The Hazards Of Hunting A Duke (12 page)

“Thank you for your unsolicited advice,” Ava said tightly, and grabbed Phoebe’s hand, pulling her away from the stunned and meddlesome old woman.

“We are doomed,” Phoebe said, resigned.

“No we aren’t, Phoebe,” Ava insisted. “You will not believe that. We are not doomed!”

“What will save us, Ava? Your grand scheme of marrying a marquis hasn’t quite come about, has it?”

It was true that Ava had heard nothing from Middleton since the delivery of the flowers.

Even the work

on his charity auction, which she had so foolishly assumed would include only him and her, had been a disaster. The good souls working on the event seeme d to be a string of women he’d been associated

with at one time or another, including Elizabeth Robertson. The only saving grace for Ava was that Grace

Holcomb had volunteered to help so that she had at least one friend among the group.

“You’d best hope Sir Garrett doesn’t greet Lord Downey when his ship docks,” Phoebe snapped irritably.

Ava’s stomach clenched. She’d had such high hopes for tonight, but then Middleton had arrived looking

a bit disheveled, and the rumor had circulated he’d had a spat with his lover. He’d had his eyes on Lady Waterstone all evening, had danced with her, and even now, Ava could plainly see the two of them, not fifteen feet away, deep in conversation with Lord Harrison.

Worse, when he wasn’t dancing with Lady Waterstone or ad miring her from a distance, he was in the company of Elizabeth Robertson.

Ava turned her back on the sight so that she wouldn’t have to see him smiling so charmingly at Lady

Waterstone.

She’d all but given up hope before the quadrille, but she had bee n heartened by his expression upon first

seeing her, as if he was genuinely surprised and delighted to encounter her there.

“It’s not working, Ava,” Phoebe said morosely. “Your marquis is obviously in love with Lady

Waterstone and about to offer for Eliza beth Robertson. I hardly think there is room for a third woman.

You must think of someone else —or perhaps Lady Botswick is right. Perhaps we should consider taking positions as governesses —”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ava said irritably, stung by the notion t hat Phoebe could be right, that they could very well be striving toward nothing more than a fantasy. “I won’t give up so easily. What of your

gowns?”

“It’s scarcely enough to see us through.” “Then Greer will help us —”

Phoebe sighed with exasperation. “We haven’t heard from Greer since she left!”

“But we will,” Ava said, growing angry with her sister. “And besides, there is any number of gentlemen who might offer for one of us.”

Phoebe shook her head. “The only man who will offer without regard for fortune or connections is Sir

Garrett.”

Ava snorted.

“I know how hard you have tried, Ava,” Phoebe said earnestly. “But it is clearly hopeless.” “It’s not hope —”

“I beg your pardon, Lady Ava.”

She closed her eyes, took a breath, and turned around to face Sir Garrett. He was smiling broadly, his hands wringing his ever -present kerchief. “I…I thank you for the dance earlier this evening, and I agree that I should not ask again, as your dance card is quite full,” he said, bobbing his head at her.

“Thank you for understanding, sir,” she said.

“I only meant to inquire if you know…” He paused, dabbed his forehead, and then glanced at the ground. “That is to say, if you are aware of when yo ur stepfather shall make his return to London.”

Her heart began to pound, and Ava looked at Phoebe. “Ah…”

“We do not know, sir,” Phoebe said quickly. “It might be as long as a month. Perhaps even longer.”

“Oh,” Sir Garrett replied, grimacing a little. “ That is rather unfortunate, for there is a matter I should like

to discuss with him at once.” He glanced up, put his kerchief to his temple, and smiled hopefully. “I think you know what matter that is, Lady Ava.”

Ava could only gape at him as she groped f or Phoebe’s hand.

“Good evening, Sir Garrett,” a deep voice intoned, reverberating throughout Ava’s body, flooding her with an enormous sense of relief and reprieve. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, turned her head, and saw his brillian t hazel eyes and warm smile. She smiled, too, and curtsied. “Good evening, Lord Middleton.”

“Lady Ava,” he said politely. “Lady Phoebe,” he said, inclining his head to Phoebe before shifting his

gaze to Ava again. “I hope you haven’t promised all your dances to Sir Garrett, madam, for you had promised me the next dance.”

“Oh,” Sir Garrett said, looking very surprised. “Oh, yes, of course.” He looked at Phoebe.

“Lady

Phoebe, would you do me the ho nor?”

Phoebe blinked, then managed to smile as she glanced at Ava. “Thank you,” she said, and put her hand carefully in Sir Garrett’s paw so he could lead her onto the dance floor.

Middleton held out his arm to Ava. “You promised,” he said with a wink.

“I never promised, my lord,” she said, smiling up at him, “but I should be delighted.” She put her hand on

his arm.

He instantly covered it with his own, squeezing it as if they had an intimate friendship.

“If I may, you are beautiful in blue, madam.”

The compliment thrilled her. She had spent quite a lot of time on her appearance, making Lucy redo her hair twice. “How kind of you to say so.”

“When we last met, I hadn’t realized that your period of mourning was nearing its end,”

he remarked as

he led her onto the dance floor.

“Ah, but you might have known it were you to attend the meetings for the auction,” Ava said, and sank into perhaps the best curtsy of her life as they took their positions.

He laughed and bowed, then took her hand and lifted her up . “It seemed as if there were enough good souls—far better than mine—to plan the event. I didn’t think that more than my name was needed,” he said, and as the orchestra began the first strains of the waltz, he slipped his arm around her waist and

took her hand in his.

“I suppose you are right,” Ava said as she put her hand on his unpadded shoulder. “Your presence might have incited a brawl.”

He laughed as he gracefully led her into the music.

Ava glanced around them as they began to waltz —she could see more than one head swiveled in their direction, the looks of blatant curiosity. The marquis could do nothing without its being remarked upon by

a host of people, she realized. That should have ma de her more circumspect, but Ava didn’t have the

luxury of time to be coy or demure. If he’d heard of her plight and found her unsuitable, she would prefer

to know it sooner rather than later so that she might devise another plan for her and Phoebe and Greer.

Unfortunately, while Ava had always enjoyed the attention of gentlemen, she’d never been as bold as she thought she must be now if she were to gain the marquis’ undivided attention.

She glanced up at him. He was smiling down at her, a lock of his gol den brown hair skating over his eye

as they moved. He was an excellent dancer, his movement fluid, his hand firm on her back, gently guiding

her one way, then another. He seemed amused by her perusal and raised a brow, and Ava felt the burn

of inexperience in her cheeks.

“Thank you for the roses,” she said. “They were beautiful.”

“Ah. I am glad you enjoyed them. There is an unwritten rule among men, you know —

beautiful roses

must be given to beautiful women.”

She blushed. How odd, but it felt as if he r feet were moving on air. “You are too kind, sir.”

“I trust my direction helped you find the church?” he asked with a subtle wink.

She laughed. “All right, it’s true. I’ve been horribly remiss in my attendance.” She looked up at him. “I

have yet another confession to make.”

“I am always keen to hear a woman’s confession.” His gaze drifted down to her bosom.

“Well, then, steel yourself,” she said, and took a breath. “I’m really not very good at all. I gave myself far

too much credit the evening we met.”

“Oh dear.” He grinned a little lopsidedly. “Do you mean to say that you don’t read the Bible to the poor?

”

“On occasion…but I could not claim it is a habit.”

“And what of the Ladies’ Beneficent Society? Are you a me mber?” “Only recently.”

He grinned and twirled her round, deftly pulling her closer to him. “Then should I surmise that your assistance with my charitable auction is an imposition?”

“No,” she said quickly. His eyes were mesmerizing, lulling her into a fee ling of bliss in his arms. She could waltz all night, round and round, for as long as he looked at her like that. “No, my lord,” she said,

shaking her head sheepishly. “I wanted to lend my help to the auction. I hoped it would give me an opportunity to be… ”

Her voice trailed away, and she looked uneasily at his shoulder. She wasn’t exactly a courtesan—she didn’t know how to take flirtation much further than she already had.

“To be?” he softly prodded her, pulling her even closer.

She didn’t care that he held her too close for propriety, or that everyone was looking at them. “To be…

admired.”

That made Middleton laugh. He threw back his head and laughed as he twirled her round the edge of the dance floor, and then again, so that the lights above her were spinning in a fantastical display and she

could focus on nothing but his face, his handsome face and eyes that seemed as deep as a river.

She didn’t get her wish to waltz all night, unfortunately, and it ended far too soon. She was still feeling heady, st ill feeling the strength of his arms around her, the pleasure of his smile. Middleton led her off the dance floor and continued on, through the crowd, oblivious to the curious looks cast in their direction.

It took Ava several moments to get her wits abou t her, several moments before she realized he was guiding her out of the ballroom in full view of everyone. “Wait!…Where are we going?”

“You look flushed,” he said, and led her down a brightly lit corridor, then turned in a darker corridor and kept walking, but dropped his arm from beneath her hand and put his hand on the small of her back. Possessively. Securely.

“What are you doing?” sh e asked again, the good girl in her growing alarmed, sensing danger.

“I should like to admire you,” he said, and smiled down at her. “Properly.”

Those words and his smile made her heart race. If she’d been possessed of the least amount of common sense , she would have stopped there. But she suddenly didn’t care where he led her, she didn’t care that half the world had seen them disappear. She didn’t care about the propriety of it or what would be said, cared about nothing but being with him, feeling his tall, powerful body next to hers, experiencing the beauty of his smile.

They reached a pair of doors, which Middleton threw open with the confidence of a man who was

familiar with the palace. The doors led to a private, moon -drenched terrace that overlooked St. James’s

Park.

Ava leaned her head back and filled her lungs with cool night air in an effort to still her heart. Middleton dropped his hand from her and walked to the balustrade, standing with his hands on his waist, his back to her, staring into the night.

The slightly dizzy feeling began to abate, and Ava resumed a mannerly stance. Middleton turned around, leaned up against the balustrade, folded his arms across his chest, and quietly observed her, his eyes dark

and unreadable. Something in him had changed. The roué, the charmer, was gone, and in his place was a darker man, his thoughts private, his gaze searching for…what?

“You still seem flushed,” he said.

“It was rather warm inside the ballroom.”

“Do you suppose it was the warmth of the bal lroom that put such color in your cheeks?

Or perhaps something far more incendiary, such as the warmth between us?”

She didn’t answer; her silence was her admission of the truth.

“Come here,” he said low. When Ava didn’t move immediately, he said again, “Come.”

Her feet moved. As she neared him, he held out his hand to her. Unquestioningly, she slipped her hand into his and didn’t resist when he pulled her in between his legs. His hands caressed her arms, his eyes

caressed her face, her hair, her neck, lingering a moment on her breasts. His gaze didn’t seem so wolfish now, but rather sadly thoughtful.

“You’re shivering,”

he said, and slipped his hands behind her back, pulling her to him. Ava was close enough to see the red line of the scratch on his face, and the unwelcome image of Lady Waterstone came to mind. The image

of a more sophisticated, experienced, and beautiful woman with a fortune of her own.

“What is your age?” Middleton asked, his gaze on her co llarbone.

“I just turned three and twenty.” “Hmm,” he said, nodding a little.

He probably thought she was far too old to be unmarried and still acting the debutante.

She was too old. “What is your age?” she asked.

He smiled a little. “I will be thirty ye ars in a matter of weeks. You are the oldest of the Fairchilds, are you not?”

She nodded.

He brushed a strand of hair from her shoulder, his fingers leaving a tingling trail on her skin. “Whom do you love?” he asked softly.

Ava swallowed and glanced at the stars overhead. “My sister and my cousin.” “Only them?” he asked, and tenderly kissed her shoulder.

Ava didn’t know what game they played, but felt a little desperate as she glanced down at his dark head. “Whom do you love?”

He hesitated slightly, then moved his mouth to the hollow of her throat. “No one,” he uttered, and traced

a path to the top of her cleavage. “Shall I admire you, Ava Fairchild?” he asked as he kissed the top of her breast. “Shall I admire you in deed?” His hand slid down her hip, cupping it.

She sucked in her breath and put her hands on his shoulders for support. “You are bold with my person, sir.”