they went downstairs to meet the others. Nicholas looked dashing as ever alongside the ever beautiful Claire, and Georgie was heartened to see that their mother had joined them, looking noble and stoic beside Roxborough with her silver hair and her fiercely unreadable expression.

  It was clear where Roxborough got his temperament. Georgie had never met a lady with more armor around her person than the good duchess. But just like her son, the duchess showed glimpses of humanity. And in those rare moments, Georgie thought she might get on quite well with the older woman.

  By the time the season ended, Georgie decided, she would be dear friends with the duchess and at least on friendly terms with the duke. She already liked him, it was just a matter of getting him to like her.

  Just at that moment his gaze fell on her and she had the distinct impression that she had made an egregious error by walking down the stairs as she had done. Or perhaps it was just the way she smiled that bothered him so.

  The thought made her smile broaden and, sure enough, his glower intensified, his eyes narrowing on her as though she had just offended his honor.

  Heavens, but it would be fun to tease this man given the opportunity. Her lips twitched with the effort to keep from saying something that would poke a hole in his rigidness. Something that would make him laugh.

  She tilted her head back to better study him as she accepted his cold, but perfectly appropriate greeting and compliment when she reached his side.

  Yes, she would love to see him laugh. Preferably at himself, but she would accept any outward form of humor as a victory.

  “Shall we?” Nicholas said as he led the party out toward the carriages.

  There was not enough room for all of them in one so it was agreed that Nicholas and Claire would go on ahead in one, while Georgie accompanied the duke and his mother.

  “Good luck,”
Claire whispered with a laugh as she squeezed her hand before departing.

  She eyed her companions with as much meekness as she could muster. Good luck, indeed. It was a wonder Nicholas turned out so very amiable with a mother and brother so frighteningly rigid. But, she reminded herself, she had made the duchess laugh at least once with her Haversham impersonation. There was hope for her yet.

  The duke, on the other hand….

  She beamed up at him when he offered his arm. When in doubt, she was not above killing with kindness.

  He met her smile with a wary glare. Could a glare be wary? Somehow Roxborough managed it. The man was a true artisan with his brooding stares and glares and glowers. The thought turned her false smile real. She always had been able to amuse herself, if no one else.

  She accepted his help into the carriage and seated herself beside his mother, who looked miserable, though elegant, in her black dress.

  Despite their heavy silence, or perhaps because of it, Georgie filled the silence, avidly ignoring the duke’s disapproving glares as she did so.

  She did have a tendency to talk too much, of this she was aware. But the silence here made her nervous. Not only was the duchess a rather intimidating woman, but her son managed to make Her Grace seem meek and approachable in comparison.

  And it wasn’t just his permanent scowl or the judgmental coldness in those cold blue eyes. No, it was the fact that he had a way of looking at her as though he were looking straight into her soul. As though he saw straight past the pretty curls and the fashionable golden gown, straight past the upturned nose and gold-flecked green eyes… Why, she might have been a repulsive old spinster sitting across from him, or even his butler Hargrove, for that matter.

  He didn’t seem to notice her looks at all, but he never dropped his gaze and those blue eyes cut straight through her making her shiver.

  Oddly enough, his unnerving stare had the opposite affect that one might expect. It had always been this way with her. The more nervous she became, the more she spoke.

  Of course, the same could be said when she grew overly excited or too overset. Chattering on and on seemed to be her outlet for excessive emotions. Some women blushed, others swooned—she talked. And talked and talked and talked some more.