Granted, he might have been staring at Ravenna because she’d been stealing peeps at him since she had spotted him at supper.
Not only was he perceptive, as she recalled, but he had always been indecently attractive and difficult to ignore, even during their younger days. His dark charisma had evidently deepened into a dangerous magnetism. Tall, graceful, a wine-colored birthmark staining his left cheek, he exuded an unsmiling melancholy that stirred a woman’s sympathy. No wonder her cousin-in-law and hostess Jane, the Marchioness of Sedgecroft, had cautioned her earlier in the evening that Simon had become a man to be avoided at all costs.
“That is a tease, Jane. Now you have whetted my curiosity. Reveal what information you have to substantiate your claim.”
“I hesitate to repeat this,” Jane said. “You have been isolated most of your life and are not practiced in vice.”
“Are you?” she asked in amused curiosity.
“I’m married to Grayson. Vice was written into our wedding vows. And I’d rather offend you than be responsible for your decline. I have been told by a reliable source that the duke is a shocking man. He may or may not have become completely irredeemable. That is, his habits might discompose someone of your artlessness. I have lived in London too long to bat an eye at such things.”
“Supply the details,” Ravenna said. “I have brothers who are anything but pious. Moreover, I’ve known Simon for years. Name the unimpeachable authority who has maligned my dear friend. If he has not crossed the Border of Disrepute, perhaps he merely needs a nudge in the other direction.”
Jane lowered her luminous eyes. “You’re forcing me to share a sworn secret out of worry for you.”
“Then don’t tell me. I don’t need a burden on my conscience.” Indeed, she would be swamped with enough guilt after tonight. In all likelihood she would desperately need Jane’s support, unless the family disowned her.
“Then my conscience insists I enlighten you.” Jane resumed her confession with enthusiasm. “The owner of London’s most exclusive brothel confided in me that Simon is the most sought-after client in her house. As the gossip goes, he is a splendid lover.” She paused. “His desires are indecent.”
Ravenna’s instinct was to spring to Simon’s defense. Certainly the rumor could be true. In recent years she had heard whisperings of Simon’s romantic exploits, but none of her relatives could claim innocence when it came to love. She felt protective of her old friend.
“How do you know a brothel keeper?” she asked Jane.
“I visited her once for womanly advice on how to handle Grayson at a time when he was rather difficult. But that is another story. Do you understand what I have said?”
“I’m not an utter dunce.”
Jane’s eyes glinted. “Rochecliffe made such a strong impression on the keeper that she reserves a special room for his rare visits and has honored him with a salacious nickname.”
“Which I do not wish to hear, but you will tell me, nonetheless.” In all honesty, she would love to know, but time was ticking away, and she had her own cad to take care of. “Oh, give over. What is he called?”
“’The Duke of a Thousand Desires.’”
Ravenna smiled. “Oh, dear.”
“He is a sophisticated man,” Jane added unnecessarily.
“Due to his numerous desires?”
“I do not know the particulars,” Jane admitted. “His appearance indicates as much. I gleaned only one other tidbit of unusual information while I was eavesdropping on a conversation between my husband and Heath. It seems that Simon is involved in some risky dealing.”
Ravenna’s lip curled in distaste. “With courtesans?”
“That was not my impression. I shall look into the matter later this week. For tonight, try not to engage his interest. Don’t dwell on the talk that he is a splendid lover. Do not even acknowledge that he exists.”
“That’s a bit awkward, not to mention impolite. Someone is bound to wonder why I’m ignoring an old friend. That might embarrass the duke.”
“He does not seem to be man overly concerned with what others make of him.”
“He never was,” Ravenna said pensively.
“Which is probably why he fits in so well with our family. He is on the top of the list of people I told you to avoid in London.”
Human nature being what it was, this warning rendered Simon irresistible. Ravenna had wondered what had occupied his time since his last visit to Wales. Yet whenever she asked her brothers about him, the subject quickly changed.
She’d come to the conclusion that Simon had grown up to be a naughty gentleman. It was almost an inevitability, considering his unsupervised youth. Simon had been accomplished at outsmarting his college professors and his parents had died when he was young, forcing him to find his own way under the guidance of tutors and older uncles who believed a peer should not demonstrate emotion. Expressing one’s virility was apparently another matter.
She looked up again. Simon was gone. Her cousin Heath, her primary guardian in London, stood in his place. Was Heath staring at her askance? He was far too intelligent to hoodwink. She retreated behind another guest before he could approach her.
An unexpected hush fell across the ballroom as the band prepared for the final set.
It was time for Rhys to meet her. The wallflowers shifted, hoping to dance or disappear. Couples milled about the floor in their best finery. Champagne and lemonade flowed.
The ball would end soon, as would Ravenna’s fleeting existence in the beautiful world. However, the party had only begun, with a play, gambling, and breakfast on the lawn to follow the night.
David had timed his tryst well, having explained that he would be busy for the next hour greeting a few old friends. Ravenna had just lost sight of him when her brother finally joined her at the doors to the gardens. “Thank heavens,” she murmured. “You took forever. I thought you might have reconsidered.”
“It occurred to me.” Rhys stood considerably taller than she did; although they weren’t as alike in appearance as they’d once been, they had inherited similar unruly black hair and blue eyes. Her twin was her devoted ally even if she was afraid he’d become a rake. He had served in the King’s Royal Hussars and she was proud of him.
“What did you learn?” she asked as he guided her to quieter spot.
“I heard David and Lady Frampton confirming their rendezvous while I was loitering upstairs in the Italian gallery. I felt like one of the Duchess of Wellington’s lady spies. I had to duck behind a vestal virgin so that your betrothed wouldn’t recognize me.”
She pursed her lips. “I’m surprised you didn’t engage the virgin’s interest while she was hiding you.”
“Didn’t I mention that she was a statue? Grayson has one in every corner. And I never show interest when it isn’t invited. By the way, you are not allowed to visit that room.” He pulled out his enameled pocket watch. “They should be in the garden soon. Hear me, Ravenna. I am still not convinced this is for you to do. David might turn on you. I’ve seen the temper that hides behind his charm.”
“He calls it manliness.”
“I call it cowardice. I’d prefer to be the one to confront him.”
“After me,” she said, looking away.
“His quick tongue won’t sway me this time. Why not entrust me with this task?”
Because a sorrowful part of her wanted to give the louse the benefit of the doubt. Because her sense of fair play insisted he have a chance to be proven innocent, a flirt at worst. And if she found out otherwise, she needed to exorcise him from her life once and for all.
“Why not?” he asked her again.
“Our family is prone to extreme measures. I don’t want a violent scene.”
“He deserves it.” He let out a sigh. “As you like. He and the viscountess were so closely pressed together in conversation I couldn’t have stuck a pin between them.”
“Then on with the night. I flush him out. You, and anyone els
e in the vicinity, serve as my witness. He won’t crawl out of this deceit.”
He stared down at his watch. “You shouldn’t need more than seven minutes. After that I shall intervene. If anything happens in the meantime, call for me.”
“It’s what comes after that I’m worried about.”
“What ‘after’?” he said bleakly. “A broken engagement, a blackened name, and probable exile to the West Indies.”
“At least I won’t be married to a philanderer.” She caught her lip in her teeth, staring out across the terrace. “Does the viscount have any idea about his wife?”
“No. The hapless old fool is winning at whist. Hurry now. You remember the lay-out of the gardens from our stroll this morning?”
“It looks different in the dark,” she murmured.
“They’re meeting at the Temple of Aphrodite,” he said. “There are no lights past the fountain. The stars will have to guide you. Turn to your right once you reach the end of the cockle-shell path or you will be visible in the clearing. You do not wish me to accompany you?”
She shook her head resolutely.
“I’ll wait down here by the wall where I won’t be easily seen,” he said. “I’m afraid Miss Haviland spotted me on the stairs and is seeking me out.”
“Our anonymity in London won’t last much longer. We’ll be as infamous as the rest of the family before the party ends.”
3
She set out on her destination and promptly lost her way in an unenclosed botanical garden. Exasperated at the loss of precious seconds she started back on the walkway. Once or twice she heard something rustle in the shrubberies. It was late in the season for nightingales, and although no one called to her by name, she wasn’t alone.
She passed an amorous couple strolling in the starlight. They pretended not to notice her. She coughed lightly to make sure they did. She was sorry to spoil their evening, but it would strengthen her case if they happened on the scene she was about to reveal.
A second pair of sweethearts wandered off the path to avoid her. A negligent attendant walked behind them, humming to herself. She spied a third couple in the shadows.
It was an ideal night for love.
And for betrayal? What did she and David really know of each other, pledged to marry by their parents in a distant future that neither he nor Ravenna had ever expected to arrive?
At last she reached the fountain, gurgling in the quiet. The temple beckoned the eye with a white-pillared entrance that stood adjacent to an imposing statue of Achilles. Two stalwart walnut trees loomed like watchtowers over the clandestine meetings conducted beneath their boughs.
Ravenna felt a little sorry for herself. She wasn’t the type of girl a rogue would lure out into the dark; no man in his right mind would risk upsetting her brothers. Still, it might have been nice if she’d been asked. The temple occupied an unlit rise on the lawn. She looked back at Rhys for reassurance. He was slumped against the wall in an inattentive pose. A lady in a boa, presumably Miss Haviland, was descending the terrace steps behind him.
Ravenna wavered, hoping that Miss Haviland’s sweet face would not distract him. She watched in trepidation as the young woman attached herself to his side. Rhys swept her a courteous bow. And turned his back on Ravenna.
“Thank you, Lord Useless,” she muttered. “It’s encouraging to know you have my rear.”
He glanced around sharply as if he’d heard the complaint. Then he gestured to Ravenna over the top of Miss Haviland’s head. She could never stay angry at Rhys. He was not the sort to mistreat any lady, and she trusted the rapscallion completely. He would come through when she needed him.
She pivoted. She might need him sooner than anticipated. Her skin prickled. The awareness of another presence impinged on her nerves. It wasn’t too late to change her mind. She could retreat, return to the ball, and no one would be the wiser. She could plead lunacy if caught or run away, disguise herself as a male and enlist in the navy.
Then she looked across the lawn and perceived a man and a woman intertwined on the bench at the temple entrance. David had collapsed back on his elbow. His other hand was busy hoisting up the viscountess’s skirts. The two of them groped and kissed and somehow switched positions, pale bums bobbing in a graceless display.
She shivered in revulsion. And her anger slowly transformed into detachment. Was she truly willing to expose her fiancé’s immorality to the world, or to London, which in the bon ton’s view amounted to the same thing? Society would scorn her, of course, not David. A well-mannered lady would merely forgive her beloved’s indiscretion. She would never unmask his lewd behavior. Husbands were expected to take mistresses.
Still, to Ravenna’s mind it was better to live in exile than to spend the rest of her life in regret.
She would be doing David a favor, as she saw it. She’d never be a good wife. She would become a shrew who would make him utterly miserable after his betrayal. She could not bear him touching her ever again.
She ventured off the path, closer to the temple. The broken shells of the path crunched beneath her slippers. She wasn’t supposed to make any noise. She was meant to sneak up on him, but suddenly she didn’t care.
His neckcloth flew into the temple. Ravenna covered her eyes as the next article of clothing went soaring, whispering, “Nasty creature. I hope she smothers you. I hope everyone at the party sees you for what you are.”
To think David had kissed her hand at luncheon and now he was kissing what part of another woman’s body she didn’t care to know. Her face burned with humiliation.
But self-pity served no purpose. The other couples in the garden should still be near enough to observe the unspeakable scene. It was up to her to bring it to their attention. A ladylike, albeit loud, call of distress should do the trick.
She searched the area around her. Where were her witnesses? She’d spotted six guests and one attendant after she passed the fountain. She saw only one man now by the statue of Achilles. He was pacing around the stone pedestal, clearly anticipating company, looking anxious and more than a little moody. Every few seconds he raised a pair of opera glasses.
Oh, lovely. Another liaison in progress. She examined his broad-shouldered silhouette for a moment. If she had been in a better frame of mind, she might have appreciated his striking appearance. Then he swung around unexpectedly in her direction. Her heart sank.
No. Not him again.
Trust Simon to live up to his reputation while she was in the midst of ruining hers. What horrid timing. Still, she was curious to see what sort of woman he’d meet for a rendezvous. He could have his pick.
However, that was his concern. He wasn’t married, or engaged to anyone as far as she knew.
He was available -- a handsome man forbidden to her and -- she released a pent-up breath. Never mind his other credentials; he was a brilliant witness. She felt a rush of fondness for the man. The timing was perfect.
Who would doubt a duke’s testimony? Who would label Rochecliffe a liar if he admitted that he had seen David and Lady Frampton going up and down on the bench like a see-saw?
Assuming that Simon had witnessed the unsavory act. He would have to be in his cups or completely absorbed in his own plans not to have noticed something. Assuming, too, that he would stand up for the truth and take her side.
Gentlemen often defended one another’s misgivings. Poor Simon. She hated to put him on the spot and interrupt his impending romance. She would owe him a favor if he complied.
She’d test their friendship soon enough. It was past time to summon Rhys.
A flash from above disturbed her concentration. A falling star? The sky sparkled tonight like a jewelry shop displaying priceless gems.
Absently she lifted her head. Her gaze reached no higher than to the figure of a man stretched out lengthwise across a broad limb of the walnut tree. He was not dressed for the party in a cap and bulky grayish coat.
A star had not glinted on her venture. The metallic glea
m of the gun in his hand had.
A chill went down her neck.
His focus appeared to be fixed on some object in the garden. He shifted his weight to his upper body. She backed up a step. The heel of her slipper scuffed the shells again, the sound amplified in the stillness. Had he heard?
His back seemed to tense. She swallowed hard as he returned to his task. He leveled the gun on his target. Who was – the duke? Who else? David and Lady Frampton continued their mortifying spectacle of unbound lust at the temple, out of firing range. The man hidden in the tree was certainly not the aging viscount seeking revenge on his wife’s lover.
Remain calm. Imagine that you are invisible. Words of counsel once given to her from an old friend, from Simon as a matter of fact. She had never forgotten his advice, nor needed to obey it. Still, remaining calm would not save Simon’s life.
Couldn’t Rhys sense something had interrupted her plan? He might have known if not for Miss Haviland’s untimely appearance.
How many minutes had passed? David had become inconsequential, her plan discarded. She could not stand by and allow Simon’s murder. It was irrelevant what he might have done to encourage a violent act. She would intervene to save even a stranger.
Nor could she allow her brother to run blithely into danger.
She would reveal her own presence if she made another sound. There was nothing to do about that.
The branches creaked. She reacted.
Instinctively, she raised her head again to send out a warning to Simon. To her horror what emerged from her throat was not a call of distress, but a battle cry.
She released the unholy scream that in her girlhood she had practiced on the battlements outside her bedchamber. It was the blood-curdling call her aunts had forbidden her to use and claimed was so powerful it could chase off the wind and raise the wings of the long-disappeared dragons that had once inhabited the castle woods.
It was shockingly indelicate. It resonated with power.
Her alarm must have reached the terrace, the person in the tree, his intended victim. However, it came too late. The gunman fired even as her voice faded in the air. In the aftermath of her delayed panic she could not discern whether Simon was still standing near the statue or had fallen.
The Duke of a Thousand Desires Page 2