A SEASON OF SECRETS

A lady never tells …

Elena Leighton and Ellie Rosewood might only be a lowly governess and a lady’s companion, but there is more to these women than meets the eye!

For their meek and respectable demeanour hides this season’s most scandalous secrets … and all is about to be deliciously revealed!

How far will the Duke of Royston go to lay bare the real Ellie Rosewood?

NOT JUST A WALLFLOWER December 2013

And Lord Adam Hawthorne makes a date with impropriety in

NOT JUST A GOVERNESS Already available

And in eBooks from Mills & Boon® Historical Undone!

NOT JUST A SEDUCTION Already available

Praise for Carole Mortimer:

‘Mortimer understands the time and place so well that she paints a colourful and accurate portrait of the era.’

—RT Book Reviews on SOME LIKE IT WICKED

‘This book would be a typical romance, but by adding the strong themes of family and loyalty she shifts her novel into something with an underlying power that touches the heart.’

—RT Book Reviews on THE LADY FORFEITS

‘This longtime plot theme works nicely for Mortimer, who infuses her tale with an independent-minded heroine, a dangerously sexy hero and a bit of danger and sexual tension that make for a quick and enjoyable read.’

—RT Book Reviews on THE LADY GAMBLES

‘Mortimer completes The Copeland Sisters trilogy, about three women who flaunt society and their guardian to find their own futures, with a charming, fast and sweetly sensual romance.’ —RT Book Reviews on THE LADY CONFESSES

CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon®. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

Previous novels by the same author:

In Mills & Boon® Historical Romance:

THE DUKE’S CINDERELLA BRIDE*

THE RAKE’S WICKED PROPOSAL*

THE ROGUE’S DISGRACED LADY*

LADY ARABELLA’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE*

THE LADY GAMBLES**

THE LADY FORFEITS**

THE LADY CONFESSES**

SOME LIKE IT WICKED†

SOME LIKE TO SHOCK†

NOT JUST A GOVERNESS‡

*The Notorious St Claires

**The Copeland Sisters

† Daring Duchesses

‡ A Season of Secrets

You’ve read about The Notorious St Claires in Regency times. Now you can read about the new generation in Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance:

The Scandalous St Claires: Three arrogant aristocrats—ready to be tamed!

JORDAN ST CLAIRE: DARK AND DANGEROUS

THE RELUCTANT DUKE

TAMING THE LAST ST CLAIRE

And in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

AT THE DUKE’S SERVICE

CONVENIENT WIFE, PLEASURED LADY

A WICKEDLY PLEASURABLE WAGER**

SOME LIKE IT SCANDALOUS†

NOT JUST A SEDUCTION‡

And in M&B® Regency Castonbury Park mini-series:

THE WICKED LORD MONTAGUE

Not Just a

Wallflower

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Peter, the love of my life, for all of my life.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

June, 1817—Lady Cicely Hawthorne’s London home

‘You must be absolutely thrilled at the news of Hawthorne’s forthcoming marriage to Miss Matthews!’ Lady Jocelyn Ambrose, Dowager Countess of Chambourne, beamed across the tea table at her hostess.

Lady Cicely nodded. ‘The match was not without its...complications, but I have no doubts that Adam and Magdelena will deal very well together.’

The dowager countess sobered. ‘How is she now that all the unpleasantness has been settled?’

‘Very well.’ Lady Cicely smiled warmly. ‘She is, I am happy to report, a young lady of great inner strength.’

‘She had need of it when that rogue Sheffield was doing all that he could to ruin her, socially as well as financially.’ Edith St Just, Dowager Duchess of Royston, and the third in the trio of friends, said, sniffing disdainfully.

Lady Jocelyn turned to her. ‘How are your own plans regarding Royston’s nuptials progressing, my dear?’

The three ladies, firm friends since their coming out together fifty years ago, had made a pact at the beginning of this Season, to see their three bachelor grandsons safely married, thereby ensuring that each of their family lines was secure. Lady Jocelyn was the first to achieve that success, when her grandson had announced his intention of marrying Lady Sylvianna Moreland some weeks ago, the wedding due to take place at the end of June. Lady Cicely had only recently succeeded in seeing her own grandson’s future settled, his bride to be Miss Magdelena Matthews, granddaughter of George Matthews, the recently deceased Duke of Sheffield. It only remained for Edith St Just, the Dowager Duchess of Royston, to secure a future duchess for her own grandson, Justin St Just, the Duke of Royston.

Not an easy task, when that wickedly handsome and haughtily arrogant gentleman had avowed, more than once, that he had no intention of marrying until he was good and ready—and aged only eight and twenty, he had assured his grandmother that he did not consider himself either ‘good’ or ‘ready’ as yet!

‘The Season will be over in just a few weeks...’ Lady Cicely gave her friend a doubtful glance.

The dowager duchess nodded regally. ‘And Royston will have made his choice before the night of the Hepworth ball.’

Lady Cicely gave a gasp. ‘But that is only two weeks away!’

Edith gave a satisfied smile. ‘By which time St Just will, I assure you, find himself well and truly leg-shackled!’

‘You are still convinced it will be to the lady whom you have named in the note held by my own butler?’ Lady Jocelyn also looked less than confident about the outcome of this enterprise.

At the same time as the three ladies had laid their plans to ensure their grandsons found their brides that Season, the dowager duchess had also announced she had already made her choice of bride for her own grandson, and that Royston would find himself betrothed to that lady by the end of the Season. So confident had she been of her choice that she had accepted the other ladies’ dare to write down the name of that young lady and leave it in the safe keeping of Edwards, Lady Jocelyn’s butler, to be opened and verified on the day Royston announced his intention of marrying.

‘I am utterly convinced,’ Edith now stated confidently.

‘But, to my knowledge, Royston has not expressed a preference for any of the young ladies of the current Season.’ Lady Cicely, the most tender-hearted of the three, could not bear the thought of her dear friend being proved wrong.

‘Nor will he,’ the dowager duchess revealed mysteriously.

‘But—’

‘We must not press dear Edith any further.’ Lady Jocelyn reached across to gently squeeze Lady Cicely’s hand in reassurance. ‘Have we ever known her to be wrong in the past?’

‘No...’

‘And I shall not be proved wrong on this occasion, either,’ the dowager duchess announced haughtily, belied by the gleeful twinkle in faded blue eyes. ‘Royston shall shortly find himself not only well and truly leg-shackled, but totally besotted with his future bride!’

An announcement, regarding this about the arrogantly cynical Duke of Royston which so stunned the other two ladies that neither of them felt able to speak further on the subject...

Chapter Two

Two days later—White’s Club, St James’s Street, London

‘Is it not time you threw in your cards and called it a night, Litchfield?’

‘You’d like it if I did so, wouldn’t you, Royston!’ The florid, sneering face of the man seated on the opposite side of the card table was slightly damp with perspiration in the dimmed candlelight of the smoky card room.

‘I have no opinion one way or the other if you should decide to lose the very shirt upon your back,’ Justin St Just, the Duke of Royston, drawled as he reclined back in his armchair, only the glittering intensity of his narrowed blue eyes revealing the utter contempt he felt for the other man. ‘I merely wish to bring this interminable game of cards to an end!’ He deeply regretted having accepted Litchfield’s challenge now, and knew he would not have done so if he had not been utterly bored and seeking any diversion to relieve him from it.

Ennui. It was an emotion all too familiar to him since the fighting against Napoleon had come to an end and the little Corsican had finally been incarcerated on St Helena once and for all, at which time Justin had considered it was safe to return to London, resign his commission, and take up his duties as Duke of Royston. A scant few weeks later he had realised his terrible mistake. Oh, he still had all of his friends here, the women willing to share his bed were as abundant, and his rooms in Mayfair were still as comfortable—he had long ago decided against taking up residence at Royston House, instead leaving his grandmother to continue living there alone after the death of Justin’s father, and the removal of Justin’s mother to the country—but all the time feeling as if there should be something...more to life.

Quite what that was, and how he was to find it, he had no idea. Which was the very reason he had spent the latter part of his evening engaged in a game of cards with a man he did not even like!

Lord Dryden Litchfield shot him a resentful glance. ‘They say you have the devil’s own luck, with both the cards and the ladies.’

‘Do they?’ Justin murmured mildly, well aware of the comments the ton made about him behind his back.

‘And I am starting to wonder if it is not luck at all, but—’

‘Have a care, Litchfield,’ Justin warned softly, none of his inner tension in evidence at the as-yet-unspoken insult, as he reached out an elegant hand to pick up his glass and take a leisurely sip of his brandy. With his fashionably overlong golden hair, and arrogantly handsome features, he resembled a fallen angel far more than he did the devil. But regardless of how angelic he looked, most, if not all, of the gentlemen of the ton also knew him to be an expert with both the usual choices of weapon for the duel Litchfield was spoiling for. ‘As I have said, the sooner we bring this card game to an end, the better.’

‘You arrogant bastard!’ Litchfield glared across at him fiercely; he was a man perhaps a dozen or so years older than Justin’s own eight and twenty, but his excessive weight, thinning auburn hair liberally streaked with silver, brown-stained teeth from an over-indulgence in cheap cigars, as well as his blustering anger at his consistent bad luck with the cards, all resulted in him looking much older.

‘I do not believe insulting me will succeed in improving your appalling skill at the cards,’ Justin stated as he replaced his brandy glass on the table.

‘You—’

‘Excuse me, your Grace, but this was just delivered for your immediate attention.’

A silver tray appeared out of the surrounding smoke-hazed gloom, bearing a note with Justin’s name scrawled across the front of it, written in a hand that a single glance had shown was not familiar to him. ‘If you will excuse me, Litchfield?’ He did not so much as glance in the other man’s direction as he retrieved the note from the tray to break the seal and quickly read the contents before refolding it and placing it in the pocket of his waistcoat, throwing his cards face down on the table. ‘The hand is yours, sir.’ He nodded in abrupt dismissal, straightening his snowy white cuffs as he stood up to leave.

‘Ha, knew you was bluffing!’ the other man cried out triumphantly, puffing happily on his foul-smelling cigar as he scooped up Justin’s discarded cards. ‘What the—?’ he muttered disbelievingly at a handful of aces as the mottled flush of anger deepened on his bloated face.

Dangerously so, in Justin’s opinion; he had no doubt that Litchfield’s heart would give up its fight to continue beating long before the man reached his fiftieth birthday.

‘The note was from a woman, then.’ An even more pronounced sneer appeared on the other man’s face as he looked up at Justin through the haze of his own cigar smoke. ‘I never thought to see the day when the devilishly lucky Duke of Royston would throw in a winning hand of cards in order to jump to a woman’s bidding.’

At this point in time ‘the devilishly lucky Duke of Royston’ was having extreme difficulty in resisting the urge he felt to reach across the card table, grab the other man by his rumpled shirtfront and shake him like the insufferable dog that he was! ‘Perhaps it is her bedchamber into which I am jumping...?’ He raised a mocking brow.

Litchfield gave an inelegant snort. ‘No woman is worth conceding a winning hand of cards.’

‘This woman is,’ Justin assured him drily. ‘I wish you joy of the rest of your evening, Litchfield.’ With a last contemptuous glance, he wasted no more time as he turned to stride purposefully from the dimly lit room, nodding briefly to several acquaintances as he did so.

‘Step aside, Royston!’

Justin’s legendary reflexes allowed him to take that swift sideways step and turn all at the same time, eyes widening as he watched a fist making contact with the lunging and livid-faced Litchfield, succeeding in stopping the man so that he dropped with all the grace of a felled ox.

Justin’s rescuer knelt down briefly beside the unconscious man before straightening, revealing himself to be Lord Bryan Anderson, Earl of Richmond, a fit and lithe gentleman of fifty years or so, the thickness of his hair prematurely white. ‘Your right hook is as effective as ever, I see, Richmond,’ Justin said admiringly.

‘It would appear so.’ The older man straightened the cuff of his shirt beneath his tailored black superfine as both men continued ignoring the inelegantly recumbent Litchfield. ‘Dare I ask what you did that so annoyed the man?’

Justin shrugged. ‘I allowed him to win at cards.’

‘Indeed?’ Richmond raised his brows. ‘Considering the extent of his gambling debts, one would have thought he might have been more grateful.’

‘One would have thought so, yes.’ Justin watched unemotionally as the unconscious Litchfield was quietly removed from the club by two stoic-faced footmen. ‘I thank you for your timely intervention, Richmond.’

‘Think nothing of it, Royston.’ The older man bowed. ‘Truth be told, I perhaps enjoyed it more than I should have,’ he added ruefully.

Justin knew, as did most of the ton, that the now-widowed Bryan Anderson had spent around twenty-five years tied to a woman who, following a fall from her horse during the first months of their marriage, in which she had received a severe blow to her head, had regressed to having the mind of a child and remained as such until her recent death.

Nor, despite having every reason to do so, had that gentleman ever betrayed his marriage vows. Publicly, at least. What Richmond did in private had been, and remained, his own affair, and would not have been frowned upon by the ton in any case; twenty-five years of marriage to a woman, who believed herself a child, must have been unendurable torture. No doubt the hours Justin knew the other man had spent sparring at Jackson’s had been an attempt to alleviate some of his frustrations during that time.

As, in all likelihood, had striking Litchfield just now...

‘I thank you anyway, Richmond.’ Justin said, giving him a slight bow in acknowledgement. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have another engagement.’

‘Of course.’ Richmond returned the gesture. ‘Oh, and Royston...?’ He gave him a significant look as Justin paused to raise questioning brows. ‘If I were you, I would watch your back for the next few weeks where Litchfield is concerned; it would seem he is an even less gracious winner than he is a loser.’

Justin’s top lip curled. ‘So it would appear.’

Richmond nodded. ‘I had the displeasure of serving in the army with him in India many years ago and know him to be a bully with a vicious temper. The men did not like him any more than his fellow officers did.’

‘If that were the case, I am surprised one of them did not take steps to rid themselves of such a tyrant.’ It was well known in army circles that the enlisted men—enlisted? Hah! They were usually men who had been forced into taking the king’s shilling for one nefarious reason or another—occasionally chose to dispose of a particularly unpopular officer during the confusion of battle.

Richmond gave a rueful smile. ‘That should have been the case, of course, and likely would have happened if he had lingered in the army overlong, but there was some indiscretion with another officer’s wife, which caused his superior officer to see that he left India sooner rather than later.’

Justin studied the older man’s bland expression for several seconds. ‘And would that superior officer happen to have been yourself, sir?’

‘It would,’ Richmond said grimly.

‘In that case I will bear your warning in mind,’ Justin said. ‘I wish you a good night, Richmond.’ He lost no more time in making his departure as he proceeded out into the hallway to collect and don his hat and cloak in readiness for stepping outside.

‘Hanover Square, if you please, Bilsbury,’ he instructed his driver tersely as he climbed inside the ducal coach and relaxed back against the plush upholstery, the door closing behind him seconds before the horses moved off smartly into the dark of the night.

If any woman was worth the loss of a fabulous hand at cards, then it was surely the one he now hurried to...

* * *

Miss Eleanor—Ellie—Rosewood paced restlessly in the vast entrance hall of the house in Hanover Square as she awaited for word of the response to the note she had instructed be delivered earlier this evening. Hopefully none of her inner anxiety showed on her face as she heard the clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobbles outside, followed by a brief murmur of conversation. Stanhope moved forwards and opened the door just in time to allow the handsome Duke of Royston to sweep imperiously inside, bringing the cool evening air in with him.

As always happened, at first sight of this powerful and impressive gentleman, Ellie was struck momentarily speechless, as she could only stand and stare at him.

Excessively tall, at least a couple of inches over six feet, with fashionably ruffled hair of pure gold, Justin St Just’s features were harshly patrician—deep blue eyes, high cheekbones aside a long and aristocratic nose, chiselled lips and a square, determined jaw—and his wide shoulders and tapered waist were shown to advantage in the black superfine and snowy white linen, buff pantaloons and high black Hessians fitting snugly to the long length of muscled calf and thigh; he was without doubt the most handsome gentleman Ellie had ever beheld—

‘Well?’ he demanded even as he swept off his cloak and hat and handed them to Stanhope before striding across the vast hallway to where Ellie stood at the bottom of the wide and curving staircase.

—as well as being the most arrogant—

She drew in a breath. ‘I sent a note earlier this evening requesting that you call—’

‘Which is the very reason I am here now,’ he cut in.

—and impatient!

And considering that Ellie had sent the note over two hours ago, she found his delayed response to that request to be less than helpful! ‘I had expected you sooner...’

He stilled. ‘Do I detect a measure of rebuke in your tone?’

Her cheeks felt warm at the underlying steel beneath the mildness of his tone. ‘I—no...’

He relaxed his shoulders. ‘I am gratified to hear it.’

Her chin rose determinedly. ‘It is your grandmother whom I believe may have expected a more immediate response from you, your Grace.’ Indeed, that dear lady had been asking every quarter of the hour, since she had requested Ellie, as her companion, to send a note to her grandson, as to whether or not there had been any word from him. The duke’s arrival here now, so many hours after the note had been sent, was tardy to say the least.

‘This is my immediate response.’

She raised red-gold brows. ‘Indeed?’

Justin looked at her as if seeing her for the first time—which he no doubt was; companions to elderly ladies were of no consequence to dukes!—his eyes glinting deeply blue between narrowed lids as that disdainful glance swept over her from the red of her hair, her slenderness in the plain brown gown, down to the slippers upon her feet, and then back up to her now flushed face. ‘The two of us are related in some way, are we not?’

Not exactly. Ellie’s mother had been a widow with a nine-year-old daughter—Ellie—when she had married this gentlemen’s cousin some ten years ago. But as both her mother and stepfather had since been killed in a carriage accident, it rather rendered the relationship between herself and the duke so tenuous as to be practically non-existent. And if not for the kindness of his grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Royston, in taking Ellie into her own household as her companion when she had been left alone in the world without a penny to call her own, Ellie very much doubted she would have seen any of the St Just family ever again following her mother’s demise.

‘We are stepcousins once removed, at best, your Grace,’ she now allowed huskily.

He raised an eyebrow, the candlelight giving a gold lustre to his fashionably tousled hair, the expression in those deep-blue eyes now hidden behind those lowered lids. ‘Cousin Eleanor,’ he acknowledged mockingly. ‘The fact of the matter is, I was not at my rooms when your note was delivered earlier this evening and it took one of my servants some time in which to...locate me.’

Justin had no idea why it was he was even bothering to explain himself to this particular young woman. She was only a distant relative by marriage. Indeed, he could not remember even having spoken to Miss Eleanor Rosewood before now. He had noticed her, of course—bored and cynical he might be, but he was also a man!

Her hair was an intriguing shade of red, despite attempts on her part to mute its fieriness and curl in the severity of its style. Her eyes were a stunning clear green and surrounded by thick dark lashes, freckles sprinkled the tops of her creamy cheeks and the pertness of her tiny nose, and her mouth—

Ah, her mouth... Full and pouting, and naturally the colour of ripe strawberries, it was far too easy for a man to imagine such a mouth being put to far better uses than talking or eating!

She was tiny in both stature and figure, and yet the fullness of her breasts, visible above the neckline of her plain and unbecoming brown gown, emphasised the slenderness of her waist and thighs, her hands also tiny and delicate, the fingers long and slender in wrist-length cream lace gloves.

Justin was well aware that his grandmother had lost no time in gathering this orphaned chick into her own household as her companion after Eleanor had been left alone in the world, following the death of her mother and stepfather, Justin’s own profligate cousin Frederick; Edith St Just might like to give the outward appearance of haughtiness and disdain, but to any who knew her well, it was an outer shell which hid a soft and yielding heart.

‘Your note implied the request was urgent in nature,’ Justin now drawled pointedly.

‘Yes.’ Colour now warmed those creamy cheeks. ‘I—the physician was called to attend the dowager duchess earlier this evening.’

‘The physician?’ he repeated sharply. ‘Is my grandmother ill?’

‘I do not believe she would have requested the physician be called if that were not the case, your Grace.’

Justin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he privately questioned whether or not she was daring to mock him; the green of her gaze was clear and unwavering, with no hint of the emotion for which he searched. Which was not to say it was not there, but merely hidden behind that annoyingly cool façade. ‘What is the nature of her illness?’ he enquired coldly.

She shrugged. ‘Your grandmother did not confide in me, sir.’

Justin barely restrained his impatience with her unhelpful reply. ‘But surely you must have overheard some of her conversation with the physician?’

Her gaze lowered from his piercing one. ‘I was not in the room for all of his visit—’

‘Might I ask why the devil not?’

Eleanor blinked those long dark lashes as the only outward sign of her shock at the profanity. ‘She asked that I collect her shawl from her private parlour. By the time I returned Dr Franklyn was preparing to leave.’

Justin’s impatience deepened. ‘At which time I presume my grandmother asked that I be sent for?’

She nodded. ‘She also requested that you go up to her bedchamber the moment you arrived.’

A request this lady had obviously forgotten to relay to him until now. Because his arrival had diverted her from the task, perhaps...? It was a possibility he found as intriguing as he did amusing.

He nodded. ‘I will go up to her now. Perhaps you would arrange for some brandy to be brought to the library for when I return downstairs?’

‘Of course.’ Ellie found she was relieved to have something practical to do, her usual calm competence seeming to have deserted her the moment she found herself in Justin’s overpoweringly masculine presence. ‘Do you wish me to accompany you?’

The duke came to a halt on the second step of the wide staircase in order to turn and give her a pointed look. ‘I believe I am well aware of where my grandmother’s bedchamber is located, but you may accompany me up the stairs, to ensure I do not attempt to make away with the family silver, if that is your wish.’

‘Is that “family silver” not already yours?’ she asked, trying hard to keep hold of her composure against his needling.

‘It is.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Then perhaps you fear I may become lost in my own house, Cousin?’

Ellie was well aware that this was his house. As was everything connected with the Duchy of Royston. ‘I believe my time might be better served in seeking out Stanhope and requesting the decanter of brandy be brought to the library.’ Even the thought of accompanying the duke up the stairs was enough to cause Ellie’s cheeks to burn—something she knew from past experience to be most unbecoming against the red of her hair.

‘And two glasses.’

She raised surprised brows. ‘You are expecting company?’ The fact that the duke had been so difficult to locate this evening would seem to imply that he had been otherwise...occupied, and perhaps less than reputably. Even so, Ellie could not imagine him inviting one of his less-than-acceptable friends here, especially if he had been spending the evening in the company of a lady.

‘It is you whom I am expecting to join me there,’ he explained with a sigh.

Ellie’s eyes widened. ‘Me?’

Justin almost laughed at the stunned expression on her face. A natural reaction, perhaps, when this was the longest conversation they had ever exchanged.

Surprisingly, he found her naivety amusing, and, Justin readily admitted, very little succeeded in amusing him.

His childhood had been spent in the country until the age of ten, when he had been sent away to boarding school, after which he had seen his parents rarely and had felt an exclusion from their deep love for each other when he did, to the extent that it had coloured his own feelings about marriage. He accepted that a duke must necessarily marry, in order to provide an heir to the duchy, but Justin’s own isolated upbringing had dictated his own would be a marriage of convenience, rather than love. A marriage that would not exclude his children in the way that he had been excluded.

His three years as the Duke of Royston had ensured that he was denied nothing and certainly not any woman he expressed the least desire for—and, on several occasions, some he had not, such as other gentlemen’s wives and the daughters of marriage-minded mamas!

Eleanor Rosewood, as companion to his grandmother, was not of that ilk, of course, just as their tenuous family connection ensured she could never be considered as Justin’s social equal. At the same time, though, even that slight family connection meant he could not consider her as a future mistress, either. Frustrating, but true.

‘Your Grace...?’

He frowned his irritation with her insistence on using his title. ‘I believe we established only a few minutes ago that we are cousins of a sort and we should therefore address each other as Cousin Eleanor and Cousin Justin.’

Ellie’s eyes widened in alarm at the mere thought of her using such familiarity with this rakishly handsome gentleman; Justin St Just, the twelfth Duke of Royston, was so top-lofty, so arrogantly haughty as he gave every appearance of looking down the length of his superior nose at the rest of the world, that Ellie would never be able to even think of him as a cousin, let alone address him as such.

‘I believe that you may have implied something of the sort, yes, your Grace,’ she said stubbornly.

He arched one blond brow over suddenly teasing blue eyes. ‘But you did not concur?’

‘I do not believe so, no, your Grace.’

He eyed her in sudden frustration. ‘Perhaps it is a subject we should discuss further when I return downstairs?’

She frowned. ‘I—perhaps.’

He scowled darkly at her intransigence. ‘But again, you do not agree...?’

Ellie believed such a conversation to be a complete waste of his time, as well as her own. What was the point in arguing over what to call one another? They’d probably not speak to each other again for at least another year, if this past year—which consisted of this last few minutes’ conversation for the entirety of it—was any indication! ‘It is very late, your Grace, and I believe the dowager duchess, if she has been made aware of your arrival, will be becoming increasingly anxious to speak with you,’ she prompted softly.

‘Of course.’ He now looked annoyed at having allowed himself to become distracted by talking to her. ‘I will expect to find you in the library, along with the decanter of brandy and two glasses, when I return,’ he added peremptorily before resuming his ascent of the staircase.

Almost, Ellie recognised indignantly, as if he considered her as being of no more consequence than a dog he might instruct to heel, or a horse he halted by the rein.

Chapter Three

‘I must say, you took your time getting here, Royston.’

Justin, as was the case with most men, was uncomfortable visiting a sickroom, but especially when it was that of his aged grandmother, the dowager duchess being a woman for whom he had the highest regard and affection.

Tonight, the pallor of her face emphasised each line and wrinkle, so that she looked every one of her almost seventy years as she lay propped up by white lace pillows piled high against the head of the huge four-poster bed. A state of affairs that was not in the least reassuring, despite the fact that her iron-grey hair was as perfectly styled as usual and her expression as proudly imperious.

The St Justs, as Justin knew only too well, after learning of his grandfather’s long and private struggle with a wasting disease, were a breed apart when it came to bearing up under adversity; his grandmother might only be a St Just by marriage, but her strength of will was equal to, if not more than, any true-born St Just.

He crossed the room swiftly to stand beside the four-poster bed. ‘I apologise for my tardiness, Grandmama. I was not at home when Cousin Eleanor’s note arrived—’

‘If you lived here as you should that would not have been a problem,’ she said querulously.

‘We have had this conversation before, Grandmama. This is your home, not mine—’

‘You are the Duke of Royston, are you not?’

Justin sighed. ‘Yes, for my sins, I most certainly am.’

Edith eyed him disapprovingly. ‘No doubt living here with me would put a dampener on your gambling or wenching—or both! Which diversion were you enjoying this evening to cause your delay?’ She gave a disgusted sniff, but couldn’t hide the twinkle in her eye.

Justin kept his expression neutral so as not to upset his grandmother; his reluctance to live at Royston House was due more to the fact that he associated this house with the frequent absences of his parents during his childhood, and his subsequent loneliness, than because he feared his grandmother would put a crimp in any supposed excesses of his in gambling and wenching, as she put it. As a consequence, he preferred to remain at the apartments he had occupied before the death of his father. ‘I am sure this is not a suitable conversation for a grandson to be having with his aged grandmother—’

‘Less talk of the aged, if you do not mind! And why should we not talk of such things?’ She looked up at him challengingly. ‘Do you think me so old that I do not know how young and single gentlemen of the ton choose to spend their evenings? Many of the married ones, too!’

‘I believe I may only be called young in years, Grandmama,’ he drawled ruefully; these past three years as the Duke of Royston, and the onerous responsibilities of that title, had required that Justin become more circumspect in his public lifestyle, and at the same time they had left him little or no time for a private life either.

Perhaps it was time he thought seriously of acquiring a permanent mistress, a mild and biddable woman who would be only too pleased to attend to his needs, no matter what the time of day or night, but would make no demands of him other than that he keep her and provide a house in which they might meet. It was an idea that merited some further consideration.

But not here and now. ‘I did not come here to discuss my own activities, when it is your own health which is currently in question.’ he changed the subject deftly. ‘Cousin Eleanor has informed me that Dr Franklyn was called to attend you earlier this evening. What is the problem, Grandmama?’

‘Might I enquire when you decided that Ellie is to be referred to as your cousin?’ Edith raised those imperious grey brows.

‘Ellie?’

‘Miss Eleanor Rosewood, your Cousin Frederick’s stepdaughter, of course,’ she supplied impatiently.

‘I can hardly be so familiar as to address her as Ellie—a name I do not particularly care for, by the by—’ Justin gave an irritated scowl ‘—when her mother, one supposes, bestowed upon her the perfectly elegant name of Eleanor. And Miss Rosewood is far too formal, in view of her connection to this family.’

‘I agree.’ His grandmother gave a haughty nod. ‘And it is Ellie—Eleanor, whom I wish to discuss with you.’

Justin made no attempt to hide his astonishment. ‘Are you telling me that you had me tracked down at my club, with all the fervour of a pack of hounds baying at the scent of fox—’

‘Do not be melodramatic, Justin.’ Edith eyed him with indulgent exasperation.

His brows rose. ‘Do you deny having had a note delivered to my rooms late in the evening, one moreover that appeared to be of such vital urgency that my manservant instantly dispatched one of the other servants to track me down at one of my clubs?’

‘I did instruct the note be written and delivered to you, yes. But it was not so late in the evening when I did so,’ his grandmother added pointedly. ‘Nor can I be held responsible for the actions of your manservant in dispatching a servant to seek you out so doggedly.’

Justin gave another scowl. ‘But you do not deny that the reason for sending the note was so that you might bring me here simply in order to discuss your young companion?’

The dowager duchess sent him a reproachful glance. ‘There is nothing simple about it, my dear. Ellie, and her future, have loomed large in my thoughts of late. Even more so this evening, when I am feeling so unwell—Justin, would you please refrain from pacing in that restless manner and instead sit down in that chair beside me? It is making my head ache having to follow your movements in this way.’ She gave a pained wince.

Only one part of that statement was of any relevance to Justin at this particular moment. ‘In what way are you feeling unwell?’ He pounced on the statement, his expression distracted as he lowered his long length down into the chair beside the bed before reaching out to take one of his grandmother’s delicately fragile hands into both of his.

Edith gave a weary sigh. ‘I find I become very tired of late. An occurrence which has made me realise that—it has made me aware that I should have made much more of an effort to ensure that things were settled before now...’ She gave another sigh, a little mournful this time.

Justin scowled darkly. ‘Grandmama, if this is yet another way for you to introduce the unwelcome subject of my acquiring a duchess—’

‘Why, you conceited young whippersnapper!’ She gave him a quelling glance as she sat up straighter in the bed. ‘Contrary to what you appear to believe, I do not spend the whole of my waking life thinking up ways to entice my stubborn and uninterested grandson into matrimony!’ Then she seemed to collect herself and settled back once more on her pillows with another pained wince.

Justin gave a rueful shake of his head at hearing her berate him so soundly; not too many people would have dared speak to him like that and hope to get away with it! Oh, he was certain that many of the ton referred to him, behind his back, as being ‘arrogantly haughty’ or ‘coldly disdainful’, and even on occasion as being ‘harsh and imperious’ just like his grandmother was, but they would not have dared to do so to his face.

Not when they were sober, at least, Justin acknowledged derisively, as he thought of Litchfield’s insulting behaviour earlier this evening. A rash and dangerous move on Litchfield’s part, when Justin was acknowledged as being one of the finest swordsmen in England, as well as one of the most accurate of shots; no gentlemen would dare to talk to him in that way when they were sober, for fear they might incite—and subsequently lose—the duel that would undoubtedly ensue.

‘I am glad to hear it,’ he drawled in answer to his grandmother’s comment. ‘Pray, then, what are these “things”, which need to be “settled”, Grandmama?’

‘Eleanor’s future, of course.’ She eyed him carefully, her gnarled fingers folding and then refolding the fine bedsheet beneath them. ‘She is so very young, and has no other relatives apart from ourselves, and I cannot bear to think of what might become of her when I am gone.’

Justin tensed. ‘When you are gone? Is there any likelihood of that happening in the near future?’ he prompted sharply as he felt the slight trembling of the hand he still held in his own.

The fact that the love his parents shared had been exclusive and all-consuming, and not one which had allowed time or particular consideration for their only child, had, as a consequence, meant that it was Justin’s paternal grandparents, Edith and George St Just, who were the constant influences in his life, and with whom he had chosen to spend the majority of his school holidays, as well as Christmas and birthdays.

‘Doctor Franklyn is of the opinion that I am simply wearing out—’

‘Utterly ridiculous!’ Justin barked, sitting forwards tensely, blue gaze fierce as he searched the unusual delicate pallor of her face. ‘He is mistaken. Why, you had tea with your two dear friends only a few days ago, attended Lady Huntsley’s ball with them just yesterday evening—’

‘As a consequence, today I am feeling so weak that I do not even have the energy to rise from my bed.’

‘You have overtaxed yourself, that is all,’ he insisted.

‘Justin, you are no longer a child and, sadly, neither am I.’ His grandmother gave another heavy sigh. ‘And I cannot say I will not be pleased to be with your grandfather again—’

‘I refuse to listen to this nonsense a moment longer!’ Justin released her hand to stand up before glowering down at her. ‘I will speak to Dr Franklyn myself.’

‘Do so, by all means, if you feel you must, but bullying the doctor cannot make me any younger than I am,’ Edith reasoned gently.

Justin drew in a sharp breath at the truth of that statement. ‘Perhaps you might rally, find new purpose, if I were to reconsider my decision not to marry in the near future.’

‘Generous of you, Royston.’ She gave him an affectionate, understanding smile, which had the effect of shooting more fear into his heart than anything she might say considering she’d been so hell-bent on seeing him married off as soon as humanly possible. ‘Unfortunately, the outcome would, I am sorry to say, remain the same.’

‘I simply cannot accept that!’

‘You must, Justin,’ his grandmother chided gently. ‘Gratified as I am to see how the thought upsets you, it is a fact of life that I cannot go on for ever. I should, of course, have liked to see you settled before my time comes, but I accept that is not to be...’

‘I have already suggested I might give the matter of matrimony further consideration, if it would make you happy!’ He scowled fiercely at the mere thought of it.

‘You must, and no doubt will, do exactly as you wish. At the moment I am more concerned with my dear companion. I must know that Ellie—Eleanor’s—future has been settled before I depart this world.’

‘I would prefer that you not say that phrase again in my presence, Grandmama.’ Justin had resumed his restless pacing, too agitated by his grandmother’s news to be able to stand or to sit at her bedside any longer.

‘Ignoring something will not make it go away, my dear,’ Edith pointed out.

Justin was well aware of that, but even the thought of his grandmother no longer being here, gently chiding or sternly rebuking him for one misdemeanour or another, was anathema to him. She was only in her sixty-ninth year, and Justin had not so much as spared a thought for the possibility of her dying just yet; Edith St Just had been, and still was, the woman in his life on whom he had always depended, a woman of both iron will and indomitable spirit, always there, the steely matriarch of the St Just family.

‘May we discuss Eleanor’s future now, Justin?’ Edith continued, uncharacteristically meek.

Eleanor Rosewood, and her future, were the last things that Justin wished to discuss at this moment, but a single glance at his grandmother’s face was enough to silence his protests as he noticed once again how the paleness of her face, and the shadows beneath her eyes, gave her the appearance of being every one of those eight and sixty years.

He bit back the sharpness of his reply and instead resumed his seat beside the bed. ‘Very well, Grandmama, if you insist, then let us talk of Cousin Eleanor’s future.’

She nodded. ‘It is my dearest wish to see her comfortably married before I dep—am no longer here,’ she corrected at Justin’s scowl.

He raised his brows. ‘It seems to me that you appear to wish this dubious state upon all those close to you. I am heartily relieved it is not just me you have set your sights on.’

‘Do not be facetious, Royston!’ The dowager frowned. ‘As I have already stated, you must do as you wish where your own future bride is concerned, but for a young woman in Ellie’s position, marriage is the only solution.’

‘And do you also have a gentleman in mind to become her husband? More to the point, does Cousin Eleanor have such a gentleman in mind?’ He raised mocking brows.

His grandmother sighed. ‘She has been so taken up with my own affairs this past year that I very much doubt she has given the matter so much as a single thought.’

‘Then—’

‘Which is not to say she should not have done so.’ Edith frowned him into silence. ‘Or that I should not have insisted she do so, before she is of an age that is considered as being unmarriageable.’

‘Exactly how old is Cousin Eleanor?’ Justin eyed his grandmother incredulously, thinking of the girl’s fresh, dewy complexion and unlined brow.

‘She has recently entered her twentieth year—’

‘Almost ancient then!’ he teased.

‘I am being serious, Justin. A young woman of Ellie’s meagre circumstances, if left alone in the world, will, as I am sure you are only too well aware, have very few opportunities open to her.’ She arched a pointed brow.

Yes, Justin was well aware of the fate that often befell impoverished but genteel young ladies of Eleanor Rosewood’s beauty and circumstance, being neither a part of society and yet not of the working classes either. ‘And exactly what do you expect me to do about it? Settle some money on her as a dowry, perhaps, in order to entice a penniless young man of the clergy or some such into offering her marriage?’ he suggested sarcastically.

‘The dowry would certainly be a start.’ His grandmother took his suggestion seriously as she nodded slowly. ‘Heaven knows the Royston fortune is large enough you would not even notice its loss! But I do not see why Eleanor should have to settle for an impoverished clergyman. Surely, somewhere amongst your acquaintances, you must know of a titled gentleman or two who would willingly overlook her social shortcomings in order to take to wife a young woman of personal fortune, who also happens to be the stepcousin of the powerful Duke of Royston?’

Justin had meant to tease with his suggestion of a providing a dowry for Eleanor, but he could see by the seriousness of his grandmother’s expression that she, at least, was in deadly earnest. ‘Let me see if I understand you correctly, Grandmama. You wish for me to first settle a sizeable dowry upon your companion, before then seeking out and securing a suitable, preferably titled husband, for her amongst my acquaintances?’ The suggestion was not only preposterous, but seemed slightly incestuous to Justin in view of his own less than cousinly thoughts about that young lady just minutes ago!

‘I do not expect you to approach the subject quite so callously, Royston.’ Edith eyed him impatiently. ‘I am very fond of the gel and I should not like to see her married to a man she did not like, or whom did not like her.’

His brows rose. ‘So you are, in fact, expecting me to secure a love match for her, despite her “social shortcomings” as you so tactfully put it.’

‘A suitable marriage does not preclude the couple from falling in love with each other,’ Edith snapped. ‘Your grandfather and I loved each other dearly. As did your father and mother.’

Yes, and it was the example of that deep love his parents had for each other that had made Justin so leery of entering into matrimony himself; he could not bear even the thought of ever loving a woman so deeply, so intensely, that his own offspring suffered because of it.

He suppressed a shudder. ‘I believe you may be expecting too much for Eleanor to secure such a love in her own marriage.’

‘We will not know until you try,’ his grandmother insisted.

‘And how do you propose I go about doing that?’ He gave a rueful shake of his head.

‘As Ellie’s closest male relative—yes, I know you’re about to say that technically you’re not really related to her at all—you might perhaps commence by accompanying her to—to a musical soirée or two, perhaps, in order that you might introduce her to these eligible if financially bereft young gentlemen of your acquaintance?’

‘I—you expect me to attend musical soirées?’ Justin stared at his grandmother incredulously as he once again rose to his feet out of sheer incapability to know what to do next; indeed, he was starting to feel like that toy he’d had as a child which had popped out of the box when the lid was lifted! ‘I believe your current indisposition has addled your brain, Grandmama!’ He shook his head. ‘I do not attend music soirées or balls in the normal course of events, let alone with the intention of marrying off my young stepcousin to some unsuspecting gentleman!’

‘But there is nothing to say that you could not make the exception in these special circumstances, is there?’ she insisted defiantly.

‘No, of course there is not. But—’

‘It would make me very happy if you were to do so, Justin.’

He narrowed suddenly suspicious blue eyes on the supposedly frail figure of his grandmother as she once again lay back, so small and vulnerable-looking against those snowy white pillows. ‘I thought it was Cousin Eleanor’s happiness which was your first and only concern?’

‘It is.’ Edith’s eyes snapped her irritation at his perspicacity. ‘And I can think of no better way to secure that happiness than you publicly acknowledging Ellie as a favoured cousin.’

‘A favoured cousin of such low social standing she has been in your own employ this past year,’ he reminded her drily.

‘I very much doubt that any of the ton would make the connection between that mousy young woman and Miss Eleanor Rosewood, the elegant and beautiful cousin of the Duke of Royston.’

He very much doubted the truth of that claim, in regard to the gentlemen in society, at least; he, for one, had certainly taken note of Eleanor’s understated beauty!

‘And even if they did,’ Edith continued firmly, ‘none would dare to socially cut or slight Ellie whilst she is seen to be under your protection.’

On that subject Justin did agree. But the cost to himself, of being forced into the tedium of attending what was left of the Season, was surely too much to expect of him? His grandmother did not seem to think so...

‘I am to host the Royston Ball in four days’ time and you are always gracious enough to make an appearance on that occasion,’ his grandmother reminded him.

‘The ball may have to be cancelled if you are still feeling so fatigued,’ he said slyly.

‘That will not happen during my lifetime!’ the dowager duchess assured him imperiously. ‘The Royston Ball has taken place for the past hundred years and this year shall be no different, not even if I have to spend the evening sitting in my Bath chair overseeing events,’ she continued determinedly.

‘And you seriously intend to introduce Eleanor into society that evening?’

She gave a haughty inclination of her head. ‘As a guest in my home she will naturally attend.’

‘And you expect me to act as her escort for the evening?’

‘As her guardian, perhaps, which would be perfectly acceptable as you are her closest male relative.’ She nodded briskly. ‘It is also the perfect opportunity for Ellie to see and be seen by the ton.’

Justin had the uncomfortable feeling that somewhere in the course of this conversation he had not only been manipulated, but soundly outmanoeuvred. An unusual occurrence, admittedly, but somehow his grandmother seemed to have succeeded in doing so. He—

‘There is one other subject upon which I shall require your assistance, my boy.’

He eyed the redoubtable old lady extremely warily now. ‘Yes?’

‘I believe it might be advisable, before any marriage were to take place, to attempt to ascertain the identity of Ellie’s real father...’

Justin’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Her real father? Was that not Mr Rosewood, then?’

‘As that gentleman had already been dead for a full year before Ellie was born, I do not believe so, no...’ Edith grimaced.

This situation, one not even of Justin’s own choosing, suddenly became more and more surreal. ‘And is Eleanor herself aware of that fact?’

His grandmother gave a snort. ‘Of course she is not. I only discovered the truth of things myself when I had her mother investigated after that idiot Frederick ran off to Gretna Green so impetuously and married the woman.’

‘So my stepcousin and ward is not only penniless, but is also a bastard—’

‘Royston!’

Justin groaned out loud. ‘And if I should discover that her real father is an unsavoury scoundrel fit only for the gutter?’

His grandmother raised imperious brows. ‘Then you will do everything in your power to make sure that no one else is ever made privy to that information.’

‘And how do you suggest I do that?’

‘I have every confidence that you will find a way, Royston.’ She smiled.

A confidence in his abilities which, in this particular instance, Justin did not share...

* * *

Ellie could not settle as she waited nervously for Justin to join her in the library. Even the warmth from the fire beside which she now sat, lit by Stanhope some minutes ago when he delivered the tray on which sat the two glasses and brandy decanter, did little to ease the chill of nervousness from her bones.

She had been in the dowager duchess’s household for a year now and before this evening could have counted the number of words she had exchanged with the top-lofty Duke of Royston on the fingers of one hand. Nor had he ever deigned to address her by her given name until this evening.

Which was not to say Ellie had not been completely aware of him, or that his full name was Justin George Robert St Just, the twelfth Duke of Royston—and a long list of other titles which escaped Ellie’s memory for the moment. Aged nine years her senior, and so obviously experienced as well as worldly, the golden-haired, blue-eyed Justin St Just had also featured largely in every one of Ellie’s romantic dreams, both day and night this past year, to a degree that she believed herself half in love with him already.

Which made awaiting his appearance in the library now even more excruciatingly nerve-racking. How embarrassing if she were to reveal, by look, word or deed, even an inkling of the sensual fantasies she had woven so romantically about the powerful and handsome duke! Fantasies that made Ellie’s cheeks burn just to think of them as she imagined Justin returning her feelings for him, resulting in those chiselled lips claiming her own, those long and elegant hands caressing her back, before moving higher, to cup the fullness of her eagerly straining breasts—

‘Your thoughts appear to please you, Cousin Eleanor...?’

Ellie gave a guilty start as she rose hastily from the chair beside the fireplace to turn and face the man whose lips and hands she had just been imagining touching her with such intimacy.

Justin did not at all care for the look of apprehension which appeared upon Eleanor Rosewood’s delicately blushing face as she rose to gaze across the library at him. Apprehension, accompanied by a certain amount of guilt, if he was not mistaken. What she had to feel guilty about he had no idea, nor did he care for that look of apprehension either. ‘Perhaps not,’ he drawled as he stepped further into the room and closed the door behind him before crossing to where the decanter of brandy and glasses had been placed upon the desktop.

‘I trust the dowager duchess is feeling better?’

As Justin’s grandmother had elicited several promises from him before allowing him to leave her bedchamber, the condition of her health being one of them, he was not now at liberty to discuss the reason for Dr Franklyn’s visit, with Eleanor or anyone else. That Justin would be having words with the good doctor himself was definite, but his grandmother had insisted that neither of her two close friends, or her companion, be made aware of the reason for her fatigue.

Justin schooled his features into an expression of amusement. ‘She assures me she feels well enough to continue as usual with the Royston Ball to be held here in four days’ time,’ he answered evasively as he turned to carry the two brandy glasses over to where she stood so delicately pale beside the glowing fire.

She made no effort to take the glass he held out to her. ‘I do not care for brandy, your Grace.’

‘I have a feeling that tonight shall be the exception,’ he said drily.

She blinked long silky lashes. ‘It will...?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said distractedly. The flickering flames brought out the red-gold fire in her hair, Justin noted admiringly as he placed the glass in her hand; she really did have the most beautiful hair, in a myriad of shades, from deep auburn to red and then gold. Her eyes were a bright green, the same colour as a perfect emerald, and surrounded by the longest silky black lashes Justin had ever seen. As for those freckles upon her creamy cheeks and nose...

Justin felt a sudden urge, a strong desire, to kiss each and every one of them! He determinedly brought those wayward thoughts to an abrupt end and his mouth compressed. ‘My grandmother has requested that you...assist her in the matter of the ball.’

Her little pink tongue moved moistly across those full and pouting lips, making him shift uncomfortably. ‘I am not sure what assistance I could possibly be in the planning of such a grand occasion, but I shall of course endeavour to offer the dowager duchess whatever help I am able.’

Justin gave her an amused look. ‘You misunderstand, Cousin Eleanor—the assistance required of you is that you attend the Royston Ball.’

She nodded. ‘And I have already said that I shall be only too pleased to help the dowager duchess in any way that I can—’

‘You are to attend the ball as her guest—careful!’ he warned as the brandy glass looked in danger of slipping from her fingers.

Ellie’s fingers immediately tightened about the bulbous glass even as stared up at him in disbelief. Justin could not seriously be suggesting that she was to attend the ball as a member of the ton, was he?

The implacability of his expression as he looked at her down the long length of his aristocratic nose appeared to suggest that he was.

Chapter Four

‘You may find a sip of brandy to be beneficial...’

Ellie was still so stunned that she obediently sipped her drink—and immediately began to choke as the fiery liquid hit and burned the back of her throat. A dilemma Justin immediately rectified by slapping her soundly upon her back.

Perhaps a little harder than was necessary?

Ellie shook her head as she straightened, her eyes watering, her face feeling hot and flushed as she spoke huskily, ‘I have no idea what her Grace can be thinking! I could not possibly attend the Royston Ball as a guest.’

‘My grandmother has decreed otherwise.’

As if that announcement settled the matter, Ellie realised dazedly. ‘And what is your own opinion on the subject, your Grace?’ she prompted, sure that he could not approve of such a plan as this.

He gave a shrug of those wide and muscled shoulders before drawling, ‘I make it a point of principle never to disagree with my grandmother.’

Ellie knew that to be an erroneous statement from the onset; if Justin listened without argument to everything his grandmother said to him, then he would have long since found himself married, with half-a-dozen heirs in the nursery! For Edith St Just made no secret of her desire to see her grandson acquire his duchess, and not long afterwards begin producing his heirs. A desire which Ellie knew he had successfully evaded fulfilling during this past year, at least.

Ellie looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes as she tried to gauge the duke’s response to his grandmother’s unexpected decision to invite her lowly companion to attend the prestigious Royston Ball. A fruitless task, as it happened, the blandness of Justin’s expression revealing absolutely none of that arrogant gentleman’s inner thoughts. Although Ellie thought she detected a slight glint of amusement in the depths of those deep blue eyes... No doubt at her expense, she thought irritably.

Ellie was not a fool and she might well consider herself half in love with Justin, and find him exciting in a forbidden way, but that did not preclude her from knowing he was also arrogant, cynical and mocking. Or that his mockery on this occasion was directed towards her.

She drew in a ragged breath in an attempt to steady herself. ‘I shall, of course, explain to her Grace, first thing in the morning, exactly why it is I cannot accept her invitation.’

‘And I wish you every success with that.’ There was no mistaking the amusement this time in those deceptively sleepy blue eyes.

Deceptive, because Ellie was sure that nothing escaped this astutely intelligent man’s notice! ‘But surely you must see that it will not do?’

‘I am not the one whom you will have to convince of that, Eleanor,’ the duke pointed out almost gleefully, she thought crossly. ‘My grandmother, once her mind is settled upon something, is rarely, if ever, persuaded otherwise.’

That might well be so—indeed, after this past year spent in that lady’s household, Ellie knew for herself that it was!—but in this case it must be attempted. Only the cream of society was ever invited into the dowager duchess’s home, to attend the Royston Ball or on any other social occasion, and Ellie knew that she was far from being that. Admittedly, her mother and father had been on the fringes of that society, her father because he was the youngest son of a baron. And although her mother had been merely a country squire’s daughter, she had been elevated in society by her first marriage to the son of a baron, and again at the second marriage to the son of a lord, the dowager duchess’s own nephew. Even so, Ellie’s own place in society was precarious at best.

‘Indeed, I see no reason why you should wish to do such a thing,’ the duke continued. ‘If my grandmother has decided that you are to be introduced to society, then you may be assured that none in society will dare to argue the point.’

‘Even you?’ she couldn’t help asking, then flushed at her own temerity.

Justin frowned at this second attempt on Eleanor’s part to ascertain his own views on the subject. Especially when he was now unsure of those views himself...

Admittedly, he had initially dismissed the very idea of her introduction into society, but second, and perhaps third thoughts, had revealed to him that it was not such an unacceptable idea as he had first considered. His grandmother’s argument, in favour of doing so, in an effort to secure Eleanor a suitable husband, although a considerable inconvenience to himself, was perfectly valid. Most especially if Justin were to provide Eleanor with a suitable dowry, as his grandmother suggested he must do.

Eleanor was both ladylike in her appearance as well as her manner. The fact that she also happened to be impoverished should not prevent her from seeking the same happiness in the marriage mart as any other young lady of nineteen years.

There was that irritating question as to whom Eleanor’s real father might be, of course, but Justin had his grandmother’s assurances that Eleanor knew nothing of that, believing herself to be the daughter of Mr Henry Rosewood. And if Justin’s investigations into that matter, at his grandmother’s behest, should prove otherwise, then who needed to be any the wiser about it?

The father, perhaps, if he did not already know of his daughter’s existence...

Only time, and investigation, would inform Justin as to whether or not the name of Eleanor’s real father was of any relevance to this present situation.

His grandmother having elicited his next promise—that he would not speak to Eleanor on that particular subject either—Justin now turned to the reason for Edith’s insistence on Eleanor’s début into society. ‘The dowager duchess has decided it is time for you to acquire a husband.’

Green eyes widened incredulously at his announcement, even as those creamy cheeks became flushed. With embarrassment? Or temper? Or perhaps excitement? He wished he knew.

Justin did not know her well enough to gauge her present mood, but he was certainly man enough to appreciate the added depth of colour to the green of her eyes, and the flushed warmth in those creamy cheeks, as well as the swift rise and fall of the full swell of her breasts. Indeed, if this young lady had been anyone other than his grandmother’s protégée, then she would have been the perfect choice for the role of his mistress he had been considering earlier—

Justin called a sudden halt to his wandering thoughts. His grandmother’s request had now placed him in the position of guardian to this particular young lady, and as Eleanor’s guardian Justin would frown most severely upon any gentleman having such licentious thoughts, as his had just been, in regard to his own ward!

She drew in a deep breath, unwittingly further emphasising the fullness of those creamy breasts. ‘I am sure I am very...gratified by her Grace’s concern—’

‘Are you?’

Ellie gave Justin a quick glance beneath lowered lashes as she heard the mocking amusement in his tone; grateful as she was to the dowager duchess for coming to her rescue a year ago, it had not been an easy task for Ellie to learn to hold her impetuous tongue, or keep her fiery temper in check, as was befitting in the companion of a much older lady and a dowager duchess at that, and they were faults her mother had been at pains to point out to Ellie on a regular basis when she was alive.

The duke’s amusement, so obviously at her expense, which she once again saw in those intense blue eyes, was enough to make Ellie forget all of her previous caution, as she snapped waspishly, ‘I am gratified to see that at least one of us finds this situation amusing and it is not me!’

‘If nothing else, it has at least succeeded in diverting my grandmother’s attention from my own lack of interest in the married state!’ he lobbed back lazily.

Ellie eyed him in frustration. ‘I am no more interested in entering into marriage, simply because it’s convenient, than you are!’

Her mother’s marriage, to a youngest son, had resulted in Muriel Rosewood being left a virtually impoverished and expectant widow on Henry Rosewood’s death, with only a small yearly stipend from the Rosewood family coffers, and no other interest in the widow and her daughter from that family, with which to support them.

Muriel’s second marriage ten years later, to a rake of a man whom she did not love, but who offered her a comfortable home for herself and her young daughter, had not been a happy one. Far from it.

As a consequence, Ellie had decided that she would never marry for any other reason than that she loved the man who was to be her husband. Far better that she remain an old maid, she had decided, paid companion to the dowager duchess, or someone very like her, than that she should end up as unhappy as her mother before her, unpaid servant and bed partner of a man who did not love her any more than she loved him.

The duke chuckled huskily. ‘My grandmother is not easily gainsaid.’

‘You appear to have done so most successfully all these years,’ Ellie pointed out smartly.

Justin gave an acknowledging inclination of his golden head at the hit. ‘And with my grandmother’s determined efforts now firmly concentrated upon your own marital prospects, my dear cousin, I fully admit I am hoping to continue that enviable state for several more years to come.’

She frowned. ‘I do not have any “marital prospects”!’

‘But you will have, once I have settled a sizeable dowry upon you.’

‘A sizeable dowry!’ Ellie repeated, staring up at him incredulously. ‘And why, pray, would you wish to do that?’

He lifted a brow. ‘Because it would make my grandmother happy if I did?’

Ellie continued to look up at him for several long seconds, a stare the duke met with unblinking and bored implacability. Bored?

So he found the idea of marrying her off, whether she wished it or not, whether she would be happy or not, to be not only amusing but boring as well?

And to think—to imagine that she had thought only minutes ago that she was in love with Justin St Just! So much so, that she had awaited with trepidation the announcement of his betrothal and forthcoming marriage to some beautiful and highly eligible young lady. Now she could not help but feel pity for whichever of those unlucky women should eventually be chosen as duchess to this arrogant man!

Indeed, as far as Ellie was concerned, Justin St Just had become nothing more than her tormentor, out to bedevil her with threats of arranging her marriage to a man she neither knew nor loved.

It could not be allowed to happen!

Except...Ellie had no idea how she was to go about avoiding such an unwanted outcome when the duke and the dowager duchess, both so imperious and determined, seemed so set upon the idea.

She placed her brandy glass down upon one of the side tables before commencing to pace the room, as she feverishly sought for ways in which she might avoid the state of an arranged, unhappy marriage, without upsetting the kind dowager duchess, or incurring the wrath of her devil of a grandson.

Justin replenished his brandy glass before strolling over to take a seat beside the warmth of the fire, observing Eleanor’s agitated movements from between narrowed lids.

That she was displeased at the idea of an arranged marriage was completely obvious. A deep frown marred her brow as she continued to energetically pace the length of the library, which allowed Justin to appreciate the outline of her slender and yet curvaceous form in the plain brown gown and the creamy expanse of her throat above the swell of her breasts, as well as the fineness of those furiously snapping green eyes.

He couldn’t help but wonder how much more beautiful she might look with that abundance of red curls loose about her shoulders and dressed in a clinging gown, or possibly a night rail, of deep green silk...

And to think he had been bored to the point of ennui earlier this evening!

Not so any longer. Now Justin felt invigorated, the future full of possibilities, as he considered the challenge ahead of him in procuring a suitable husband for the surprisingly feisty, and obviously unwilling, Miss Eleanor Rosewood.

He was not a little curious as to the reason for her obvious aversion to an arranged marriage, when, in Justin’s experience, for the majority of the women of his acquaintance an advantageous marriage appeared to be their only goal in life.

Could it be—did Eleanor’s tastes perhaps run in another direction entirely? No, surely not! It would be a cruelty on the part of Mother Nature if a woman of such understated beauty, and surprisingly fiery a temperament as Eleanor, was not destined to occupy the arms, the bed, of some lucky gentleman. In other circumstances, she would almost certainly have made the perfect mistress—

No, he really must not think of her in such terms. He must in future consider himself as purely a guardian where she was concerned.

Even if his extremely private inner thoughts strayed constantly in the opposite direction!

‘Have you drawn any conclusions yet as to how you might thwart my grandmother’s plans for your immediate future?’ Justin teased after several long minutes of her pacing. ‘If so, I wish you would share them with me, if only for my own future reference?’

Ellie came to an abrupt halt to glare across the library at the lazily reclining form of the relaxed duke, the glow from the flames of the fire turning his fashionably styled hair a rich and burnished gold, those patrician features thrown into stark and cruel relief, and causing Ellie’s pulse to quicken in spite of herself.

The rapidity of her pulse, and sudden shortness of breath, told her that, although she now doubted herself in love with him any more, she was still not completely averse to his physical attributes, at least.

His arrogance and mockery, when directly aimed at her, as they now were, were something else entirely, the former frustrating her and the latter infuriating her.

She drew in a deep and steady breath before answering him. ‘I do not see why I cannot, politely but firmly, inform her Grace of my feelings of aversion to an arranged marriage—you find something amusing in that approach?’ she prompted sharply as he laughed out loud.

‘Truth be told, I find it ridiculous in the extreme.’ Justin flashed his even white teeth in an unsympathetic grin. ‘My grandmother, as I am sure you are aware, has all the subtlety of a battering ram. That being so, I doubt your own feelings on the matter will even be considered. Nor will anything you have to say on the subject shake her unwavering certainty that she feels she knows what is best for you,’ he added firmly as Ellie would have protested.

‘Perhaps if you were to—no, I see that you are so entertained by the whole idea, you would not even consider coming to my aid!’ Ellie eyed him in utter disgust as he continued to grin at her in that unsympathetic manner.

He eyed her mockingly. ‘Perhaps if you were to tell me of the reasons for your reluctance in this matter, I’d feel more inclined to help you out?’

Ellie gave an impatient shake of her head. ‘No doubt they are the same as your own. I could never marry anyone whom I did not love with the whole of my heart and who did not love me in the same way.’

All amusement fled as he stood up abruptly, his eyes now a cold and glittering sapphire blue. ‘There you are wrong, Eleanor,’ he rasped. ‘My own feelings on that particular subject are in total opposition to your own,’ he elaborated harshly as she raised questioning brows, ‘in that I would never consider marrying anyone who declared a love for me, or vice versa.’

Ellie’s eyes widened at his words and the coldness of the tone in which he said them. She had believed that the duke’s aversion to marriage was because he had not yet met the woman whom he loved enough to make his duchess. His statement now showed it was the opposite.

Ellie could not help but wonder why...

She was aware, of course, that many marriages in the ton were made for financial or social gain, as her mother’s had been to Frederick St Just. But often the couples in those marriages learnt a respect and affection for each other, and in some cases love itself. Again, that had not happened in her mother’s case, her marriage to Frederick, an inveterate gambler and womaniser, tolerable at best, painful at worst, certainly colouring Ellie’s own views on the subject.

But for any gentleman to deliberately state his intention of never feeling love for his wife, or to have her feel love for him, seemed harsh in the extreme.

And surely it was asking too much of any woman, if married to Justin St Just, not to fall in love with him?

Or perhaps the answer to his stated aversion to loving his future wife had something to do with why he could not initially be found earlier on this evening...?

Ellie knew that many gentlemen of the ton had mistresses, women society dictated they could never marry, but for whom they often held more affection than they did their wives. Perhaps he had such a woman in his life? A low-born woman, or possibly a married woman of the ton, whom he could never make his duchess, but for whom he had a deep and abiding love?

Yes, perhaps that was the explanation for his stated desire for a loveless marriage. ‘Would such a situation not be unfair to your future wife?’ she ventured softly.

He looked down the length of his nose at her. ‘Not if she were made aware of the situation from the onset.’

She gasped. ‘Surely no woman would accept a marriage proposal under such cold and unemotional conditions?’

He gave her a pitying smile. ‘It has been my experience that most, if not all women, would maim or kill in order to marry a duke and love be damned.’

‘But—’

‘The hour grows late, Eleanor, and I believe we have talked on this subject long enough for one evening.’ Justin abruptly placed his empty brandy glass down upon the mantelpiece before turning away, no longer in the least amused by this conversation. ‘If I might ask that you send word to me tomorrow regarding my grandmother’s health?’

‘I—of course, your Grace.’ Eleanor seemed momentarily disconcerted by the abrupt change of subject. ‘Hopefully I might also be able to inform you of her change of mind in regard to my attending the Royston Ball.’

Justin grimaced. ‘You are an optimist as well as a romantic, I see.’

A faint flush darkened her cheeks even as she raised her chin proudly. ‘I would hope I am a realist, your Grace.’

He gave a slow shake of his head. ‘A realist would know to accept when she is defeated.’

‘A realist would accept, even with your generous offer of providing me with a dowry, that I am not meant to be a part of society. Indeed,’ she continued firmly as he would have spoken, ‘I have no ambitions to ever be so.’

Justin raised his brows. ‘You consider us a frivolous lot, then, with nothing to recommend us?’

He found himself the focus of dark-green eyes as Eleanor studied him unblinkingly for several seconds before giving a brief, dismissive smile. ‘There is no answer I could give to that question which would not result in my either insulting you or denigrating myself. As such, I choose to make no reply at all.’

It was, Justin realised admiringly, both a clever and witty answer, and delivered in so ambiguous a tone as to render it as being at least one of the things she claimed it was not meant to be!

Again he found himself entertained by this surprisingly outspoken young woman, to appreciate why his grandmother was so fond of her; Edith St Just did not suffer twittering fools any more gladly than he did himself.

He gave her a courtly bow. ‘I greatly look forward to being your escort to the Royston Ball.’ And it was true, Justin realised with no little surprise; it was diverting, to say the least, to anticipate what this young woman might choose to do or say next!

Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘My escort?’

He shot her a disarming grin. ‘Another request from my grandmother.’

‘But why should I be in need of an escort, when I already reside here?’

Justin smiled. ‘Because a single lady, appearing in society for the first time, must be accompanied by her nearest male relative and guardian, and it appears I have that honour.’

Panic replaced the alarm in those deep-green eyes. ‘Everyone would stop and stare, and the ladies would gossip speculatively behind their fans if I were to enter the ballroom on the arm of the Duke of Royston!’

‘I believe that to be the whole point of the exercise, Cousin.’

‘No.’ Eleanor gave a decisive shake of her head, several red curls fluttering loosely about her temples as she did so. ‘If I am to be forced to attend, as you believe I will be, then I absolutely refuse to make such a spectacle of myself.’

He raised haughty brows. ‘Even though you will have the honour of being the first young woman whom the Duke of Royston has ever escorted anywhere?’

She looked startled for a moment, but recovered quickly. ‘That only makes me all the more determined it shall not happen.’

Justin’s smile widened at her stubborn optimism. ‘I do not believe there is any way in which you might prevent it—other than your possibly falling down the stairs and breaking a leg before then!’ He laughed in earnest as he saw by Eleanor’s furrowed brow that she was actually giving the suggestion serious consideration. ‘Would it really be such a bad thing to be seen entering the ballroom on my arm, Eleanor?’ he chided softly as he crossed the room to stand in front of her. ‘If so, then you are not in the least flattering to a man’s ego.’

‘I do not believe your own ego to be in need of flattery,’ Ellie murmured huskily, totally disconcerted by Justin’s sudden and close proximity. Indeed, she could feel the warmth of his breath ruffling those errant curls at her temple.

‘No?’ Long lean fingers reached up to smooth back those curls, the touch of his fingers light and cool against the heat of her brow.

Ellie swallowed before attempting an answer, at the same time inwardly willing her voice to sound as it normally did. ‘How can it, when you are the elusive but much-coveted prize of the marriage mart?’

She sounded only a little breathless, she realised thankfully, at the same time as she knew her disobedient knees were in danger of turning to water and no longer supporting her.

‘Am I?’ A smile tilted those sculptured lips as those lean fingers now trailed lightly down the warmth of her cheek.

Her throat moved as she swallowed before answering. ‘Elusive or much coveted?’

‘Either.’

Ellie found she was having trouble breathing as his fingers now lingered teasingly close to, but did not quite touch, the fullness of her lips. Suddenly she possessed both dry lips and a throat she necessarily had to moisten before attempting to speak again. ‘This is a ridiculous conversation, your Grace.’

‘Ah, once again you seek to put me firmly in my place with the use of formality,’ he murmured admiringly.

‘I do no such thing!’ Ellie attempted to rally her indignation—not an easy task when the soft pad of the duke’s thumb was now passing lightly across her bottom lip, and sending rivulets of excitement to the tips of her breasts and an unaccustomed warmth to gather between her thighs. ‘Your Grace—’

‘Justin,’ he correct softly. ‘Or Cousin Justin, if you prefer.’

‘I do not,’ she stated firmly, knowing that if she did not stop his teasing soon she would end up as a boneless puddle at his highly polished, booted feet. ‘It is late, and I— Perhaps there is some—someone anxiously awaiting your returning to her tonight?’

He stilled as those narrowed blue eyes moved searchingly over her flushed face. ‘You implied something similar when I arrived earlier tonight...’

‘Your Grace?’

‘It becomes more and more obvious to me that you, like my grandmother, believe my delay in arriving here this evening to be because I was in the arms of my current mistress,’ he said speculatively.

Ellie felt her cheeks flush even warmer, no doubt once again clashing horribly with the red of her hair, as well as emphasising the freckles across her cheeks and nose that had long been the bane of her life. ‘I am not in the least interested as to the reason for the delay in your arrival—’

‘Oh, but I think you are, Eleanor,’ he contradicted softly. ‘Very interested.’

She gave a pained frown as she looked up into those intent blue eyes and decided she had suffered quite enough of this gentleman’s teasing for one evening. ‘Is your conceit so great that you believe every woman you meet must instantly fall under the spell of your charm?’

‘Not in the least.’ Those blue eyes now twinkled down at her merrily. ‘But it is gratifying to know that you at least find me charming, Eleanor—’

‘What I believe, your Grace, is that you are a conceited ass—’ She fell abruptly silent as Justin lowered his head and bit lightly, reprovingly, on her bottom lip.

Ellie stiffened as if frozen in place and her heart seemed to cease beating altogether as she acknowledged that the coldly arrogant Duke of Royston, the mockingly handsome Justin St Just, had just run the moistness of his sensuous tongue over her parted lips...

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