Kasey Michaels - How to Tempt a Duke

Lady Nicole Daughtry smiled into the vanity mirror as she continued to comb her long dark hair. “Hello again, Charlotte. My congratulations.”

Charlotte stomped across the large pink-and-white bedchamber, her footsteps maddeningly muffled by the succession of priceless Aubusson carpets. “Your congratulations for what, Nicole? Not strangling you earlier?”

“Of course. Oh, and about that,” Nicole said, turning on her satin-topped bench. “How did you discover our small deception? I knew the moment I first saw you that you knew. I slipped up somewhere, didn’t I? Was it something my brother said to you? I can’t imagine how else you could have known.”

“And I can’t imagine how you got away with such a dastardly deception all this time,” Charlotte admitted, taking the silver-backed brush from Nicole’s hand and dragging it none too gently through the girl’s hair. “Not only fooling your aunt and brother, but me, as well.”

“It’s that last part that rankles, doesn’t it?” Nicole said, wincing as the brush encountered a knot.

“Considering that I was the only one here, actually reading the letters, yes, it rankles. Why didn’t you tell me what you were about? I would have helped you.”

The moment Charlotte said the words she realized that, indeed, she would have aided Nicole and Lydia in their grand deception. After all, Emmaline deserved her happiness and peace of mind, and Rafe had clearly wished to continue on as he had been before his uncle’s death, escorting Bonaparte into exile and being a part of his guard. It wasn’t as if the twins had been left unchaperoned in a cave somewhere.

Nicole tipped back her head and grinned up at Charlotte. “Yes, I thought you would have, but Lydia couldn’t be convinced.”

Charlotte pushed Nicole’s head forward once more. “Liar. Lydia, as we both know, can be convinced of anything when you’re the one weaving fantastic stories. Admit it, Nicole, it was you who decided not to share this adventure with me. You must have spent hours and hours composing those bogus letters. I could have helped. And I most certainly could have improved upon your abysmal spelling.”

“In that case, I apologize most profoundly. Lydia, stubborn as she can be sometimes, would only agree to the scheme if I didn’t make her have anything to do with the actual composition of the letters. You’re not going to tell Aunt Emmaline?”

“No, I can’t. She wrote to me in this morning’s post. She’s increasing. She and the duke are already returned to his estate, and she won’t be traveling again until the child is born. It would do no good to upset her.”

“Emmy’s going to have a baby?” Nicole jumped up and grabbed Charlotte in a fierce hug. “How above everything wonderful!” Then she pushed away from Charlotte and frowned. “No, wait. That isn’t wonderful. Who will present Lydia and me next spring, when we go to London for the Season?”

“You’re not going to London for the Season, you wretched girl. You’re only sixteen.”

“Seventeen next month,” Nicole reminded her. “Louisa Madison went to London at seventeen for her first Season.”

“Yes, and she came home again three weeks later, humiliated and ostracized because she was so foolish as to allow a half-pay officer to kiss her in Lady Castlereagh’s gardens. Do you want to be quickly married off to the vicar’s third-oldest son?”

“Louisa was always a fool,” Nicole said, shrugging. “I’d never kiss a half-pay officer. Indeed, I shall not even deign to dance with any rank lower than earl.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I’m sure your brother will be much relieved to hear that. But you’re not going. You’re too young, and there is no one to chaperone you.”

“There’s you,” Nicole said, grinning at Charlotte.

“There most certainly is not me. I’m much too young to be a chaperone, for one thing, and I’d rather be locked up in Bedlam before I’d entertain any thought of attempting to get you to behave for more than five minutes. I mean it, Nicole. No. Stop smiling. Stop looking at me that way. Wait—where are you going? What are you going to do?”

Nicole was already halfway to the door, her unbound hair trailing halfway down her back. “Why,” she said, whirling about to face Charlotte, “I think it should be obvious. I’ve been sitting up here, my every nerve shredded, appalled at what I’ve done. Hoodwinking my own dearest aunt, my own dearest brother. There’s nothing else for it. I must go to him at once, and make a clean breast of my sins.”

“You miserable little—Don’t you dare!”

“But, Charlotte, you must see that it isn’t fair to keep poor Rafe in the dark like this, can’t you? I mean, not that you weren’t most thoroughly in the dark for all these long months. Completely fooled by two young girls scarcely out of the nursery.” She frowned rather comically. “Oh, dear, what will Rafe think of you once he knows?”

“Perhaps I don’t care what he thinks,” Charlotte said, hoping she didn’t sound defensive.

“And as Mrs. Beasley would say, pshaw. Of course you care. Everyone knows you’ve always been half in love with him. Why, you still wear that ratty old scarf of his sometimes. I’ve seen you. Just like something out of a penny press novel, that’s what Mrs. Beasley says.”

Charlotte opened her mouth to protest, but she knew she’d already lost. “Oh, very well. Yes, I might have thought myself in love with him. But that was a long time ago. Now I just don’t want him to think me a complete idiot. What do you want me to do? Because I can’t be your chaperone. Old maid I may be, but you will need someone with much more social consequence than I, and at least twice my knowledge of how you and Lydia should go on. You’re sisters to the duke, remember. I was only one of hundreds of lesser lights, never given a voucher to Almack’s, partaking in only the tamest of gatherings…oh, I can’t believe I’m agreeing to any of this.”

Nicole returned to her dressing table and opened the top middle drawer, extracting a folded paper. “Here. Here’s a listing of all our female relatives. I wrote it out some weeks ago, as it is always wise to be prepared for a last-minute change of plans. Lydia taught me that. At any rate, that’s all that’s left, you know—females. Rafe is the only gentleman among them on our papa’s side of the family. And heaven knows we can’t apply to Mama’s family. They’re all either pockets-to-let or locked up for card sharping.”

“They are not,” Charlotte said, unfolding the paper. “Who told you that?”

“Mama,” Nicole said brightly. “She should know, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” Charlotte said, reading down the short list of names. “Where did you get this list?”

“I copied it down from the family Bible, in Uncle Charlton’s—that is, Rafe’s study.”

“That may explain it. Margaret, your grandfather’s only sister, lives in Scotland and is sickly by choice. She never travels. I remember Emmaline telling me that when she was preparing the list for the memorial to your uncle and cousins.”

“She isn’t the only name,” Nicole said hopefully.

“As for this second name, Irene Murdoch? Do you by chance recall the embarrassingly rude creature who spent three days here, seated in the main saloon with a constantly refilled dish of sugar comfits in her ample lap, telling all who would listen that she had always favored your late aunt’s garnet brooch and felt certain Emmaline would gift her with it as a remembrance?”

“That sow? That’s Cousin Irene? Oh, no. She won’t do at all.” Nicole leaned closer to look at the list. “Who else is left?”