these are the same violet-coloured eyes and long silky lashes, no doubt, which succeeded in luring not one man to his death, but two?’ The Duke’s tone was scathing.
Pandora drew her breath in sharply even as she dropped down weakly on to the wrought-iron bench seat that stood against the wall of Clayborne House, having long been aware of how society thought of her, but never actually having heard anyone openly make the accusation in her presence before.
Except, of course, she was not in the presence of her accusers, merely an eavesdropper who, as the saying went, wasn’t hearing anything good about herself.
‘I believe I might take my leave as you are so out of sorts,’ Dante now told Rupert.
‘I will stay here and finish my brandy and cigar before making my own excuses,’ the Duke answered.
Pandora was still too lost in her own misery to take any further heed of what they were saying. Too overwhelmed by the unhappiness of the memories their previous conversation had conjured up to do anything other than allow that misery to claim her, as it had so often this past year since her husband and Sir Thomas Stanley had both died so needlessly, and in doing so created a scandal which would be talked about for months, if not years. She—
‘Ah, here you are,’ a familiar voice oozed at her out of the surrounding darkness. ‘And all alone, too,’ Lord Sugdon added with satisfaction as he stepped into the dim candlelight escaping through the lace curtains at the library windows.
Pandora eyed him warily as she rose slowly to her silk-slippered feet. ‘I was just about to go back inside—’
‘Oh, surely not?’ The young Lord Sugdon stepped closer still. ‘It would be a pity to waste the moonlight. And the privacy this terrace affords us …’ he added with a suggestive leer in the direction of the swell of her breasts visible above the low neckline of her gown.
‘Nevertheless, I feel I really should return—Lord Sugdon!’ she gasped in protest as he reached out and pulled her roughly into his arms. ‘Release me at once!’ She pushed against his chest in her efforts to escape the confining steel of his arms about her waist, struggles he completely ignored as he now lowered his head with the obvious intention of claiming her lips with his own. Just the thought of his moist, full lips upon her own was enough to make Pandora’s stomach churn in sickening protest.
‘You don’t mean that—’
‘I most certainly do!’ Pandora insisted emotionally, sure that if she did not escape his steely grip very soon that she might actually swoon. Which she did not believe for one moment, from the expression of carnal intent now darkening Lord Sugdon’s face, would succeed in securing her release either; indeed, the man looked as if he were more than capable of taking advantage of her while she lay unconscious and unknowing in his arms. ‘You must stop this immediately, my lord!’
‘Like it a little rough, do you, my beauty?’ Sugdon grinned in satisfaction. ‘You will hear no complaints from me on that score!’ One of his hands released her waist long enough to grasp the neckline of her gown before pulling on the delicate fabric until it ripped and allowed her chemise-covered breasts to spill into view. ‘Now there’s a pretty sight to behold, to be sure.’ His gaze was heated on her semi-naked breasts as he licked the fullness of his lips in anticipation.
Pandora gave a choked sob, knowing that her life—a life that had been overshadowed by so much unhappiness these past four years—had just lowered to a depth of depravity she could never have imagined before this evening. ‘Please, you must not do not do this!’ she pleaded desperately as she continued to push ineffectively against the strength of Lord Sugdon’s hold upon her.
‘You know that you want me to.’ His hand now cupped one of her breasts, his fingers digging painfully into her tender flesh. ‘That you have been begging for just this all evening.’
‘You are wrong if you think that, sir!’ Pandora gasped. ‘Now please—’
‘It is you who shall please me in a few moments, my lovely— Why, you—!’ He snarled angrily as Pandora’s hand landed painfully against his cheek. ‘You shall pay for that, you little—’
‘I believe you will find, Sugdon, that when a lady says no as vehemently as this one is so obviously doing, that it is better to err on the side of caution and accept that she really might be turning down your advances.’
Pandora staggered back into the bench as she found herself suddenly released from Lord Sugdon’s hot and repulsive embrace, uncaring of the bruising of the metal into the back of her legs as she clutched her ripped gown tightly over her breasts, her face deathly pale as she stared across the terrace at her unexpected—and totally improbable—saviour.
Lord Rupert Stirling, eighth Duke of Stratton. Otherwise known to the ton as simply Devil …
Chapter Two
Rupert had been enjoying the last of his cigar and brandy when his solitude had been rudely interrupted by the sound of voices outside on the terrace. Believing at first that it was merely a man and woman involved in a lovers’ tiff, he had chosen to ignore them and continue his contemplation of the unhappy predicament in his own life. Namely, how best to deal with the problem of Patricia Stirling, his late father’s Duchess.
Having to think of the woman at all was enough to incite Rupert’s ire, at the same time as he accepted that he could not contemplate continuing with their present living arrangements any longer. Something had to be done, and soon. He—
The volume of the conversation outside on the terrace had then become such that Rupert found it difficult to think at all. So much so that he stood up to cross the library to where the French doors stood open, his intention to tell the couple to take their damned argument elsewhere. Instead of which it instantly became apparent to him that it was not a lovers’ tiff at all, but a gentleman whom he easily recognised as being that young pup Lord Richard Sugdon forcing his attentions upon a lady whom Rupert could not see clearly, held tightly in Sugdon’s arms as she was, but who was nevertheless obviously protesting those attentions, both verbally and physically.
A petite and fair-haired lady wearing a purple—correction—violet-coloured silk gown. None other than Pandora Maybury, Duchess of Wyndwood, if Rupert was not mistaken. And he rarely was …
‘Now see here, Devlin,’ Sugdon began to bluster in protest.
‘That would now be your Grace, the Duke of Stratton,’ Rupert corrected icily as he turned his glittering gaze to the younger man. ‘And I believe I have already seen and heard enough to know that you are bothering this lady.’
‘There’s nothing of the lady about her—‘ Sugdon’s insult came to an abrupt halt as Rupert grasped him by his neckcloth before pushing him up against the brick wall of the house.
Rupert lowered his face to within a few inches of the younger man’s flushed one, more than pleased to have a direction in which to vent his own inner frustrations. ‘Firstly, the Duchess,’ he bit out softly and succinctly, ‘is a member of the ton and so most certainly she is a lady. Secondly, she has clearly refused your attentions. Am I correct so far?’ The chill warning in his tone was enough to make the other man’s cheeks pale.
Sugdon’s Adam’s apple moved nervously up and down in his throat. ‘Yes.’
Rupert’s
