Page 30 of How to Tempt a Duke

“Thank you. Your tea is always top-notch.”

“You flatter me.” She did not appear flattered. She appeared as though she wished to be anywhere but there. “I presume there is a reason for your visit?”

He ought to ask for the journals and be done with it. It was, after all, why he’d come. A quick glance at Lady Eleanor’s tightly pressed mouth and her blatant attempt to keep from meeting his gaze were evidence enough of her anger at his ruse. Asking for the journals would surely leave her further incensed.

The Countess plucked a lump of sugar with the sugar tongs and lifted her brows with impatient expectation.

Damn it. There was only one thing he might do and possibly retain his budding relationship with Lady Eleanor and get the hell out of this mess.

Charles held his cup and blew at a curl of steam while he gathered his composure. “I intend to court your daughter and came to seek your approval.”

The Countess’s mouth fell open and the lump of sugar splashed into her tea with an indelicate plop. “Surely you jest?”

The skin along the back of his neck prickled with Charles’s awareness of Lady Eleanor’s observation. He glanced in her direction and found her staring at him not like a woman eager to be courted by a duke, but a woman wholly and completely bewildered.

Frustration tightened through him. Why the devil hadn’t she gone to the modiste?

“I do not jest,” he said levelly.

“I was not aware you had even been introduced.” The Countess of Westix stirred her tea, seemingly quite recovered. “You are the son of the Duke of Somersville and a member of the Adventure Club. I have seen the accounts of what transpired within that club.” Her lip curled with censure. “I am well aware that you have begun traveling, as your father once did, and I can assure you that you will never acquire leave to court my daughter.”

Charles’s heart thudded harder in his chest. The Countess of Westix had seen accounts of the club’s adventures. The journals. She did have them.

Her face had gone an unpleasant shade of red and she had folded her lips on themselves in an obvious attempt to stop herself from saying more. “Is that all, Your Grace?” She drew out the last words, making the title seem less of an honor and more of an offense.

“Yes, I believe it is.” Charles set his tea on the table, regrettably untouched, and got to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Your Ladyship.” He let his gaze finally fall on Eleanor and found her staring up at him, her expression unreadable, her cheeks a bright red. He nodded in her direction. “Lady Eleanor.”

He bowed to them both.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace.” The Countess of Westix lifted her tea to her mouth, took a sip, and looked out through the window into the gardens with an air of clear dismissal.

Charles took his leave, stopping only to gather his hat and coat from the footman, and even those he was sorely tempted to abandon in an attempt to flee all the faster.

Having faced such utter failure in his alternative attempt to collect the journals from the Countess, he was now forced back to his initial idea—to win over Lady Eleanor and convince her to give it to him.

He only hoped he had not pushed her away with the unexpected shock of his offer to court her and with the greatness of his lie. But, more than that, he hated it that this new change in plan might somehow see her hurt.

After an hour of her mother’s fuming, and far too many seedcakes, Eleanor made her way to her room. No longer was she in shock—she was angry.

How dared Lord Charles—His Grace the Duke—put her in such a position?

She’d had to lie, of course, building on his perfidy in order to protect Lottie, who had doubtless had no part in this. Eleanor could not abide the idea of that sweet woman receiving punishment from the Countess of Westix for Somersville’s deceit. But why had he asked to court Eleanor?

Why not wait until the ball, allow himself to be properly introduced to her, and then ask to court her?

The idea of him doing exactly that swam in her mind. Him impossibly handsome in some roguish costume, her in a glittering gown made for an Ice Queen, taking a turn about the room, dancing, laughing, speaking at length.

It was a whimsical dream. Most likely a foolish one.

A nudge of something uncomfortable crawled into her mind. She’d mentioned she would be at the modiste. How terribly odd that he should arrive unexpectedly to offer courtship when he had known she would be out.

She recalled the look of choked surprise when he first saw her. He had not expected her to be there.

For all his bravado in speaking out to her mother, Eleanor knew one thing for certain: he had not visited in order to ask to court her. He’d been there for something else, and she would find out exactly what he was after.

Chapter Ten

Charles hadn’t thought Lady Eleanor’s back could possibly get any straighter. But then she hadn’t known him to be so blatant a liar and a fraud before. His stomach swam with unease as he peered through the door crack to where Lady Eleanor was perched tightly on a chair in Lottie’s drawing room.