It was all a gigantic waste of time, as far as he was concerned; too loud to converse on anything of meaning, too hot to do more than wish your clothes were off, and too polite. Far too polite. These people knew nothing of real fun. Wild, free, unadulterated fun was more to Will’s liking and often included far more fights and much more drinking. Thank God he’d had the foresight to stop the footman earlier.
“You’re glowering.”
Years of training meant Will was not caught off guard by the whispered statement just to the left and behind him. “And how would you know, Northrop, considering your inability at the moment to view anything but my posterior?”
John Fitzharding, the Earl of Northrop, came round to stand by Will’s side. “I don’t need to see your face. It’s written all over theirs.” He motioned to the crowd beyond, many of whom, judging from their looks of anxious surprise, had taken note of Will’s unexpected presence.
“It’s your fault, you know. I couldn’t possibly come off as anything but terrifying standing next to you.” Will raked his friend with an assessing stare. The difference between the two was stark. Will knew his tall, broad frame was all hard angles and rugged features with coal black hair and deep hazel eyes. He was the dark Devil to Northrop’s leaner body, angelic golden hair, blue eyes, and gentlemanly appearance.
They’d joined the Young Corinthians around the same time, becoming fast friends despite being different in practically every way. Northrop’s calm-and-collected nature complimented Will’s wilder tendencies—a fact that had saved Will on more than one occasion in those early years.
“It’s more than your muscles and famously short temper that fascinates them,” Northrop said, just a hint of amused sarcasm accompanying his smile. “They don’t know why you’re here. And not to know something is unacceptable to this set. Knowledge is power, after all.”
Will met Northrop’s half grin with his own. “Bloody hell, can’t a man go looking for a bit of entertainment without the entire world wondering what he’s up to?”
“Is that it, then?” Northrop asked, one eyebrow lifting in patent disbelief. “You’re here for a bit of entertainment?”
Corinthian law forbade discussing a case with fellow members who weren’t directly involved. It kept things less complicated. And while Northrop might hint at his suspicions over the reason for Will’s appearance, Will could not, would not, reveal his true purpose.
“More than simply entertainment, I suppose,” he began. “If you must know,” he said, adopting the role of liar as easily as he would throw back his brandy, “my mother has finally succeeded in making me consider the future. It’s time I found a wife.”
Will watched Northrop take the information in, knowing full well he’d not be able to tell if his friend believed him. As one of the most valuable members of the Corinthians, Northrop would, of course, expertly mask his true thoughts.
The man merely adjusted a cuff. “Well, it’s about bloody time we made a gentleman out of you.”
Did Northrop believe him? Will couldn’t let the thought linger. Besides, it didn’t matter much either way. Northrop would help when Will asked, without questions. Slipping a finger between his cravat and neck, Will feigned discomfort. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, the a lady. Any suggestions?”
The two looked about the room, Will with one particular woman in mind. He immediately spotted Lady Northrop, John’s wife and reputedly Lady Lucinda’s inseparable companion. A circle of men, surrounded Lady Northrop, who stood next to another woman, partially hidden from Will’s view by the group. The men appeared to be enthralled by the lady’s every word, Will noticed with some cynicism.
“Let’s see. There’s Madeline Haywood,” Northrop began. “Her intellect rivals that of a sack of potatoes, but she’s fairly attractive.”
The group around Lady Northrop shifted, allowing Will a clearer view of the woman at the center.
Bloody hell. Lady Lucinda Grey was beautiful. Not just pleasing. Not just pretty. Beautiful.
Will felt heat rising from his belly to his chest. A mass of honeyed yellow curls artfully framed her face—and that face. The bluest eyes Will had ever seen shone like, well, he wasn’t quite sure, not being poetically inclined, but even from his distant vantage point the brilliancy of them could not be denied. Her lips, slightly pink, delicately shifted from question to statement and back again, surely hypnotizing the lot of fools around her.
Don’t look down, man. Whatever you do, do not look any farther.
But his eyes seemed to act of their own accord. His gaze lowered from her pert, ridiculously charming chin, and he found himself in forbidden territory. The creamy, milk white expanse of skin that showed above her pale pink evening attire begged to be caressed. As for what came next, even Will felt embarrassed over his reaction. The lady’s breasts were, in a word, perfection. Nicely rounded and set high, they appeared to be the ideal size for Will’s hands. His palms itched to feel the weight of them.
“If you prefer a touch more intelligence,” Northrop said, clearly unaware of Will’s distraction, “perhaps Honoria Willett. She’s the one in blue, next to her man-of-war-sized and exceptionally opinionated mother, Lady Dandridge.” Northrop paused for just a moment, then added, “Come to think of it, I fear your newly reformed temper may not be ready for Lady Dandridge. What do you think?”
Will couldn’t respond. If anyone had told him before tonight that he’d be dumbstruck at the mere sight of a woman, he would have ridiculed them as lackwits.
“Clairemont?” Northrop said. “Clairemont? Are you quite all right?”
Will pulled his gaze from Lady Lucinda and attempted to focus on his friend. “What was that about ships?”
“Keep up, man.” Northrop frowned, his sharp gaze searching Will’s face. “Your title and wealth aside, the truth is, you scare the hell out of most men, never mind these naïve misses. You’ll need your wits about you to accomplish the task at hand.” He looked to the crowd and back. “Now, back to Madeline—”
“And Lady Lucinda Grey. Do I frighten her?”
Northrop looked into Will’s eyes more sternly. “You can’t be serious. Lady Lucinda Grey? Will, she’s not … that is to say—”
“The richest woman in all of England. Prim, proper, intelligent, and notoriously particular when it comes to men?” Will interrupted, returning Northrop’s look with a seriousness all his own.
“Yes,” Northrop countered, lowering his voice before continuing. “But that’s not the point, Clairemont. She’s a particular friend of Amelia’s and because of this I’ve had the opportunity to further my acquaintance with her. She’s a lovely woman. Yes, she’s prim and proper and quick-witted. But beyond that, she’s loyal and kind and—”
“You sound as though you’re describing a favored dog, Northrop. Come now, why, exactly, are you concerned over my possible interest in this woman?” Will press, growing slightly irritated.
Northrop blew out a breath and broke his gaze, looking instead at his wife, standing next to Lady Lucinda. “Listen. This is a woman who has refused every eligible bachelor in England. I’m only trying to save you a wasted effort.”
“Will you present me or not?” Will asked, his tone and directness telling Northrop what he couldn’t put into words.
Northrop flinched slightly, a sign he had some understanding that this touched on Corinthian business. “All right, then, but Clairemont,” he said, placing his hand on Will’s shoulder, “have a care, won’t you?”
“Have all the rumors about me finally convinced you of my black heart, then?”
“You know I don’t give a deuce about what people say. I trust you. It’s Lady Lucinda I’m concerned for. She’ll not recognize the game you’re playing. You’re too good at it.”
“I need an introduction,” Will said simply.
Northrop closed his eyes for a fraction of a second longer than was normal. “I don’t want to see her come to harm. However dire the consequences of you
r assignment, in the end she’ll not understand.”
Will’s eyes met his friend’s. “If you do not wish for her to come to harm,” he said softly, “you’ll make the introduction.”
It was the closest he’d ever come to divulging Corinthian business. But Northrop’s concern and obvious affection for his wife’s friend deserved something more from the situation.
Northrop dropped his arm to his side and motioned Will to follow him across the ballroom.
Will felt the eyes of the entire room on him as he walked toward the women. Am I that monstrous, he wondered, nearly tempted to curl his lips and growl at the whole lot. As his father before him, and as far back as anyone cared to remember, the Clairemont men had always possessed a remarkable resemblance to one another. Of course, he’d failed to inherit his father’s cold countenance, having been born instead with the McClaine family temper, or so his mother had always told him.
No matter how hard he’d tried to please his father by pretending to be more like him, he always fell short.
Until one day when his father delivered a particularly vile set-down. Will had been only ten, but something in his father’s tone and demeanor made him understand full well that the duke loathed not only his son’s temperament, but everything else about him.
Northrop made his way to his wife’s side and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “Lady Northrop, have I told you how lovely you look tonight?”
“Only twice in the last hour,” she answered, her violet eyes filled with amusement.
The gaggle of young men acknowledged Northrop’s presence with brief nods before returning their full attention to Lady Lucinda, who stood transfixed by something behind them.
Confused, all of them turned, then flinched in unison upon seeing the duke.
“Gentlemen,” he said, giving each an intense look of warning before returning his gaze to Lady Lucinda.
Mumbling various and assorted excuses, the men hastily said their good-byes to the ladies before scattering to the four corners of the room.
Will stepped closer to the trio and waited for Northrop to make the introduction. He couldn’t take his eyes off Lady Lucinda. The low buzz and whirr of the room all but stopped for Will as he rocovered his poise.
“Your Grace, it’s been some time since we’ve had the pleasure of conversing,” Lady Northrop said.
It took a moment for Will’s addled brain to resume functioning. He looked at Lady Northrop, noticing too late the hint of confusion playing across her features.
Snap out of it, man.
“Lady Northrop, it’s been far too long,” Will replied, even though he knew full well that, for Lady Northrop, it hadn’t been long enough. She’d never been unkind to him, but it had been clear from the beginning of Northrop’s courtship she’d been less than ecstatic over her husband’s friendship with him. He couldn’t blame her. Really, what upstanding young wife would look to encourage her husband in spending time with a reprobate?
He bowed over Lady Northrop’s hand, catching sight of Lady Lucinda’s curious look as he did so. She smiled at being caught and a dimple flashed at the corner of her mouth. For the love of all that’s holy, he thought with bemusement, how was a man expected to concentrate with such a creature about?
He looked at Northrop, who’d been taking in the interaction with keen interest. Leveling a final warning look, his friend began the introduction. “Lady Lucinda, may I present to you His Grace, the Duke of Clairemont.”
For a moment Will felt time begin to slow again. He shook off the spell as best he could and forced his lips to move. “Lady Lucinda, it is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He accepted her offered hand and bowed, covertly taking in the length of her as he did so.
She curtsied low, the graceful movement placing her breasts directly in his line of sight.
Will fought the urge to linger and looked at her face, catching an arched eyebrow and, perhaps, the merest hint of a satisfied smile.
She rose slowly. “Your Grace, it is a great honor to meet the infamous Iron Will.”
It was his face—more specifically, his smile—that caused Lucinda’s heart to skip a beat for the third time that evening. A young boy caught doing something he should not, that smile said. Utterly charming and devoid of any lechery, unlike the myriad men before him, who’d failed her test.
Amelia had scolded her on a multitude of occasions for shamelessly using her physical attributes in an attempt to separate out the men looking for more than a pretty face from the men looking for … well, looking.
And, while the Duke of Clairemont was clearly admiring her for something other than her brain, Lucinda couldn’t quite muster the indignation to be offended.
Perhaps it was more than his smile. Perhaps it was his fierce stare, which she’d noticed almost immediately from across the crowded ballroom. She’d turned, and her heart had skipped a beat. The man had called to her with that piercing, focused stare; his eyes, as she could now clearly see, were a deep hazel.
She’d tried to ignore him, tried to pretend that her heart had not quickened the moment he’d walked into the room. She had to maintain her composure, converse with her companions with something that at least approximated intelligence.
But it was no use. She kept glancing about, trying to find him again despite her best intentions. She was utterly distracted, a complete ninny. No fewer than three gentlemen had asked if she was overheated.
And then she’d spotted him again, speaking with Lord Northrop in what appeared to be a serious conversation.
Suddenly, without warning, the duke stalked toward her. He moved like a force majeure. Was it his size that made him command such attention, or his demeanor—his gaze never leaving hers, a determined set to his brow that could not be mistaken for anything but purpose.
And then, right next to her, Amelia said with a sigh, “How odd that His Grace would choose to attend Lady Mansfield’s ball. Truly, there must be a full moon.”
Lucinda took a deep breath then hastily drank her lemonade. She wasn’t a mere miss with little or no experience with men. She was, in fact, six-and-twenty and, if one cared to ask any of the grande dames in attendance, painfully past ready for the shelf. No, the ton acknowledged that Lady Lucinda Grey had never, ever, been laid low by a man.
Which was why it was particularly frustrating for Lucinda when her heart missed a beat yet again. Blast, she thought to herself as the man in question stopped mere feet from her.
She couldn’t look away.
Or was it that she wouldn’t?
“Lady Lucinda, may I present to you His Grace, the Duke of Clairemont.”
Lucinda started at the sound of Lord Northrop’s voice, his words snapping the spell that held her.
The duke made a polite remark and then it was Lucinda’s turn to respond. “Your Grace, it is a great honor to meet the infamous Iron Will.”
She could hardly believe she’d dared use the man’s questionable sobriquet, a sentiment shared by all three of her companions, if their looks of astonishment were any indication.
But slowly, the duke’s surprised expression turned to delight, his full lips curving in an amused smile. “Lady Lucinda, I believe I like you already.”
A small laugh escaped Lucinda’s lips. She considered giving him a vaguely polite response, but the obvious enjoyment in his eyes made her reconsider. “You are something altogether different, Your Grace, aren’t you?”
He moved ever so slightly closer. “You’ve no idea, Lady Lucinda. No idea.”
Lucinda had to force herself to remain still, hold her ground, and not close the small space that separated her from the duke. What was it about this man that made her act differently? Feel differently? Want differently?
Staring into his bottomless eyes, full of mischief before, and now—well, only Lucifer himself could say, Lucinda wondered what made her want to find out. “Is that a challenge, Your Grace?” she asked with light curiosity, her tone matching his.
/> It was the duke’s turn to laugh. “I believe it is, Lady Lucinda. The question is, are you inclined to accept?”
Lucinda’s mouth went dry and her mind raced. Surely such questionable banter was beyond acceptable behavior, even for a lady of six-and-twenty.
This was Iron Will. A man with a rake’s reputation. A man polite society had deemed wild and unruly. Were it not for his title as the Duke of Clairemont, he might very well have banned from tonight’s ball.
To further the acquaintance would be impossible. Unthinkable. Madness.
She threw caution to the wind.
“Let the games begin,” she answered, her mouth curving into a wicked grin before she offered her hand to the duke.
“Indeed.”
He was careful to keep his distance, all too aware his failure in this endeavor would mean his death. Not that death itself was a concern. No, not when one lived an existence such as his. But dying would be so inconvenient and, to be quite honest, terribly dull when compared to spending the coin he’d been promised if he succeeded in capturing the wealthy English Woman.
The possibilities for purchases were endless. Whores. The best wine. An exquisite wig made of real human hair that would make the perfect addition to his exhaustive collection of disguises. More whores.
The ballroom was crowded but he adroitly slipped between chattering groups, avoiding collisions. But an inebriated pig of a man staggered, lurching into him and bumping his arm, nearly sending the tray of champagne he carried crashing to the floor.
“Imbécile,” he muttered under his breath, cursing his need to masquerade as a servant. Still, the disguise had afforded him entry into the Mansfields’ palatial town house and provided access to the target. He’d been unprepared for the complication presented by the bear of a man conversing with her, however. He’d recognized the man on sight, a familiar foe who’d made appearances in his life unscathed up until this point.
The Duke of Clairemont could well prove a problem if Garenne did not adjust his plans accordingly.
He was a creature of habit with a nearly psychotic need for exactitude. The thought of altering his well-thought-out mission caused Garrene’s throat to constrict, the heat of the room doing little to ease him. Pain stabbed just behind his right eye, only once, but it was followed by the inexorable tightening of an invisible band at his temples. The warning was explicit. He needed to leave the ballroom. Now.
The Devil in Disguise: A Regency Rogues Novel Page 3