Page 32 of How to Tempt a Duke

Her brow creased. “I never should have put you in that situation. I worried it would frighten her off.”

“I never should have gone to her mother.” Charles put into words his deepest regrets. “Nor should I have attempted to hide my true purpose by asking to court her. Rather than flatter her, I have deeply offended her.” He shook his head. “I do not know how to fix this, Lottie.”

She sighed—a weary, defeated sound. “And you have not acquired what you need to find your lost stone.”

Charles blinked. The journals. Yes. He had not even considered them in light of his misdeeds. Damn. But how the devil did Lottie know...?

“How did you know I needed information from her?” Charles asked.

Lottie gave him a sad smile. “Because I know you far too well, Charles. Your hatred for Westix is strong enough that there would need to be a motivation greater than myself to lure you into aiding me in this endeavor.”

Charles truly was a cad. He ground his back teeth, but it did not quell the disgust tightening through him.

“But you still assisted me.” Lottie patted his forearm. “I know if I’d come to you for help when I needed it all those years ago you would have been there.”

“I would have been,” Charles said resolutely. “I still would now.”

Lottie’s mouth tucked at the corner. “You needn’t worry about me, but I would like you to make things right with Lady Eleanor.”

Charles scoffed. “I doubt she will speak to me ever again.”

“I disagree.” Lottie tapped her lips in thought. “Go to the masquerade ball.”

Charles wished he had a glass of liquor in his hand—something strong enough to burn away the ache in his chest. “She has no desire to see me.”

“Nor talk to you, nor hear your explanation. But if you’re at the ball with her...” Lottie smiled and gave a musing nod at her own plan. “She can’t refuse a dance with you—unless she isn’t planning to dance at all, which we know she won’t do. It will be the perfect opportunity to explain yourself.”

Truly, the idea was preposterous. His actions had only proved correct everything she’d grown up learning: it was best for him to stay behind an unaffected shield and to dim all emotion.

“I would suggest honesty this time.” Lottie leveled her gaze at him. “What other choice do you have?”

A heavy sigh pressed from his lungs. “You’re right.” He owed it to his father to try again to get those journals. And he owed it to Lady Eleanor, whom he had never thought he would be beholden to, to explain the breach of her hard-won trust.

“Of course I am.” Lottie gave a nonchalant shoulder-lift at her victory. “So you’ll go?”

“As long as I can get an invitation on such short notice.”

Lottie laughed at that. “You’re the new Duke of Somersville, just arrived into London after a five-year absence during which you traveled the world in search of ancient treasure. You could show up in rags and they’d still welcome you.”

No doubt his appearance would set all the tongues wagging. He cringed at the idea. “I’ll go as a pirate,” he said grudgingly.

Lottie’s expression became serious. “I know you loathe balls, and other such social functions, but Lady Eleanor is going to be nervous. She could use a friendly face to settle her nerves.” She tilted her head in consideration. “Or at least a familiar one. Someone to help ward off the legions of suitors who will seek her attention.”

Charles narrowed his eyes. Legions of suitors. He nearly scoffed again. But then recalled his idea of her gown, of how she would appear as an Ice Queen with her fire-red hair. Lottie was correct.

“I’ve said I’ll go,” he said gruffly. Grumpily, really, if he was being honest. “So I can have another shot at getting my father’s journals,” he added for good measure.

“Of course. For the journals.”

Lottie gave him a coy look he did not think he liked. But, while he didn’t appreciate her implication, or the annoying way she tapped his nose after she said it, he was looking forward to another opportunity to claim the journals.

And, blast it, he was anticipating with pleasure seeing Lady Eleanor as well.

To make things right, of course.

Or so he told himself.

Eleanor’s decision to be an Ice Queen for the masquerade ball had been the product of the mind of the woman she wanted to be, not necessarily the woman she truly was. In her mind, wearing the dazzling pale-blue-and-white gown would make her heedless of people’s opinions. She’d thought she might sweep into the ball like a queen, make the wittiest of remarks and confidently meet the eye of every eligible peer in the room.