The Duke and the Lady in Red (2 page)

“I am nothing if I am not scandalous.”

“Should I be wary? Is my reputation at risk?”

“Depends on your reputation. Considering that you arrived without chaperone or escort, I assume your reputation is of little consequence to you.”

So he'd seen her arrive, had been observing her for a good long while. Nearly three quarters of an hour now. It was a good omen that she had managed to hold his interest for so long. “I'm a widow. I don't require a chaperone.”

“My condolences on your loss, although it appears you're out of mourning.”

She didn't fail to notice the way his gaze dipped to the plumped up mounds of her bosom. They drew men much more than her face, which was lacking in beauty. But it served to her advantage, as a dipping gaze seldom noticed the shrewdness in her eyes. “It's been two years now. We were exploring the jungles in India when he was attacked by a tiger. Terribly gruesome.” She visibly shuddered, ensuring he was distracted by the quivering flesh of her breasts. Men were so easy to manipulate. She should be ashamed, but she had learned long ago that one shouldn't be regretful about what one was forced to do in order to survive. “I don't wish to dwell on it.”

She took another sip of the excellent champagne, allowing her hand to tremble slightly. “I fear I need a distraction. It has been lovely visiting with you, but I should like to tour the gentlemen's salon. As I understand it, after tonight, ladies will no longer be welcomed within its walls. I want to see what we are being denied.”

“I'll accompany you.”

“Surely you have a wife somewhere who would not appreciate your attentions to me.”

“No wife. No betrothed, no paramour. I've no interest in attachments of a permanent nature.”

“I can't blame you there. Having had one, I now find myself feeling quite the same way.”

He offered his arm. “Then shall we?”

She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and was greeted with firm muscle. A man who didn't just lie about with no purpose. Her head barely reached his shoulder. He was a towering man, large and broad. But it was more than his physical traits that made him appear powerful. She suspected if his height did not extend past her knee, he would still dominate his surroundings. He seemed to dwarf everything around him. She didn't know if she had ever met a man who commanded such supremacy.

As they strode—­as this man could do nothing except stride with confidence—­through the room, he acknowledged a few but was greeted with deference.

“Your Grace.”

“Avendale.”

“Duke.”

She'd been correct about his title. She wondered how many lesser ones he might possess, how much property. What was he worth? Based upon the excellent tailoring of his black swallowtail coat, trousers, and waistcoat, along with the jeweled pin nestled in his cravat, he was worth a princely sum.

They arrived in a room that was much darker than any of the others she'd viewed. The walls were papered in rich burgundy and forest green. The furniture matched. A massive fireplace dominated one of several sitting areas. Glass cabinets held an assortment of spirits. Liveried footmen served amber liquid.

She finished off her champagne and set the flute on the tray of a passing footman. The man beside her—­Avendale—­did the same. She didn't like noticing that he seemed to belong here more than in any other place. That he was made of—­and for—­debauchery. He was comfortable with his surroundings, would flourish here as well as in the bedchamber. She was rather certain of it. Even in shadows, he would stand out, prowling toward her, conquering every aspect of the night, conquering her. She wouldn't so much as whimper in protest.

“Would you care for something darker?” he asked.

He grinned wolfishly, and for a moment she feared he read all her thoughts. A shiver went through her before she grasped his meaning. He'd distracted her. Normally she kept her head around men, even handsome ones. Or perhaps she was giving him too much credit, had simply sipped the champagne far too quickly so that her mind had dulled for a moment.

“Is it allowed?” she asked innocently.

“It is. That's Darling's purpose here—­to open up every manner of vice and decadence to the ladies. But wouldn't it be far more enjoyable if it weren't allowed?”

He held her gaze and she was no longer certain they were discussing liquor. Things not allowed generally were more enjoyable. How did he know that was what she preferred? What she thrived on? The forbidden was always more alluring. She suspected many of the ladies would soon wonder what all the fuss had been about now that they could walk through the doors whenever they chose.

“Did I hear my name taken in vain?” a deep voice asked.

Turning to the side, she came face to face with the man she'd earlier seen kissing the woman in the dance area. That woman was now beaming with happiness and inappropriately nestled against his side. But then Rose supposed in a place like this nothing was completely inappropriate. That was the entire point to it.

“I've been taking your name in vain ever since you came up with this ghastly idea to allow women into our sanctum,” Avendale said, clearly disgruntled.

“Yet here you are walking about with one of those ladies,” Drake Darling said. “Are you going to introduce us?”

“I fear we have not yet been introduced.” Avendale's gaze ran over her. “Names are unimportant to me.”

So he had only a temporary interest in her. Perhaps for just tonight. A tryst, something wicked. She was insulted enough to take offense, but not so much that she wasn't also flattered. Yet both emotions were schooled not to show. Much more satisfying to make him pay later for his arrogance. Oh, and how he would pay. She could hardly wait, but taking her time would make it all so much sweeter.

“My apologies, Mr. Darling,” she said softly. “I am Mrs. Rosalind Sharpe.”

A dark eyebrow arched over dark eyes. “You know who I am?”

“You had an invitation delivered to me. I made inquiries after I arrived here and someone pointed you out. I had planned to make your acquaintance straightaway but you seemed rather busy.” Smiling, doing all she could to blush, she looked at the woman.

“Yes, I was rather,” he admitted.

“You do realize you're going to have to marry Lady Ophelia now,” Avendale said, “after that spectacle you made earlier.”

Rose fought not to show her surprise that a commoner had snagged nobility.

“I shall do so with great pleasure. And I'm being rude. Lady Ophelia Lyttleton, allow me to introduce Mrs. Rosalind Sharp.”

“A pleasure,” Lady Ophelia said.

“The pleasure is all mine, my lady. I do hope we may have an opportunity to know each other better,” Rose said. “I am quite fascinated with the place. I can see myself spending considerable time here.”

“I'm sure I'll pop by from time to time, but for the immediate future I'm going to be extremely busy arranging our wedding.” She looked up at Drake Darling with adoration, and Rose fought back the little bite of envy. Love was not for her and well she knew it.

“If you'll excuse us,” Mr. Darling said, “we need to finish making the rounds.”

Their arms linked, they wandered off.

“And so another one falls,” Avendale said somberly.

Rose looked up at him. “You seem to be friends, which surprises me. He is a commoner, and based upon the manner in which ­people greeted you, you are a duke.”

He shrugged laconically. “Our families share a past and a deep friendship.”

“That makes it even more odd.”

“We are quite a mixture of commoner and nobility, far too complicated to explain with few words. I'm not in the mood for words, but rather drink.” He snatched two glasses containing amber liquid from a passing footman and offered her one. “Something darker than champagne.”

“Thank you.” She took a small sip. “Excellent brandy.”

“A woman who enjoys the finer things.”

“Oh, I am most certainly that.” She glanced around. “So within this room, men drink, smoke, read, and converse. Where do they play cards when they don't wish to remain civilized?”

He nodded toward the back of the room. “A door over there takes them to another room where they gamble to their heart's content without ladies seeing how dashed awful they are at gambling, and how much they lose without blinking an eye.”

“You don't strike me as someone who loses.”

“You don't have to flatter me, Mrs. Sharpe. You have my attention.”

“But for how long without flattery?”

He chuckled low. “Until I grow bored. And flattery bores me.”

“Well, then, without further ado, I would like to finish my tour of the place. You are welcome to accompany me or not. Makes no never mind to me.” She could be as cool and aloof as he required. She did like that he didn't crave adulation, but it did leave her a bit discombobulated, as she'd never before dealt with a man who didn't react to being fawned over.

He showed her the gaming room that was for men only. It was much like the salon: dark and ominous. Masculine. It spoke of power and wealth. How she would like to be a fly on the wall in here.

With few words uttered, he escorted her back to the main salon. But he was a man who communicated nonetheless. With a touch to her elbow, the small of her back, her shoulder. Light and quick caresses, but still there was an air of possessiveness to them. He was not completely immune to her charms. He was simply striving not to be sucked in too far.

“Dance with me,” he said.

His words startled her. Inwardly she cursed herself for losing her composure for a moment, for letting him take her off-­guard. “I'm not certain why but I didn't think you were one to dance.”

“Normally, I'm not, but my mother spent a fortune on lessons. I should put them to use now and again. Would you prefer to dance here or in the ballroom?”

“There is a separate room for dancing? I somehow missed that.”

“Something tells me you don't miss much.”

And neither did he. She considered making her excuses, leaving now before things went too far, before she was the one sucked in, the one not thinking clearly, but it had been a good long while since anyone intrigued her. He was mysterious. Based upon how few ­people stopped to speak with him, she suspected he was not known for being interested in their affairs and was known for not sharing his. She could take advantage of his tendency toward privacy.

“I should like to see the ballroom,” she said.

“If I must walk that far for a dance, I shall have to have two.”

“That would be rather scandalous, wouldn't it?”

“You're past the first blush of innocence. I suspect scandal suits you.”

“In all honesty I try to avoid it, but I have not danced in ages, not since my husband's passing,” she felt obligated to say. Wrapping her hand around his arm, she gave him a smile intended to charm, to make him feel as though he were the only man in the room worthy of her attention. “Lead on.”

As he escorted her through the rooms and hallways, she caught the speculative glances, the raised eyebrows. It was to her advantage to garner attention, but not too much. A woman was always best served by keeping an air of mystery about her.

The ballroom was magnificent. Glittering chandeliers. Mirrored walls. A balcony with an orchestra of at least a dozen. Lilies emitted their sweet fragrance into the air. Ah, yes, Drake Darling was providing a place for the untitled wealthy to socialize with the nobility. Clever man. He had brought all she sought into one convenient place. She would have to send him a note of appreciation when the time came.

“You seem impressed,” Avendale said.

“I appreciate elegance.” And it was important that she remember every detail. She would no doubt be grilled on them when she returned home. “I shall have to do something similar with my ballroom. It's in need of a touch more stylishness.”

“You have a ballroom?” he asked, and she heard the surprise in his voice.

“My husband, bless him, left me quite well off. I'd have thought you intelligent enough to discern that I'm a woman of independent means. How else might I have garnered an invitation?”

“Quite right. I wasn't thinking. I forgot that Darling has certain requirements regarding his members. At least it should keep out the hoi polloi.” He nodded toward the center of the room. “Shall we?”

“By all means. I would be most delighted.”

With a smoothness that set her heart to tripping over itself, he swept her into the fray of dancers. She realized a tad too late that waltzing with him was a mistake. He held her close and firmly, possessively. Yes, she could see the peril now. He was a man accustomed to owning what he desired.

His dark eyes never left hers. She was acutely aware of his blatantly assessing her. Every strand of hair, every eyelash, every blush. Which was only fair as she was assessing him. Not a strand of his dark brown hair was out of place. Sometimes when the light hit it just so, she thought she detected shades of red in it, but mostly the dark had its way. She suspected it dominated all aspects of his life.

Nothing about him seemed light or carefree. Everything was intense. While others conversed and smiled at their partners, he merely studied every line and curve. She could tell that he preferred the curves. She was accustomed to that when it came to men. Her bosom was her finest asset, and she took great pains to show it off. She'd long ago shed the mantle of timidity.

His face was composed of hard lines and harsh angles. He would never be considered beautiful, and yet there was beauty in the ruggedness of his features. Handsome, manly. Appealing. He appealed to her in ways no other man ever had.

That made him very dangerous indeed. She kept a wall between herself and men. They were to be used, then discarded. She didn't think this man would be easily tossed aside. She needed to escape his company as quickly as possible, while she could. She was far too attracted to him. That would not suit her purposes at all. He would not suit.