Four Dukes And A Devil Part 3

"Wait," Ellen said. "We are not finished talking to you."

"But I I am finished talking to you," Susan answered, her hand on the door handle. am finished talking to you," Susan answered, her hand on the door handle.

"But we didn't come about the scene in the library," Ellen said. "One of your charges, Lady Theresa, I believe, was crying her eyes out in the Ladies' Retiring Room. We thought you would want to know."

"See? We do offer you our support," Jane said, cattily.

Susan didn't make a response but opened the door and left the room.

In the corridor, she tried her best to think clearly. It was hard when she was so hurt and angry by her sisters' response to this crisis, and it was a devil of a fix. The best solution was to avoid the duke completely, which shouldn't be hard. After all, because of her, he wasn't being invited to anything.

The realization was a calming balm for her frantic thoughts. For the first time since she'd heard news of the wager, Susan drew a full breath and released it. All would be well. She needed to focus her attention on her charges. The Duke of Killeigh could take care of himself.

She hurried to the set of rooms set aside for the convenience of the ladies. Lady Theresa was not there, although the attending maid had seen her earlier, "Sobbing her eyes out." Susan left to search for her in the ballroom.

However, just as she entered the ballroom, the butler announced, in grand, round tones, a new arrival to the ball. "His Grace, the Duke of Killeigh."

Susan froze. She dared not take another step into the room. Was it her imagination that everyone turned almost as one and looked right at her?

Almost as one the crowd stepped back, creating a direct line between her and the duke standing proudly in the doorway. He looked magnificently handsome in his tailored black evening attire. That irrational, confusing pull between them was even stronger than it had been when first they'd met.

This wasn't just any man; this was one she had been fated to meet.

And then she thought of the wager...

Chapter Five

Roan savored the moment. All eyes in the room, including those of the musicians, who rumor said had put down a quid or two of their own on the wager, were on him and the lovely Miss Rogers.

He had to admit, she had been amazingly easy to conquer. He'd barely even had to lay siege. One wager to catch the imagination of the ton, ton, and she hadn't stood a chance. and she hadn't stood a chance.

He walked forward.

Miss Rogers stood completely composed, but there was a gleam of anger in her golden brown eyes. She didn't like losing any more than he did.

However, she'd been neatly outflanked.

As for himself, he'd never felt more alive in his life. He could literally feel the rush of his own blood through his veins, the pounding of his heart.

He didn't bow. He was a duke, after all. But he inclined his head and offered one gloved hand. "Miss Rogers, would you do me the honor of a dance?"

The room had gone so silent, his words seemed to echo off the wall-or was that because in one split second, he'd found himself anxious as to her response, and not because his pride was on the line.

No, he wanted to know how she'd feel in his arms. He had a sudden need to know the scent of her skin and feel her move close to him in harmony.

Her long lashes swept down toward her cheeks.

The room seemed to hold a collective breath, one Roan discovered he held himself.

Her gloved hand came up to rest in his as she dipped into a small curtsy. "I would be honored, Your Grace."

Triumph shot through him-and not because of the wager.

It was as if something he'd long sought was now in his sights. This woman was unlike any other. He knew it with a conviction that went all the way to his bones.

The room had come alive with her response. He could hear murmurs around him and knew those who had wagered against him must be spitting with frustration at how easily she had yielded to his request.

Roan turned to lead her to the dance floor. Their audience stepped back to allow them pa.s.sage. They'd not taken more than two steps when Miss Rogers made a sharp gasp of a pain and started to fall forward. She caught herself before he could and straightened, placing all her weight on one foot.

Those demure long lashes at last raised for her eyes to meet his. "I'm so sorry, Your Grace. I seem to have twisted my ankle. I won't be able to dance." She let go of his hand and limped back a step, practically hopping on one foot to demonstrate. "I beg you, please find another partner."

She didn't wait for his response but hobbled awkwardly away from him.

Now, he'd been outflanked.

Worse, the majority of people in the room knew, too. Many outwardly grinned.

In two steps he came up beside her. Hooking her arm in his, he said, "Please, let me help you, Miss Rogers. I feel completely responsible for your accident."

She tried to disentangle herself. "It is not your fault, Your Grace. I pray you, please choose another partner."

He tightened his hold. "I would be less than gallant to desert you after causing such an injury."

"Your Grace-" she started to protest, but he cut her off by swinging her up in his arms.

"Let me carry you to a chair," he said, moving toward a set of chairs in a corner of the rooms.

Laughter started all around them. Bright spots of color appeared on Miss Rogers's cheeks. There would be h.e.l.l to pay once she could set her tongue loose on him, but Roan now had the answer to some of his questions: She felt good in his arms, and there was no perfume that smelled better than the scent of her.

Realizing their audience, he enjoyed making a great show of making her comfortable in a chair. He had a servant fetch a footstool, but instead of setting her foot upon it, he sat himself, reached for her ankle, and rested it on his thigh.

"Your Grace," she protested, trying to pull her foot away from him. He held fast, even going so far as to slide her kid slipper off her foot. "This is unseemly," she whispered furiously at him.

"We must be careful," he said with a straight face. "A twisted ankle is quick to swell. I think it must be wrapped. Fetch bandages," he ordered the footman.

She leaned forward, speaking for his ears alone, "I don't need it wrapped. Please, Your Grace. It will be fine."

"You don't want me or the rest of this fine company to believe you have twisted your ankle accidentally on purpose, do you?"

She studied him a moment, then looked around, realizing that even though the music and conversations had started up again, they were being closely watched. She settled back in her chair, turning her head away from him. "This is ridiculous."

"Yes, isn't it?" Roan agreed with mild amus.e.m.e.nt although he didn't mind having Miss Rogers's foot in his lap. She had a nice foot, as attractive and well formed as the rest of her. He couldn't resist covertly running his thumb along the inside of her arch.

Her toes curled, but she pressed her lips together, stoically-and he had a flash of insight.

"It isn't just me, is it? Or this Irish duke nonsense. You want to keep all men at bay."

She turned to him, her eyes widening. For a second, she was speechless, and he knew he was right even before the denial reached her lips. "I wish I hadn't started this nonsense," she murmured.

"Yes, it's bringing me too close."

Her brows came together in a frown. "Would you stop that? We are in a roomful of people with prying ears."

"No, I don't believe I will," he said. "I'm ready to be done with games or guessing." He leaned forward. "And I don't care that we are surrounded by people. In fact, I welcome it because what I'm feeling right now is real. Surprisingly real."

She pulled back, resting her hands on the armrests. "Please, don't speak to me that way, Your Grace."

"Why not?" he asked evenly, watching her every move, every breath.

"Because..." She looked away.

He waited.

Her gaze swung back to meet his, her vulnerability clear in the depths of her somber eyes. "I don't trust what I feel when you are near," she whispered.

Her candor went straight to his heart, momentarily stunning him by the intensity of his own reaction.

When he didn't speak immediately, she rushed on, "There can never be anything between us-"

Roan found his voice. "Why not?"

"Because," she said as if it were an explanation.

"Because I'm Irish?" he demanded.

"No," she hurried to say. "Because you are a duke. Because you could do so much better than I. Because I've made choices in my life that have been unconventional-" She paused, and a shudder went through her before she finished, "Because I'm old."

Roan had been listening to her litany of objections, but that she thought herself old startled him enough to laugh. He regretted his response the moment the lines of her face tightened.

Not wanting her to form the wrong impression, he reached for her hand. "Anyone believing Miss Susan Rogers is so ancient as to be on the shelf is a daft fool," he said. "As to the others, let me be the judge of the sort of wife I want. I don't live my life for others, and advise you to follow my lead. Most people don't know what they want, so they settle for rules and the opinions of others. Be brave, Miss Rogers. Be bold."

"If only it were that easy, Your Grace," she said sadly.

"It is."

Abruptly, her whole manner changed. She pulled her hand from his. "Lord and Lady Alberth."

Roan could have cursed the interruption. He had been so intent on Miss Rogers, he'd forgotten they were in a crowded ballroom. He rose, placing Miss Rogers stockinged foot on the stool. "Alberth," he said greeting.

His lordship did not acknowledge him. Instead, he snapped to Miss Rogers, "Have you seen our daughter?"

Miss Rogers pushed herself out of the chair. "I was looking for her, my lord," she said. "When I was-" She broke off as if words failed her. "Distracted," she finished weakly, awkwardly slipping on her shoe.

Roan offered a hand to help her, but she ignored him.

"I want my daughter," Alberth said, his voice tight with rage. "I want her now."

"My lord," his worried wife said. "We don't know that she could have run off with Gerald Grover-"

"She shouldn't have been given the opportunity," Alberth said. "She"-he nodded to Miss Rogers-"was supposed to keep her eyes on her."

"Let us adjourn this discussion to a more private place," Roan said, moving to stand between the very angry Alberth and Miss Rogers. Too many people were taking an avid interest in the conversation.

"The only thing I'm going to do is find my daughter, Your Grace. This woman was supposed to watch her."

"Alberth, you are working yourself up over nothing-"

"Nothing? She's my only child, Your Grace. I must protect her. And while I worry, this woman"-he nodded toward Miss Rogers-"is-is She's my only child, Your Grace. I must protect her. And while I worry, this woman"-he nodded toward Miss Rogers-"is-is diddling diddling away with-with-" His voice broke off as if he realized he'd best think better of what he was saying. away with-with-" His voice broke off as if he realized he'd best think better of what he was saying.

"With me me?" Roan asked pointedly, daring Alberth to go further.

"Please, Your Grace," Miss Rogers said, taking a step forward.

Roan held up a protective arm, wanting to shield her from Alberth's ridiculous accusations. However, before any of them could go further, a group of young women pushed their way through the growing audience around them.

"Miss Rogers," one of the girls said. "Here is Lady Theresa."

A very attractive dark-haired girl came forward. "Father, I'm right here," she said in a low, embarra.s.sed voice. "I've never left. And Gerald wasn't here either."

"Where have you been?" a worried Lady Alberth demanded. "I've been looking everywhere."

Lady Theresa glanced around at the number of people surrounding them, then whispered in her mother's ear. Lady Alberth's eyes opened in surprised delight. She whispered to Alberth, whose anger evaporated.

"Haven's son?" he repeated. The Earl of Haven's son was said to be the catch of the Season.

"She was in the supper room with Haven's son," Alberth told the room at large.

There were appropriate murmurs of appreciation at the coup, and Lady Theresa blushed appropriately. "After Miss Rogers talked to me the other evening, I started to think that perhaps she was right. Perhaps I should be open to the addresses of other gentlemen." Her gaze softened when she looked at a young blond-haired fellow, Haven's son, who had joined the crowd around them.

"Well," Roan said, "it appears someone is owed an apology."

"Your Grace," Miss Rogers protested.

Roan shook his head. "No, the man made accusations that were unjustified, and he should apologize." He turned to Alberth. "Won't you, my lord?" He edged his words with a hint of steel.

"She should have known where my daughter was," Alberth answered.

"You didn't even know where your daughter was," Roan countered, and received several nods of agreement from their audience. didn't even know where your daughter was," Roan countered, and received several nods of agreement from their audience.

Alberth was not one to enjoy apologizing. He hedged and shifted his weight, then said, "Very well. I regret the misunderstanding."