Olivia and the Masked Duke Read online

  “Good,” he said softly.

  “I also promise to fulfill my debt of honor to you,” she said.

  “A debt of honor?”

  Now he seemed amused. The crinkles fanning from his eyes and the slow curve of his smile made him look younger, less like an aloof adult and more like a roguish boy. Livy wasn’t certain of his exact age but knew that he was younger than Aunt Bea, whose twenty-seventh birthday celebration Livy had attended that summer. He was probably somewhere in his mid-twenties…old, but not quite ancient.

  “You are a hero, Your Grace,” she said solemnly. “I owe you my life, and from this day forth, I pledge you my allegiance.”

  “I am no hero,” he said with rough certainty. “And you owe me nothing, little queen.”

  He was wrong. She owed him everything.

  And one day, when she was old enough, she would repay him.

  2

  1848, London, England

  Livy is 19; Ben is 31

  Livy was enjoying the ball her parents had given to mark her nineteenth birthday. After dancing most of the evening, she took a respite with her best friends, Lady Glory Cavendish and Miss Fiona Garrity. The trio was in a ballroom alcove shielded by a row of palms and a rosewood screen. Livy’s parents were chatting with guests a few feet away on the other side…and Livy heard a deep, distinctive voice enter their conversation.

  Although she couldn’t make out the words, she would recognize that gravelly male voice anywhere. And if her mind knew who it was, then her body corroborated it: awareness tickled her nape like a feather. Her heart thumped as eagerly as the tail of a dog greeting its master. The warm tug at her center tightened every inch of her skin, its heady grip surpassing that of her corset. The tips of her breasts budded and throbbed against her bodice.

  She sat up straighter, breathing, “He’s here.”

  “Who is?” Glory asked absently.

  The alcove was furnished with a settee, which Livy and Glory shared. Glory’s russet curls were tilted to one side as she perused a newspaper she’d managed to filch from somewhere. Her pet ferret, Ferdinand II, was curled around her neck like a white fur scarf and appeared to be reading along with her.

  Perched on an adjacent chair, Fiona rolled her azure eyes. “Who do you think?”

  Her flame-red ringlets gleaming, Fiona sipped daintily at a flute of champagne. The youngest of the three at seventeen, Fi had made her debut this year. With her beauty and sparkling confidence, she’d taken Society by storm. It was widely rumored that she had broken the record for Most Proposals Received by a Lady in her Coming Out Year, and the betting book at White’s was apparently overflowing with wagers over who would eventually win her hand.

  One of Fiona’s most endearing traits was that she didn’t take things too seriously, including her own popularity. She was having too much fun for that.

  “Who is the one person whose presence our dear Livy would care about?” Fi went on.

  “Shh. Not so loud.” Livy’s gaze darted to the screen. “What if he hears you?”

  “Are we talking about the Duke of Hadleigh?” Not sounding particularly enthused, Glory looked up from the paper. Ferdinand II did the same. “I thought His Grace sent his regrets?”

  The same age as Livy, Glory was less interested in finding romance and more in locating the next adventure. Indeed, the three girls’ mutual love of escapades had bonded them since they were children. If it hadn’t been for her friends, Livy’s adolescent years at Mrs. Southbridge’s Finishing School for Young Ladies would have been dreadful. Being a girl who knew her own mind had often put her out of step with others. Luckily, Glory and Fi were cut from the same cloth and, what was more, shared the same sense of loyalty. A haughty classmate had dubbed them the “Willflowers” as an insult, yet the trio had taken on the name with pride.

  “He did, but he came after all,” Livy whispered back.

  The excitement bubbling through her was more potent than champagne. For months now, she had kept her passion for Hadleigh bottled up. The event that had triggered her realization of her romantic feelings had been impossible for her to bring up to him. The wicked memories of what she’d seen him doing in the stables sizzled through her, leaving her confused, alarmed, and…stimulated.

  She didn’t know how to tell Hadleigh what she wanted, especially when he persisted in treating her as if she were still a child and he an older brother or uncle. She cherished their friendship and feared ruining it and losing him altogether. When he’d wrestled her from Death’s grip seven years ago, a bond had forever been forged between them. Her heart beat because of him…and, she had come to realize, for him. Yet for the first time in her life, she had been afraid to go after what she wanted because she had never wanted anything this much.

  She feared that she wasn’t beautiful and worldly enough for an urbane gentleman like Hadleigh. His deceased duchess and the ladies Livy had seen on his arm had all been sophisticated beauties. While Livy had passable looks, elegance and grace were not her forte. She also had a tendency to speak her mind which, apparently, wasn’t conducive to flirtation.

  Moreover, she feared that Hadleigh might only see her as a younger sister. He teased her in a brotherly fashion about her suitors, and while he seemed protective, he showed no signs of jealousy. The last time he had asked about her beaux, she had replied truthfully that she wasn’t interested in any of them.

  To which he had replied, “Wise choice, little one. Marry in haste, repent in leisure, as they say. I, for one, shan’t undertake matrimony again.”

  His offhand remark had come as a blow. In truth, Livy ought not to have been surprised. She knew that Hadleigh had fallen in love and married young. Three years ago, when his wife Arabella had passed away due to complications in her pregnancy, he had been devastated, withdrawing to his estate. Livy had written him letter after letter, despite his lack of a reply.

  Then, a year ago, Hadleigh had returned to Society, and Livy had been relieved beyond measure to see him healthy and hale. He and she had picked up where they had left off, although she saw him less frequently. Nowadays he was a busy man; weeks could go by before he paid her a visit.

  The important thing is that he came tonight, she told herself. It must be a sign. You have to act.

  “Uh-oh,” Fi said in a low voice. “Livy has that look.”

  “What…oh, that look.” A knowing gleam lit Glory’s hazel eyes.

  Frowning, Livy said, “I have a look?”

  “Pursed lips, furrow between the brows,” Glory replied. “That expression has been a precursor to every adventure we have had.”

  “It is a hold-onto-one’s-bonnet kind of look,” Fiona agreed.

  Livy drew a breath. “As it happens, I have decided that I am going to have a talk with Hadleigh.”

  At her announcement, Fi and Glory’s gazes widened.

  “The talk?” Glory said in a hushed voice.

  Fi leaned closer. “You are going to tell him that you’re in love with him?”

  Livy nodded, busying her shaky hands by smoothing her blush-colored skirts.

  “There is no better time,” she said. “I am a lady of marriageable age. Hadleigh is an eligible widower in his prime. Now that I’m older, our age difference no longer matters.”

  “Not to you, perhaps,” Glory said. “I thought the biggest obstacle to your romance was that Hadleigh treats you like a young relation?”

  “The two of you certainly bicker like brother and sister,” Fi said dryly.

  “I shall simply have to make him see me in a different light. A more mature light.” Livy rose, squaring her shoulders. “How do I look?”

  She wore a gown specially made for the occasion. Indeed, her entire wardrobe had been refurbished as her figure had changed in a rather drastic fashion in the past few months. Resigned to her once boyish form, she’d been stunned when parts of her that had been as flat as the Scottish Lowlands suddenly turned as hilly as the Highlands. When the modiste revealed her new
measurements, her jaw had slackened.

  Mama had merely smiled. “Didn’t I tell you we Kent women are late bloomers, dear?”

  Livy hoped her new assets would nudge Hadleigh into seeing her as a grown-up. With that in mind, she had chosen her ensemble with care. The silk crepe was a shade between peach and pink, which she thought complemented her brunette coloring and light green eyes. The bodice bared her shoulders, crisscrossing to a point between her now discernable breasts, where she’d pinned a fragrant gardenia. The rest of the bodice molded to her corseted torso, elongating to a point. The full skirts draped over her petticoats, the overskirt looped up with peach ribbons to reveal her tiered underskirt.

  “You look very pretty,” Glory said.

  “In a virginal debutante sort of way,” Fiona said.

  Livy furrowed her brow. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Not at all. But this is Hadleigh we are talking about,” Fi said frankly. “You know his reputation. He is definitely not the sort of man who dallies with inexperienced misses.”

  Fi had a point. During his marriage, Hadleigh and his duchess had been rather scandalous, although Livy’s adolescent ears hadn’t been privy to all the gossip. She had once overheard two sticklers sniffing to one another that the Hadleighs were “not good ton” and wondering why Livy’s parents had invited them to the affair. Livy knew the reason: ever since Hadleigh had saved her life, her parents had treated him as if he were a member of the family.

  Neither a McLeod nor a Kent forgot a debt.

  After his period of mourning, Hadleigh had emerged a different man. He looked healthier and stronger, emanating a male vitality that drew females to him like flies to honey. It also didn’t hurt that he was a wealthy duke in his prime, with no heirs to boot.

  Ladies and light-skirts alike swarmed him, and the scandal rags made fortunes off his supposed exploits. The only females he avoided were the marriage-minded misses. As far as Livy could tell, he was as unaffected by his new popularity as he was by his prior infamy. He was always the same with her, at any rate.

  He laughed and bantered with her. Protected her.

  And teased her mercilessly the way an older brother would.

  I will just have to change how Hadleigh sees me, she thought determinedly. To show him I am no longer a little girl.

  “Livy wants Hadleigh to offer for her, not dally with her,” Glory pointed out.

  Fiona arched her brows. “Doesn’t one lead to the other? Plenty of debs have received proposals on the heels of being compromised.”

  “Livy does not want her reputation harmed.” Frowning, Glory asked, “Do you, Livy?”

  The rush of warmth in Livy’s cheeks was accompanied by that in her lower belly. Although she shared most things with her friends, some details were meant to be kept private. She had not told the other girls about what she’d seen Hadleigh and Lady Cherise Foxton doing in the stables last year…

  Longing, hot and confusing, knotted her insides.

  She blurted, “What if I want both?”

  Glory stared at her, but Fiona just laughed.

  “It is your birthday, after all,” the latter said. “If you want both, then both you shall have. We will simply have to make you look worldlier.”

  “You can accomplish that? With this?” Livy waved a hand at herself.

  Fi arched her brows. “Do you doubt me, dearest?”

  When it came to matters of fashion and flirtation, Fiona was the expert of the three.

  “I am at your disposal, Fi,” Livy said gratefully before turning to Glory. “I will also need a diversion for my parents so that I may speak to Hadleigh alone.”

  Glory’s smile transformed her face into one of rare beauty. Setting her ferret back into its wicker basket, she said, “That you can leave to me.”

  Not for the first time, Livy counted her blessings that she had the Willflowers by her side. Glory went to set up the decoy. After Fi finished adjusting Livy’s ensemble, the pair joined Livy’s parents…only to find that Hadleigh was no longer with them.

  Panic clutching her heart, Livy scanned the crowded ballroom. “Did Hadleigh already leave?”

  “I doubt it, poppet,” Papa said. “I am certain he would not depart without wishing you many happy returns.”

  Relief flooded Livy. “I should go find him.”

  “What happened to your corsage, dearest?” Her mama’s acute brown gaze roved over her. “Your bodice looks rumpled, and your coiffure is coming down.”

  According to Fi, this look was known as en déshabillé and was irresistible to gentlemen.

  Livy resisted chewing on her fingernail, a telltale sign of nerves. “I’ll, um, go fix it.”

  “I will help you freshen up,” Mama said.

  Livy was saved by the strains of the orchestra.

  “They are playing our waltz, pet.” Papa smiled at Mama, his fingertips flitting over the collar of diamonds at her neck. “You promised to dance with me.”

  “So I did.” Mama’s voice became breathless. “But our daughter needs attending to.”

  “Don’t worry, Your Graces,” Fiona cut in smoothly. “I will help Livy. And my parents will chaperone.”

  “Hear that, pet? Livy is in excellent hands.”

  Papa led Mama to the dance floor, his dark head bent close to hers. Even from a distance, Livy could see Mama blushing. Her parents disappeared into the colorful, whirling blur of dancers.

  Glory ambled up to Livy and Fiona, a cat-got-in-the-cream smile tucked in her cheeks.

  “This waltz does the trick every time,” she said with satisfaction.

  “How did you know to request this particular one?” Livy asked.

  “Because my parents adore it.” Glory nodded toward the dance floor just as her parents, the Duke and Duchess of Ranelagh and Somerville, floated by. “The older generation cannot resist this song, it seems.”

  “And there go my parents as well.” Eyes twinkling, Fi added, “Perhaps this is not so much a tune for ancient folk as it is for those in love?”

  “Speaking of love, let’s help Livy find Hadleigh,” Glory said. “The waltz shan’t last forever.”

  The three hurried off to circle the perimeter of the ballroom. Livy had to stop now and again to accept the guests’ well-wishes. Finally, she spotted Hadleigh: he was standing by the champagne fountain, his back to her…and he was conversing with the most beautiful woman Livy had ever laid eyes upon. The lady had golden hair the color of honey, her willowy figure draped in a stylish gown of claret taffeta. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than Hadleigh, and she looked around his age.

  “Heavens.” Even Fiona, the Incomparable, sounded awed. “Who is that glorious creature?”

  “I do not know.” Livy squared her shoulders. “But I am going to find out.”

  She marched over and cleared her throat.

  Hadleigh turned around, and her heart gave a silly hiccup. Lord, he was handsome. His classic bone structure could have graced a statue, the strong slant of his cheekbones and chiseled jut of his jaw meant to be immortalized. Yet no marble could capture his eyes: they were bruised sapphires, pain and beauty moving through them like shadow and light.

  To Livy, Hadleigh was the epitome of male virility, especially in formal evening wear. During his period of seclusion, he had gained at least three stone, all of it in muscle. His elegant midnight tailcoat clung lovingly to his broad shoulders and lean torso, his trousers skimming his narrow hips and muscular legs. Realizing that she was ogling him, Livy jerked her gaze back up to his face…and that didn’t help her longing at all.

  One thing that hadn’t changed about Hadleigh was his preference for wearing his hair a trifle long. The thick brown waves gleamed beneath the chandelier and added a sensual touch to his hard-edged masculinity.

  “If it is not the elusive birthday girl.” The warmth in Hadleigh’s eyes set off a flutter in Livy’s chest. As he bowed, his gaze travelled beyond her, his mouth curving. “Accompanied by her intre
pid companions, the Willflowers.”

  The fluttering stopped. He made her sound like a twelve-year-old with her troop of fellow tots, for heaven’s sake.

  “As I am nineteen, I am no longer a girl,” Livy pointed out. “Nor am I difficult to find. That is, if one was actually bothering to look.”

  Drat. Now I sound like a jealous nincompoop.

  “I stand corrected.” Hadleigh’s dark brows inched upward. “Are you young women acquainted with Lady Charlotte Fayne?”

  Catching his sardonic emphasis, Livy flushed.

  “I have not had the pleasure of meeting these lovely young ladies,” Lady Fayne said.

  The woman had a voice like mulled cider, earthy and warm. Her curtsy was a thing of art, and her graciousness made Livy feel smaller than an ant.

  Hadleigh made the introductions.

  “Your dress is beautiful, Lady Fayne,” Fiona said. “The very height of fashion.”

  “Thank you, Miss Garrity. I must return the compliment two-fold.”

  Fiona preened. Livy bit back a scowl.

  “His Grace was just telling me about the Willflowers,” Lady Fayne went on. “What a delightful moniker.”

  “A classmate thought she could bully us with it, but we turned the tables on her.” Glory lifted her chin. “We are proud to be Willflowers.”

  “And you ought to be.” Lady Fayne’s smile reached her grey eyes. “To be beautiful, bright, and bold is a rare combination indeed.”

  “Bold is one way to put it. Livy was voted the Most Stubborn Debutante at her finishing school,” Hadleigh said.

  Livy narrowed her gaze. “That was Most Determined Debutante, as well you know.”

  His reply was a bland smile.

  “There is a difference,” she insisted.

  His smile turned even blander.

  Argh.

  “Livy, wasn’t there something you needed His Grace’s help with?” Fiona said pointedly.

  Right. Concentrate on the plan. On seducing Hadleigh…not strangling him.