Regency Scandal: Some Like It Wicked / Some Like to Shock. Carole Mortimer
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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 …
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 fingers tightened in the neckcloth. ‘Thirdly, if I ever see you within ten feet of her Grace again, I will ensure that you live to regret it. In fact, I believe it would be beneficial to your health if you were to take the next few days in which to deal with your affairs here before retiring to your home in the country for the rest of the Season.’
‘I—’
‘Finally,’ Rupert continued in that same dangerously soft tone, ‘before taking your leave you may apologise to the Duchess for your wholly unacceptable behaviour towards her just now.’
The younger man’s face twisted into a sneer. ‘I have no intention of apologising to one such as her.’
‘Now, Sugdon. Before I forget there is a lady present at all and decide to beat you to within an inch of your life.’ Indeed his mood was such this evening that Rupert would welcome—even positively enjoy—the opportunity of physically venting some of his seething emotions on the other man.
‘The woman has been flaunting her attractions for weeks now—’
‘I most certainly have not!’ Pandora gasped in scandalised protest, having listened to the exchange in ever-increasing dismay, and knowing, from the resentful glare Lord Sugdon now sent in her direction, that he held her totally responsible for his present humiliation. Quite how he came to that conclusion, when Pandora had done absolutely nothing to encourage his shocking behaviour, nor personally called upon the Duke of Stratton for help, was completely beyond her comprehension, but believe it Lord Sugdon most certainly did.
She repressed a shiver of apprehension as she turned away from the promised retribution in his glare to instead look at the Duke of Stratton. ‘I would far rather you just released him, your Grace, so that he might then leave my presence as quickly as is possible,’ she pleaded huskily.
Rupert Stirling did not so much as glance in her direction. ‘Not before he has made his apologies to you.’
Pandora shot another nervous glance in Lord Sugdon’s direction, accepting that, whilst he might fear the Duke’s immediate retribution, he harboured no such feelings of awe where she was concerned.
Indeed, she feared she would even now be prostrate on the terrace if looks could actually kill!
Lord Sugdon drew himself up stiffly as he spoke resentfully, ‘I apologise, your Grace.’
She moistened the dryness of her lips before attempting a reply. ‘Your apology—’
‘Is not accepted.’ Once again it was the Duke of Stratton who answered the younger man. ‘For what reason are you apologising, Sugdon?’ he prompted. ‘In acknowledgement of your unacceptable behaviour just now towards her Grace? Or is it only that you regret being caught in the act of attempting to physically assault her?’ he added knowingly.
The younger man shook his head vehemently. ‘I fail to see why you are making such a fuss when everyone knows the woman is nothing more than an opportunist, on the look-out for the next man to share her bed now that her year of mourning her husband is over. Unless, of course, that next man is you, Stratton, in which case I apologise for having stepped upon your toes—or any other part of your anatomy—’ He got no further with the insult as the Duke suddenly released his neckcloth in order to swing back his arm and land a punch firmly upon the other man’s jaw, resulting in Lord Sugdon toppling unconscious to the ground.
‘Your Grace!’ Pandora stood up to stare down in alarm at the prostrate and unconscious man.
Rupert at last spared a narrow-eyed glance at the obviously dismayed Pandora Maybury, his gaze becoming positively appreciative as he took in the fact that the ripped front of her gown revealed surprisingly plump breasts beneath the thin material of her chemise, the nipples that adorned their firm, pouting tips showing a deep and alluring rose.
Her cheeks flushed a similar colour as she became aware of his intent gaze, her hand once again moving up to clasp the ragged edges of her gown together in order to hide that delectable plumpness from his view.
Rupert looked at her between hooded lids, taking in the gold of her hair arranged in fashionable curls at her crown, with several loose tendrils at her temples and nape, her face a pale oval in the moonlight, lashes lowered as she stared down at the prostrate man, making it impossible as yet for Rupert to see the full splendour of those ‘exquisitely beautiful’ violet-coloured eyes his friend had earlier described with such eloquence.
She moistened plump lips with the tip of her tiny pink tongue before speaking huskily. ‘What shall we do with him?’
Rupert arched dark, arrogant brows. ‘I have no intention of doing anything with him, madam. In fact, it is my intention to leave him exactly where he fell.’
‘But—’
‘No doubt he will have a slight jaw-ache when he awakens,’ he added with satisfaction. ‘But that, and the injury to his pride, will no doubt be all that he suffers. Unless, of course, Sugdon was right all along and you were actually encouraging the roughness of his attentions and now regret my interference?’ Rupert eyed her speculatively.
She gasped, that blush in her cheeks