The Duke of Honour

All eyes turned to the towering frame of Alistair Wraxall, the Duke of Darbleton, as he crossed the threshold of Lady Yardley’s ballroom. Quiet murmurs spread throughout those gathered for the biggest squeeze of the season- the coming out ball for Lady Yardley’s youngest daughter, Miss Emma Yardley. Miss Yardley, finishing up a dance with a dashing young suitor and linking arms with her older sister, Miss Kate Yardley, made her way towards the lemonade stand.

‘The pluck of that man, to stroll in here as though it wasn’t only a sennight ago that he ruined my best friend,’ Miss Emma whispered to her sister, her cheeks flushed and her voice catching on the words. Miss Kate Yardley looked at her sister with sympathetic affection. It certainly had been the scandal of the season when Miss Evelina Penworth was found in the observatory, unchaperoned, with the Duke, the most notorious rake society had ever seen. How she had allowed it to happen, no one could comprehend. A beauty, with impeccable manners and breeding. It was a shock to all when she had submitted so willingly to the lures thrown by the Duke. Miss Evelina now found herself an outcast, sent to the country by her father to ride out the scandal, or seek marriage to an eligible gentleman not privy to the goings-on of the London season.

Lord Wraxhall, Kate observed, appeared entirely unconcerned with the scrutiny of the Ton. He raked a hand casually through the mop of black hair upon his head- not styled in the latest fashion, or any fashion at all, but falling perfectly, as though each hair had been placed in position by some unearthly force. The precise cut of his coat put every contour of his strapping frame on display, but his neckcloth, tied in devil-may-care fashion, spoke of anything but the dandy. This was a man who strode through society as though he owned it. Untouchable. Beyond reproach, no matter the reproach that came in droves for the destruction he wrought with every step. 

Evelina had not been the first impressionable female ruined by the Duke. She was only the latest in a long line of conquests. Why he did it, nobody knew. If it was simply an insatiable lust for untouched beauties, one wondered why he didn’t simply take a mistress and be done with it. What satisfaction could be wrought from brief interludes in conservatories, and gardens, when the Duke had ample means to support a willing Bird of Paradise.

Strange though, that in the brief tete-a-tete the sisters had been granted with Miss Evelina before she departed for the country, she had disclosed that the Duke had not laid a hand on her. He had procured her a lemonade, then walked with her, arm in arm, to the conservatory. There, he had done nothing but talk to her of the most mundane things- the soup served at supper, and the weather that day, which had been unseasonably cool. That was, until footsteps had been heard in the corridor outside. Then, the Duke had moved to her elbow, and she had felt the faintest touch of his hand on her waist, right before the door was flung open and they were discovered. Evelina had been only too aware of the error she had made and had hoped that the Duke would do the honourable thing and propose. But that was a fool’s wish. No proposal was forthcoming, just as it hadn’t been for the many females who had met similar fates at the hands of the Duke. The Duke had simply shrugged, denied any wrongdoing, left the observatory, the ball, and Evelina to her fate, without so much as a glance back over his shoulder. The callousness. The calculated coolness. Kate could admit to herself, and no one else, that curiosity over the Duke’s behaviour had consumed her ever since.   

‘Do you not think it strange that the Duke made no move to… seduce our dear friend, Emma?’ Kate asked, watching the Duke make his way towards a throng of fair ladies, and produce his handsome- if devilish- grin that made all five of them swoon in unison. 

‘No move to seduce?’ Emma asked, incredulously. ‘He took her, unchaperoned, to the observatory. Had they not been interrupted-,’ Emma shuddered. ‘I don’t envy Evelina her fate, but I hate to imagine what would have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted. It is clear that the Duke is the very embodiment of a rake. How my dear friend would have suffered- all because of a weakness for a charming smile and a set of eyes that could melt iron, the way they smoulder.’

‘I hope you display no such weakness,’ Kate admonished her younger sister.

Emma laughed weakly. ‘I am not entirely immune to the Duke’s charms, as I’m sure you are not, sister. But you and I must make a pact. We shall not allow ourselves to become another victim in his cruel game of seduction.’

‘Of course, Em. We shall not fall victim,’ Kate said, taking a sip of her lemonade to divert attention from her eyes, which followed the Duke’s path to the dancefloor with a beauty on his arm. ‘We shall remain steadfast in our resistance.’

‘For Evelina,’ Emma vowed.

‘For Evelina.’

***

A successful debut for Emma meant that her dance card was full, and her attention occupied, when Kate went to take air on the ballroom terrace. Their mother was so busy with hosting duties that she had not the time, nor inclination, to trail her eldest daughter around. Kate, in her fourth season without a proposal, was surely able to hold her own at a gathering such as this one. 

Kate was attractive in ways that many females were not. She dressed in the latest fashion. This evening, her lavender gown of muslin, set in the empire fashion, perfectly offset her chestnut locks. She had the sort of eyes that could draw a gentleman’s attention and keep it there, and lips that had almost tempted several potential suitors into offering for her hand to become better acquainted with them. However, it was also those lips that got her in to trouble. A light-hearted conversation could be turned in an instant by a sharp set-down, or a seemingly careless remark that caused the utmost offence to the unsuspecting recipient. Kate didn’t mean to do it. She simply said what she thought, with little consideration for the consequences. 

It had been this slight personality flaw which had seen several proposals go up in flames. The unwitting Lord Randall had been thoroughly put out when Kate had commented on the outdated way he tied his cravat. The enterprising Lord Griffin had found himself unable to follow through with his offer when Miss Kate had made it clear she found his interest in architecture a dead bore. And as for her shy cousin Frederick- the offer on the tip of his tongue was quickly swallowed when Kate remarked that she had never suspected that Frederick would grow up to be completely mawkish, when he commented on the exquisite hazel of her eyes. 

Kate felt the presence of the Duke on the terrace before she saw him. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as the slow, heavy footsteps moved towards her. With a fortifying breath, she turned to face the villain of the Ton, who approached with a glass of gin in one hand, and the other in the pocket of his breeches. The Duke inclined his head in silent acknowledgement and leaned against the railing of the terrace.

‘Miss Yardley,’ his deep voice drawled. 

Kate stiffened instantly. ‘My Lord,’ she responded, meeting his eyes with a challenge in her own. 

‘Your sister has made a fine impression this evening. I admit to surprise that you are not similarly occupied on that cursed dance floor, with a bevy of suitors at your disposal.’

‘I admit to surprise that your hand can fit in your pocket with breeches so tight,’ Miss Kate retorted, with more venom than necessary. For Evelina. 

The insult was met with a wry laugh. ‘Indeed. A cut, Miss Yardley.’

‘I’m sure a cut from I holds no weight with you, My Lord.’ 

Kate turned to make for the ballroom but was halted by that deep drawl, lazy but calculated. ‘A dreadful squeeze in there. Do you not find the night air a good deal more enticing?’

The words seemed to reverberate in her very being. Enticing the night air might be, but that voice… Kate’s feet seemed to find their own way back, closing the gap between herself and the Duke without her consent. ‘What is your game, My Lord? Only last week, you lured my good friend into your clutches. This week, you appear intent on a spinster for your prey.’

‘Brilliant,’ the Duke muttered, his eyes fixed on Kate’s. 

‘What is?’ she asked sharply. 

‘The way your eyes draw daggers when you are cross. I’ve never seen anything like it in a woman.’

Kate felt her heart quicken, and her cheeks heat, but what she couldn’t ignore was the voice in her head that told her that here was a riddle to be solved. A dangerous riddle. A puzzle that perhaps should be left in pieces, untouched. But what harm could come to one who was never likely to marry anyway in attempting to place the pieces together? And what good could come of finding out, once and for all, why the Duke was intent on tearing down any young female he could sink his talons into?

‘We are alone, my Lord. I am unchaperoned. Daggers in my eyes will do little to protect me should another seek refuge on this terrace and find us thus.’

A crooked smile spread across the face of the Duke. Seemingly unconcerned, he sipped his gin, then removed his hand from his pocket, and gently grazed a finger across Kate’s chin. A touch so unfamiliar, so bold and unexpected, that a lesser female would have flinched. Kate felt the touch to her core, but remained unmoved, her hazel eyes steadily meeting the dark brown of the Duke’s. ‘Perhaps you would like to continue our pleasantries somewhere more private.’

There it was. The trap, laid bare, that so many others had walked into before her. Kate could see it, plain as day, and knew, too, that she could resist it, no matter the inexplicable pull of her body towards the Duke’s. What she couldn’t counter was the intrigue that was quickly overpowering her. Deep inside her was a need to know what would possess a man- however rakish he may be- to ruin young women of quality for sport. 

‘Where did you have in mind, My Lord?’

***

Kate pushed the thoughts of her mother and sister to the very back of her mind as she stepped from the Duke’s coach to the street below, and he shepherded her inside the inn. They couldn’t be far from the heart of London. The trip had been short, and quiet. The Duke hadn’t spoken the entire way. He sat across from her, his eyes fixed on some distant point that Kate guessed wasn’t tangible, but rather mental. The look of a man deep in thought. 

On her face, the look of a woman trying not to think at all. If she thought, she would realise she had already gone too far. If she was to be recognised at the inn, any feeble prospect of marriage that remained for her would be shredded. Her parents would never send her away- that she knew. She was not expected to marry, regardless of this evening’s all-too-likely misadventure. Her parents had long since given up hope of Kate being able to keep her tongue still long enough not to parlay the advances of an eligible suitor before he could be brought up to scratch. 

Ruining herself was not Kate’s greatest fear. Undoubtedly, her sister’s reputation would also be hurt by this escapade. But still, Kate had a greater concern. She had little idea what she was getting herself into. Not having ever been betrothed, she had not been privy to the betrothal talk mothers gave their daughters before their wedding night. Would this man, who seemed able to turn her insides to soup with the very tone of his voice, be the one to educate her this very evening? To take liberties that were not his to take, but that she could hardly reason away, given the situation she had put herself in. 

Kate stood behind Lord Wraxhall with her cloak pulled up over her head as he spoke in hushed tones to the innkeeper. They were known to each other, no doubt. Kate wondered how many ladies the Duke had brought to this very establishment before her. 

‘Send Smith to the room shortly,’ the Duke said, ‘with refreshments.’ 

Moments later, the door closed behind Kate and the Duke, and they were scandalously alone in a private sitting room. The Duke loosened his cravat, and sat down at the small dining table, crossing one leg over the other, and removing his snuffbox from his coat. ‘Remove your cloak,’ he said to Kate, with a casual flick of his hand towards the other seat. ‘Sit.’ Kate found herself unwillingly obeying the nonchalant command. ‘You surprise me, Miss Yardley,’ the Duke said, casting his eyes over Kate’s frame, then meeting her eyes, which held steady, despite her increasing nerves. ‘I thought you had more sense than to accompany a notorious rake to an inn.’

‘Sense, I have. Curiosity, I have in spades,’ Kate responded, and she was proud as her voice didn’t falter as she asked, ‘What do you plan to do to me, My Lord, now that I have followed you here?’

‘What all notorious rakes do to pretty young females in inns such as these,’ the Duke drawled. Kate’s stomach turned, but on her face, a raised eyebrow was all she offered. The wry smile returned to the face of the Duke. ‘Take refreshments.’

A knock at the door preceded it opening, and a tray filled with cold meats and sweets was laid down. ‘Smith. Accept my thanks.’ The servant inclined his head to the Duke, and Kate almost gasped as the wry smile that spread across his face matched that of the rake’s to precision. ‘Busy at the inn tonight,’ the Duke remarked.

‘Right you are, My Lord,’ the servant responded. 

The Duke’s eyes met Kate’s, and in that instant, she knew her fate was sealed. The gleam she saw there was one of pure malice. A man who knew he had won another round. ‘My fair acquaintance, Miss Yardley, requires a message to be sent to her mother and father, Viscount and Lady Yardley. Let them know Miss Yardley’s whereabouts and desire their presence here directly to collect their charge.’ The gleam sharpened. ‘And as always, be discreet, Smith.’

‘Of course, My Lord,’ Smith said with a bow, and exited the room, another wry smile meeting that of the Duke’s. 

Miss Yardley, barely able to command her tongue to speak, spat out, ‘That man. He’s-‘

The Duke smiled. ‘Dear Miss Yardley, you seem flustered.’

‘T- the resemblance- he must be-'

‘My brother, yes.’ 

‘But how can this be? That you are a Lord, and he is-'

‘A servant? The answer is simple, my dear. My father cavorted with a servant. My brother was the product of such. And despite being born just as strong, and clever, and capable as I, he was destined from birth to a life of poverty and servitude.’ Bitterness seeped through the Duke’s tone as he continued. ‘A fine life we lead, Miss Yardley. Those of us born to privilege and gaiety. Balls, and soirees. Parading around the park like peacocks with our feathers on full display. While those we consider beneath us- well, someone has to lick our boots clean and empty our chamber pots, do they not?’

Kate stuttered, ‘This- this is why you do it, isn’t it?’

The Duke leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table before him. ‘Do what, Miss Yardley? What, exactly, have I done?’

‘Lure young women, too foolish to know better, into your clutches, only to ruin them? It’s revenge. Revenge on the Ton. Destroying families from within, and with it, our very way of life.’

The Duke acknowledged the truth of the statement with a simple incline of his head. ‘I took a vow when I came of age, Miss Yardley. That society would pay for the life my brother has been forced to endure.'

Kate stood, and pressed a hand to her mouth as the full gravity of what she had heard sunk in. Then with a rallying breath, she spoke. ‘Lord Wraxhall, I am no fool. I know your instructions to your brother to be discreet were nothing but your cue to make my presence here known to the Ton, with haste, to bring about my downfall.’ The wry smile was the only response. Miss Yardley continued, her voice calm and soft. ‘But when I fall, I will fall, knowing it was to the most honourable man I have ever met.’

Miss Yardley and the Duke both jerked their heads to the door, as it burst open to reveal Lord and Lady Yardley. Lord Yardley’s eyes blazed at the Duke. ‘I’ll kill you!’ he shouted, his voice simmering with rage. 

The Duke’s features remained unmoved, but he pulled his gaze from where they had settled on Miss Yardley’s eyes and stood from his chair. ‘Lord Yardley. You received my message. I’m glad. I wish to ask for your daughter’s hand.’ His own hand, he extended to Miss Yardley, who extended hers to place it within. ‘The most honourable woman I have ever met.’