His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two

Rosalie took in the porcelain features of Marianne Young. The lady was alone this time. Apparently, she didn’t want or need accomplices to drag her claws down Rosalie’s back. “Good evening, Mrs. Young,” she said with a tight smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Marianne just pursed her lips. “I take no pleasure in your company, Miss Harrow. I only come to issue you a warning.”

“And what might that be?”

The lady inched closer. “Be careful. The ton does not take kindly to grasping social climbers on the best of days…but a licentious harlot who merely wears the trappings of a social climber? They will obliterate you. There will not be a respectable house in England where you may take your tea.”

“Heavens, you certainly have a very low opinion of me. I can only assure you that it is not deserved.”

The lady snarled. “You think I have not watched you tonight? You flit about like a horrible little butterfly. Every man is a flower to you. First this great lord, then that one. I know you warm the duke’s bed. I saw you in the garden just now. Those brazen sensual touches…and his fiancée stood mere steps away. You disgust me!”

“Sensual…what?” Rosalie’s mind whirred. Oh gracious, did the lady consider a tug of the ear a sensual touch? “Mrs. Young, you mistook what you saw—”

“Don’t tell me what I saw!”

“You saw the bickering of two friends who are as brother and sister. Ask the duke yourself, and I promise you he will be horrified to hear the words ‘sensual’ and ‘Miss Harrow’ spoken aloud in the same sentence—”

“And what excuse will you weave for your conduct with Mr. Burke? His behavior at least can be explained. I have never expected any better from his type,” she said with a haughty sniff.

Rosalie felt a protective surge of rage coiling in her gut. “Mr. Burke is a dear friend. A better man, I do not know. He is worth a thousand of your type.”

“If you care so much for the man, then why don’t you marry him?” Marianne cried. “Or the duke? Or Lord James? Or any of the other men clearly under your harlot’s thrall? Why do you continue to dangle Tom so cruelly?”

It all circled back to Tom.

Rosalie felt so tired. She let out a slow exhale. “There is no question of my dangling Lieutenant Renley—”

Marianne snatched hold of her arm. “Tom is mine. I will not abide competition. Do you understand me? Certainly not from the likes of such a three-penny upright. Why don’t you crawl back to whatever Covent Garden alley you came from!”

Rosalie jerked her arm free. Every instinct told her to run. To hide. But then she glanced over Marianne’s shoulder and locked eyes with a face in the crowded room.

The duke was watching her. With a wink, he gave her a little nod.

Be a lioness. Fight your corner. Hold the high ground.

If Marianne wanted to call her a harlot, that is the role Rosalie would play. She inched back, flashing the lady a false smile. “You know…just the other night I asked Tom whether he still held any affection for you. Do you want to know what he said?”

Marianne was close to tears, but Rosalie didn’t care. This woman had dared to take a bite out of her confidence for the last time.

Rosalie’s smile widened. “He said nothing. You see, he couldn’t speak with his tongue in my cunt—”

A feral scream erupted out of Marianne and then she was on her, scratching at Rosalie and slapping whatever part of her she could reach. In a panic, Rosalie tried to grab hold of her wrists. Loud voices echoed all around as Rosalie tried to get the demon off her. In moments it was over, strong arms pulling them apart.

“Alright, that’s enough!”

She gasped, sucking air into her lungs as the duke dragged her to safety.

“I’ll tear your tongue out!” Marianne shrieked. Another gentleman had her by the shoulders. She looked crazed, her face a mask of inhuman rage. “Whore!”

Next to her, the duke went still as stone. Suddenly she was shifted behind him. He kept one arm curled possessively around her, even as he turned to address the room. “Let everyone bear witness that Mrs. Young has attacked my ward!” He pointed an accusing finger at the lady. “You will be gone from this place and never darken my door again!”

Marianne broke down in tears, trying to cover her face as the whole room went silent as the grave, watching the mild-mannered Duke of Norland castigate her.

“Any friend of mine will be no friend of hers,” he called to the room. Turning to his footmen he muttered, “Take her out. Make sure she doesn’t come back.”

The room broke into waves of whispers and gasps as two footmen took Marianne by the arms and pulled her away.

“This isn’t over, you strumpet!” she shrieked. “You wretched, scheming whore! You’ll tear his heart out! You’ll ruin him for sure, and then what shall he do?”

One of the footmen had the good sense to wrap a gloved hand over her mouth to silence her, which left the lady squealing and thrashing in their arms. The whole room watched, utterly entranced as she was dragged out.

As soon as she was gone, Rosalie sagged on the duke’s arm, letting out a ragged breath.

“No, no, no. Not here, Cabbage. Just hold on.” He gripped her tight under the arms and she let herself be led away. The sounds of the party turned into little more than a hum.

The duke shoved open the door to James’ study with his shoulder. It was empty inside, but a fire crackled in the hearth and several candles were lit on the desk. He led her around the back of the sofa and set her down. She didn’t even realize she was crying until he dropped to one knee before her and handed her his handkerchief.

“Should I go get a maid, Your Grace? Or Lord James?” asked a footman.

The duke tucked one of Rosalie’s loose curls behind her ear. “No…get Lieutenant Renley. Discretely, Finch,” he called after the footman. “And keep Burke and my brother away. Tie them down if you must!”

The door shut and Rosalie let out a shaky breath, tears of shame stinging her eyes.

The duke disappeared into the corner. A soft clinking and rattling and he was back, curling her fingers around a glass of port. “Oh Cabbage…what did you do now?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Why are you apologizing?”

She glanced up, biting her lip. “Because you said not to embarrass you again and now look at what I’ve done—” She couldn’t even finish before her voice broke with a strangled sob. This would be the last straw. If not for him, certainly for the duchess. Rosalie would be out on the street.

But the duke just chuckled. “You think I was embarrassed? Cabbage, that was amazing! You were better than the fire-eater. They’ll be talking about this for weeks.”

Rosalie covered her face with her hand. She was ready to drown herself in the port.

“I’m serious,” he said, flopping by her side on the sofa. “Cabbage, you were brilliant. You really held you own…but I must know what you said. I really think she was ready to kill you.”

“You exaggerate.”

“Men on the battlefield have witnessed less malice,” he countered, his tone one of awe. “You turned her feral with a word. What did you say?”

A fresh wave of embarrassment flooded her cheeks. “I um…I may have said something rather crude. She took offense…”

“I am quite literally on the edge of my seat,” he said with a grin, leaning forward.

His eagerness made her smile despite the surge of embarrassment flowing through her. “If you think I’m going to reveal my disgrace to you, you’re wrong, sir.”

Before he could protest, there was a knock on the door that had them both turning. The footmen swung it open, and Tom pressed in, eyes wide as he locked his gaze on her. He looked as though he ran the length of the house. “What the hell happened?”

Rosalie couldn’t bear to look at him. She bolted off the sofa, slapping the glass of port down as she crossed to the other side of the room.

“Rose, what happened?” Tom pressed, moving around the sofa towards her.

She spun around, holding up a gloved hand. “Stop. Don’t come any closer.” She couldn’t bear it. She didn’t trust herself.

Tom’s heated gaze swept over her, his eyes narrowing with shock, then anger. “Christ, are you hurt?”

“Your little lioness got herself into a bit of a scrap,” the duke explained.

“What?” Tom barked, eyes darting between them. “With whom? Why?”

She held his gaze, her emotions burning through her chest. Anger, want, shame, need. How could she feel so much at once? Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure they could all hear it.

The duke just chuckled, shifting around the sofa. He passed a side table and plucked a shiny black piece off a chess board, holding it up in the candlelight. “Because in chess, as in nature, my dear Renley, a queen must always protect her king.” Smirking, he tossed it.

With the deft reflexes of a sailor, Tom snatched the queen piece from the air, glancing down at it with a frown.

The duke cuffed his shoulder. “I mean to see that my ward gets whatever she wants. And for some unknowable reason, she wants you.”

Tom’s eyes shot up to Rosalie, his gaze blazing hot enough to burn.

The duke cast a wink over his shoulder at Rosalie before glowering at the sailor. “Ruin this chance, and I will personally see to it that the grandest ship you ever captain is a dinghy.” With that, he left.

Rosalie stood alone in the room with Tom.

“Rosalie, please tell me what the hell is happening.”