Page 21 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
“Do you know how long he intends to remain at Swan’s Inn?”
“Only for the night,” the barmaid replied, “as far as I am aware.”
Of course, that would be Colin’s strategy. This inn was far from London, diminishing the risks of him being caught with the young lady. His Grace and the lady would probably leave together and go to Lord Brookshire’s estate in Bath.
“I can ask him—”
“No need,” Perceval said. “I wish to surprise him, so if you would, keep my presence here a secret for now.”
“Of course, my Lord.”
Perceval waved a dismissive hand and took a generous gulp of the scotch. The barmaid was such a foolish young girl. But then, common girls were always so easy to manipulate. The same, regrettably, could not be said for men.
Perceval was certain that Colin had ruined everything. After months of learning Lady Deborah’s whereabouts, of following her, orwooingher, she had said those terrible words, “My Lord, I am betrothed to Lord Brookshire. I appreciate your attentions, but I am afraid they must cease.”
Lady Deborah had not made that decision of her own volition. She would never have denied her love for him, much less his for her. Perceval was certain that Colin had forced her hand. He had thought that Lord Brookshire was a more suitable match, simply because he was wealthier than Perceval was. It was apparent that Lady Deborah was desperate to be saved, and he knew precisely how to do it.
He would arrange for himself and Lady Deborah to be caught in a compromising position together. Doubtlessly, Lord Brookshire would not wed Lady Deborah, then. No one but Perceval would be willing to accept her after such a scandal, and Colin would bedesperateto see his sister wed.
Perceval waited for a ball, and he spoke to one of the maids. “Tell Lady Deborah that her brother wishes to speak privately with her in the gardens.”
The maid had not known the difference between Perceval and Colin, and she had obediently entered the ballroom in the search of Lady Deborah. It was the perfect plan, as Colin had not made an appearance on that particular occasion. Perceval had assumed that Colin did not plan to attend, and his surprise appearance would be all the more effective at encouraging Lady Deborah to come see him.
He had waited, keeping to the shadows until he saw the young lady coming down the path. She had not even brought an escort with her. “Colin?” she had asked.
Then, as Perceval emerged, the unthinkable happened. Colin himself appeared, and it took very little time for him to realise the truth of what had happened. Perceval was determined to defend his honour and ensure that his plan to wed Lady Deborah succeeded. A fight ensued, and regrettably, Colin emerged victoriously.
Perceval slinked away with a broken nose, two bruised eyes, and a wounded sense of pride. That day, he swore that he would ruin Colin for depriving him of his love and condemning Lady Deborah to a loveless marriage with Lord Brookshire. With a scowl, Perceval finished his scotch and slammed the glass on the table with more force than necessary.
Now, here was Colin with a lovely young miss and far from London. To Perceval, it was obvious what had occurred. The pair had met at one of the Season’s events, and Colin had invited the lady to visit him outside of London, where there was more privacy. When Colin and the lady returned to London, they would likely be engaged.
Well…
Perceval’s lips curled into a cruel smile, which would have chilled the blood of anyone who saw him. Seeing Colin with that young lady stirred the smouldering embers of anger within Perceval and forged them into a roaring inferno. Now he knew precisely what to do. He would ruin Colin’s life and his love, just as his own had been. Even better, Colin had no idea that Perceval was even there, and he would not know until it was much too late.
Chapter 11
Clarissa tried not to act as though she was uncomfortable, but she had the terrible suspicion that she was not entirely successful in that endeavour. Her mother and Lady Matilda were presently engaged in a passionate conversation about a new dye which Lady Matilda had seen whilst in Germany; it was an incomparably bright shade of green, which Lady Matilda insisted would soon become the most popular dye in Britain.
“Are you not interested in fabric dyes?” His Grace asked.
Clarissa blinked. It took her a heartbeat to realise that the Duke of Hartingdale spoke to her. “I think dyes are a worthy topic of discussion,” she said awkwardly, unsure that she had anything especially interesting to add.
His Grace arched an eyebrow, clearly not entirely convinced by her assertion. “I see.”
Clarissa smiled and took a sip of her drink to justify not speaking, while she tried to gather her thoughts. Did he suspect the real reason that Clarissa and her mother had happened to be in the same inn as Lady Matilda and himself?
“What else are you interested in?” he asked.
This was dreadfully awkward, and Clarissa was unsure if it was because of how intently he looked at her or if it was because his questions were so ordinary. There was something vaguely humorous about it all.
“The usual things that ladies are,” Clarissa said. “I suppose. I am well-versed in playing the pianoforte.”
She dared not mention that she wrote poetry. For one, her mother would be displeased with that answer, and Clarissa did not know if the Duke of Hartingdale would be satisfied with it either. She most certainly did not want their meal to include a conversation about the alleged superiority of male poets over their female counterparts.
At least her mother would find the answer satisfactory. Playing the pianoforte was an acceptable, feminine skill which no one would ever find objectionable.
“My sister is skilled at playing the pianoforte,” His Grace said.
