The Duke's Undoing (Three Rogues and Their Ladies) by G.G. Vandagriff

that the dinner at Lady Harrison’s house was considerably enlivened by her escort, who rarely attended such gatherings. And never as companion to a woman as unpretentious as Elise. When Viscount Chessingden arrived, she heard whispers in the drawing room where they were drinking Madeira prior to the dinner gong. “The duke’s attention must be the explanation for her broken engagement!”
    “But does poor Elise know what a dangerous man Ruisdell is?”
    My lady had close on fifty guests. In the corners of her vast red and mahogany drawing room, many bets were made concerning a possible engagement before they sat down to dinner. Those who knew the duke laughed and called it an impossibility. He would never bind himself up in matrimony. Elise could barely contain her amusement.
    As the duke handed her a glass of Madeira, he said with a bark of laughter, “I just heard Westfield say, ‘Every pot has its lid.”‘
    Elise giggled. “Do you suspect you will go through life ‘lidless,’ Your Grace?”
    “I think the question is rather ‘will the charming Miss Edward’s ever settle on a pot?’”
    The duke had a gleam in his eye, and whispered in her ear as he led her to the dining room on his arm. “What the devil possessed you to choose that dress? How am I supposed to resist that delectable neck?”
    At his raised eyebrow, some devil prompted her. “I think a discreet kiss on my nape might lend verisimilitude to our charade.”
    “Minx! Would you have me treat you as my mistress?”
    “I suppose not. Only I’ve never had the nape of my neck kissed. I would only count it as research.”
    “And us not even properly engaged yet. Contain those desires, my dear. You know not with whom you are trifling. It is a pity, however. I may never see you in this dress again.”
    When the repast was nearly over and the guests were helping themselves to a savory Stilton, before the women left the men to their brandy and cigars, the duke tapped his glass with a spoon and rose, holding his wineglass before him. Talk stopped instantly. Elise noticed his knuckles white on his wine glass and hoped it wouldn’t snap. Was the cool duke actually nervous? Whatever for?
    “Ladies and gentlemen. Prepare yourselves for some grave news. I, the Duke of Ruisdell, a rake of great renown, would like to propose a toast to this magnificent lady, Miss Elise Edwards, who, after many importunings has agreed to be my wife.”
    The uproar that ensued was almost beyond the limits of what was acceptable among the ton . A ravishing redhead walked from her place at the long mahogany table, splashed her claret into Ruisdell’s face, and walked away. Calmly patting his face and clothing dry, he said with a chuckle, “Come along, Sunshine. I think that if we are to go to the ball this evening, I must obtain a change of clothing.”
    “Who was that woman?” Elise asked as they waited for their wraps in the front hall.
    “A person whom I refused to marry . . . let me recall, was it two or three days ago?”
    A suspicion that should have occurred to her before now finally surfaced. “I suppose rakes are dreadful cads, aren’t they?”
    “I can only speak for myself, but when a woman tries to heckle me to the altar, I become a bit uncooperative, to put it nicely.”
    “Then I feel dreadfully sorry for the poor woman,” Elise pronounced.
    “You needn’t. She knew what I was from the beginning, just as you do.”
    “But I’m not hopelessly in love with you, even if I did ask you to kiss my neck.”
    Before he put her cape over her bare shoulders, Ruisdell placed a row of warm, smooth kisses, light as butterfly wings, down one side of her neck all the way out to her shoulder. Corresponding wings fluttered in her breast, and for a moment she suspended breathing. Oh, good heavens!
    Composing herself with difficulty, she turned and rapped his knuckles with her fan. “How dare you! You forget yourself. I am not your mistress, Your Grace!”
    “Was