Page 21 of One Night for Seduction
Colewishedhe was on a plum committee. Perhaps then his brain would have something productive to ruminate upon, rather than replay every maddening moment of his interactions with Diana Middleton.
When Thad had claimed his ward was unmarriageable, Cole had assumed her lack of suitors was due to a plain countenance, or slow-wittedness, or perhaps some sort of clumsiness that kept her from being a desirable dance partner. Green bucks were often superficial in their requirements for a wife.
But the lady was beautiful, clever, surefooted, sure-everythinged. If she lacked suitors, Cole now suspected she had frightened them off on purpose.
“Well?” Eastleigh drawled.
“Diana Middleton,” Cole muttered, and lifted his ale to his lips before he could be prevailed upon to clarify.
“He’s losing?” Someone blurted out in disbelief.
“Check the book,” someone else shouted in delight. “I put ten quid on an end to the winning streak!”
“I’m notlosing.” Cole set down his ale. “I have until the end of the season, which you might recall only began this week.”
“Definitely losing,” Eastleigh stage-whispered, to the crowd’s delight.
Cole glared at his best friend.
Eastleigh clinked his mug against Cole’s. “May all the women in your life never give you a moment’s peace.”
“May the one who got away find her way back,” Cole shot back.
Eastleigh choked on his ale.
“Another round,” Langford called out.
“And a bib for Eastleigh!” someone else shouted.
Everyone was laughing again, including Cole. He couldn’t help it. No matter what was going on outside, the Wicked Duke always put him in a fine mood.
The tavern was more than just a familiar haven where everyone knew his name, and was pleased to see him every time he walked through the door. He’d enjoyed their company for years. Heknewthem; and they him. A simple thing, but one Cole took great comfort in.
When he’d first arrived in Oxford, he’d been “befriended” by a group of Janus-faced lads who mocked Cole behind his back at every turn. Everything marked him as an outsider. His accent, his discomfort in his clothes, his occasional failure to respond when addressed by his new title, to realize that “Your Grace” referred tohim. To that lot, he’d been nothing more than an object of ridicule.
Meeting Eastleigh and his friends had changed everything.
Suddenly, Cole found himself surrounded by lads who were exactly who they presented themselves to be. Rogues, every last one of them. Cole and Eastleigh were the worst of the lot. Genuine, honest, and unapologetically mischievous. They’d earned the moniker “wicked dukes” and lived up to their reputations. Not just as impish scoundrels, but also as formidable opponents in the classroom and out.
He’d sworn never to waste time with two-faced hypocrites ever again.
Cole no longer remembered who had dared them to open a tavern and call it the Wicked Duke. He was just glad they had. The unpretentious public house had succeeded far beyond anyone’s expectations.
“To the Wicked Duke,” he said and lifted his mug.
“To the Wicked Duke!” his friends chorused back.
Cole grinned and took a swig of ale.
“What are you going to do with Miss Middleton?” Eastleigh murmured.
An image of plump, rosy lips and teasing blue eyes filled him with sudden want.
“Nothing,” he managed, unable to wipe the tantalizing image from his mind. “Marry her off.”
“I assume you’ve prepared a list of likely candidates.”
Cole lifted his beer rather than reply.
