Ashford arched a brow. “If you say so.”
“Damn it, Ash. Am I not allowed to talk to a woman?”
“Yes. And I encourage it. It would not do you any harm to get to know a woman. But does it have to be her?”
Actually it did. But he couldn’t tell his closest friend why or else he’d wind up revealing her secret. He might be many things but he did not break promises, and he’d vowed to keep her secret safe. Besides, Ashford had nothing to fear. Lady Demeter might be pretty and rather bold in a sort of quiet way but she wasn’t his usual sort. Whatever had come over him at the ball was long gone. Perhaps simply because he had been celibate for—what?—five months now.
Lord, Five months. No wonder he’d been obsessing over her breasts or how she smelled or what she might taste like.
He sent his friend a firm look. “It was a conversation. Nothing more.” He took his hat from the footman and rammed it onto his head, then shoved his fingers more aggressively than necessary into his gloves.
Ashford shook his head. “I don’t like it.” He waved a hand toward him. “You are different this Season.”
“Were you not saying I should be different? What was it...that I should get a mistress or choose women who are not going to leap from my bed into the arms of another after one night?”
“I have been saying that, yes, and I stand by it. It would do you good to actually get to know one of your lovers. You always go for women who are...what’s the word?” He twisted a finger in the air.
“Attractive? Enticing? Experienced?”
“No. The sort that you will never, ever even have to get to know.”
“Why would I want to?”
“You are missing out, Blake.” Ashford clapped a hand to his shoulder. “What wonders can be unveiled when one gets to know a woman.”
“Next you will be telling me I should get married,” he muttered, shrugging away from his touch.
“God, no. Never. Marriage is the single most idiotic institution the world could have ever conjured.” Ashford sighed. “All I am saying is you seem somewhat unsatisfied of late and I cannot help think it has to do with the quality of women you have been spending time with. Why not actually get to know one of your lovers?”
His mother saved him from a response when she hastened through the door, a long, knitted scarf in hand. “Oh good, you haven’t left yet.”
“Are you coming too, Mother?” he asked, ignoring Ashford’s befuddled look.
The fact his mother was even in his house was unusual, as he well knew. No wonder Ashford was confused. Usually during the Season, they associated with each other at various events and left it at that. For some reason, she called upon him early today and had been lingering around, watching him in the oddest of manners. Between her and Ashford worrying for him, this Season was going to be a strange one.
“I will be promenading with Lady James but you must wear this.” She was upon him before he could back away, looping the scarf around his neck several times and pulling it so tight he felt blood rush to his head. “It has been uncommonly cold this Spring. I do not want you to ail.”
He tugged at the scarf but to no avail. Whatever she had done to it, she’d tied it more efficiently than his valet tied his cravat. Perhaps he should hire her instead.
“It is not cold today, Mother,” he said slowly. “I shall be perfectly fine.”
“This weather is so unpredictable.” She moved to the window to glance up at the mostly blue skies. “I sense rain later. You must come home if the heavens do open.”
Blake bit back a response. Really, his mother should be worrying about her own health. Though not a delicate woman, she was of an age where a cold snap could well kill her off. He doubted she would appreciate him pointing that out, however.
“I shall see you later, Mother,” he said instead, jerking his head to Ashford who had watched the exchange with raised brows.
“What is going on with your mother?” Ashford asked as they mounted their horses.
Blake shook his head. “I have little idea. She keeps trying to...mother me, I suppose.”
“A few years too late I think.”
He nodded and flicked the reins. Decades too late really. He could have done with mothering when he was a boy and under the vicious rule of his father. He most certainly did not need it now.
Chapter Nine
“If Chastity finds all this out, she shall have Anton cast me onto the streets,” Aunt Sarah bemoaned. “First last Season…” Aunt Sarah clamped her mouth shut. They had vowed never to talk on what Demeter had foolishly done last Season with that man. “And now this…”
“Chastity shall not find out anything,” Demeter assured her aunt, picking up the pace to pass two young ladies who strolled along the graveled path at an uncommonly slow pace. Their heads were bowed close together and giggles emanated from them as Demeter passed, trailed by her aunt.
Her shoulders tightened and she forced herself to release them. They were not laughing at her. How could they be? It had been years since she’d been mocked for her stutter and these girls were likely discussing something else.
It did not stop her from feeling the back of her neck heating, however.
“Chastity is not my mother,” she reminded her aunt.
“No, but she is the oldest of you sisters, and she worries for you.” Aunt Sarah pressed a hand to her chest. “Not that I do not, but I knew we were leading to something last year when you met that scoundrel...”
Demeter paused and thrust a finger at her aunt. “You most certainly must not tell anyone about that.”
“Goodness, what do you take me for?” Aunt Sarah crossed her heart several times. “I swear on Simon I won’t utter a word. I have no desire to see scandal brought to our doorstep. Again.”
“I should never have told you,” Demeter muttered.
Her one daring and bold moment had been a complete failure. She couldn’t confide in Eleanor—she didn’t think her sister would understand—and Chastity and Cassie led busy lives now they were married. Aunt Sarah, by her own admission, had never been the most well-behaved of women.
“All I am saying, Demeter, is that you should choose carefully.”
“So I suppose you are going to tell me that getting involved with Mr. Blake is a mistake.”
“Oh no. I have rather a good feeling about that one.”
Demeter tugged her to one side as several gentlemen on horseback barreled down the wide path that led alongside the river. Her aunt had lived with them for years, ever since her husband died but sometimes, Demeter still found her entirely unpredictable. First she was scolding her for her silly risk last Season and now she was encouraging her to associate with a known rake.
“W-well, I am not really getting involved per se, anyway. He wants my help and no doubt once I give it, we shall be back to being practically strangers again.”
“He’s the sort of man one really, really wants to keep as a friend.” Aunt Sarah gave a lengthy sigh and took both her hands. “My girl, I only ever want the best for you, and I have seen the light fade from your eyes Season upon Season. Even the investigative club does not fulfill you as it used to.” She moved her hands up and cupped Demeter’s cheeks, her silken gloves cool against her skin. “I do not know what shall make it return but whatever I must do to support you, I shall. Just ensure you are safe at all times or else I shall never forgive myself. Or you. And neither will Simon.”
Demeter could not help but smile. The concern in her aunt’s faded blue eyes dug deep. “You are too good to us, Aunt Sarah.”
“That I am. I should be off having scandals of my own!” She swiped a finger under her eye.
“You do not have to fear anyway. Mr. Blake does not want me to act alone anyway.”
“Ah. So he is a gentleman. How excellent.”
Gentleman was a stretch. Technically he was, but no one could escape the knowledge he seldom came to London without a whiff of scandal following him. Admittedly, this
year there hadn’t been any yet—but last year he’d been chased out of a bedchamber with a broom according to the scandal sheets. The year before, some forlorn woman had followed him all the way to Italy in the hopes of sharing his bed once more. There was no getting away from the fact that Mr. Blake was scandalous indeed and she would be wise to heed her aunt’s advice and be cautious.
After all, it would not do to let her feelings toward him grow into something visible. Let her remain distantly in love with him, in a way that would ensure she would never be truly hurt by him.
She forced the conversation away from Blake with talk of Mr. Wilde, who owned several cats and never failed to seek out her aunt on social occasions. Their friendship had extended to writing to one another these days and Demeter was grateful for her aunt to have a companion with similar interests.
By the time they joined the rest of the family, more people had entered the group, including Blake’s cousin, Mr. Foster. She had to admit, she wasn’t certain about this instinct of Blake’s. The man had perpetually rosy cheeks, a quick smile, and the sort of doughy face that made him look younger than his years. Demeter knew better than to be fooled by appearance, though. After all, she had successfully disguised herself as a young man on several occasions now, without being found out/unmasked. At least until Blake came along.
Drawing in a breath, she eased her way between the clusters of people toward her brother, his wife and Mr. Michael Foster. She rarely initiated conversation if she could help it, especially with someone new. Inevitably, her stutter would make a reappearance and leave her open to derision. But now was not the time for cowardice. If she was to take part in this investigation with Blake, she should take some initiative and find out what she could about Mr. Foster.
She fixed a smile in place and waited for her brother to formally introduce her. As the man’s gaze fixed upon her, his eyes widened, the pink of his cheeks turned almost crimson and he dropped into a deep bow. The man proved pleasant and spoke of her clear love of exercise and how he too enjoyed vigorous walks. Nothing about him implied he had a sinister side or was somehow up to no good.
In the periphery of her vision, she spied Blake ride up to their group and dismount swiftly, his feet striking the ground so hard it had to have hurt. His brow was furrowed.
Her breath jammed in her throat. He looked possessive. Almost feral. And for some reason, that expression was fixed upon her.
***
Even from his position at the edge of the group, Blake had spied his cousin’s expression.
And he damned well did not like it.
His gut itched. He stomped toward Demeter and Foster, his breaths feeling hot in his throat. Foster had no right to look at her so—no right at all.
“Blake,” Ashford called, following after him. “What’s the rush?”
He didn’t answer, his gaze fixed upon Demeter. Her brother and his wife briefly remained with her then moved off, leaving her alone with Foster. Foolish man. Did her brother not see what he saw? Foster’s cheeks were so red that one could spot the color from a mile away and his gaze kept flicking up and down her while he shifted from foot to foot.
Admittedly, the sprigged muslin dress with pointed lace trim flattered the slender length of her and though he’d only caught a glimpse of her face under a blue silk bonnet, he knew all too well how distracting those lips would be.
But it didn’t matter. Foster was trouble and he would not let Demeter get tangled up with him.
Even if Blake had been the one to request help with his investigation into Foster in the first place.
That was different, however. There would be no chance for Foster to try to charm her. He had yet to see Foster flirt but from the look in his cousin’s eye, Demeter had sparked his interest.
“Cousin,” Foster declared, his smile growing when he peered over Demeter’s shoulder to meet his glower. “How well met.”
“Hardly,” Blake grumbled. “You knew I was to be here today.”
And if it was not for the fact he wanted to keep a close eye on his cousin, he’d be annoyed at his constant presence. The man had wheedled introductions with his bumbling, humble attitude, and the fact he’d inherited a great deal of old money. He wouldn’t be the first newly inherited man to attempt to ingratiate himself with the ton, Blake supposed, but the whole situation stunk like the Thames on an exceptionally hot day.
He ignored his cousin. “Lady Demeter.” He tipped his hat. Ashford stepped up behind him and cleared his throat. He sighed. “You know Ashford of course.” He gestured to his friend.
Ashford grinned and tipped his hat. “You look hale today, Lady Demeter. Have you completed your daily walk?”
Blake shot a glance at his friend. What was going on? How did he know about Demeter’s walking habits? And why the hell was Ashford smiling like that?
Demeter swung her gaze between the three of them, a little crease appearing between her brows, then smiled gently as her cheeks pinkened. “I-I have.”
Blake knew of Demeter’s troubles with talking. It was hard to avoid some of the vicious gossip that circulated amongst the less generous members of Society, though he concluded jealousy usually played a large role in such nasty comments. All he knew was she’d suffered deafness as a child and it affected her to this day. But he hadn’t noticed the stutter when she had been spitting words at him and thrusting that chin out, declaring she would do whatever she wished and there was little he could do about it.
Today, that fire had doused. She seemed smaller, more delicate, and her chin remained meekly lowered.
He almost missed the Demeter he’d met that night.
“Does she not look hale?” Ashford looked to Blake. “A walk does one such good, do you not think, Blake? Lady Demeter here is quite the proponent of looking after one’s health.”
Blake muttered something in agreement while Demeter barely spared him a glance. Since when did Ashford know all this? And why was he acting all...charming? Yes, his friend could charm the stockings off any woman—and often did—but their tastes differed significantly. Ashford preferred more steady women. Women who were more likely to be found reading than lounging about half naked in bed.
Blake swallowed and shifted his gaze away from Demeter. He did not need to be thinking about sprawled naked women and Demeter at the same time. Images of long, pale limbs and pert breasts seared his mind. Damn his excellent imagination.
He hunted the park for something, anything, to distract. He settled his gaze on a pale butterfly, flitting about a nearby flowered tree. Good Lord, what had become of him? Watching butterflies rather than thinking of naked women. Demeter was doing something strange to his brain and he did not like it.
Foster cleared his throat and lifted his shoulders. “If you should like another walk of the park, my lady, I would be most glad to accompany you. I also appreciate a hearty walk.”
Blake scowled. Now Foster was trying to hold his own against Ashford? His cousin had little chance against the consummate charmer, but it seemed he thought Demeter worth fighting for.
They were right, he thought begrudgingly. Demeter struck him as an undiscovered jewel, buried for years until someone struck the rock and revealed its beauty. He’d been vaguely aware of her being a pretty girl before but she’d been too quiet for his tastes. She remained quiet now, uncertainty flickering in her eyes but that did not take away from the fact her pinkened cheeks and the way she bit upon her bottom lip left her looking most tempting.
“I think I have done enough walking today, thank you,” she replied softly.
Good. He resisted the desire to punch the air. You tell him, Demeter. Put my fool of a cousin in his place.
“I think my sister needs me.” She gestured vaguely behind them. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen.”
He opened his mouth then closed it. He’d scarcely uttered a word to her.. Good Lord, what was happening when Foster was more charming than he was?
“Well, that was interesting,” Ashfor
d commented.
Blake shot his friend a glance and spied a knowing grin spreading across his face. He clamped his teeth together and huffed out a heated breath. He could think of many ways to describe that interaction and none of them were interesting.
Chapter Ten
She touched the paper in her pocket, feeling around the broken wax seal but forcing herself to leave it be. Demeter had read it a dozen times at least, pausing upon the last scribbled letters—Mr. Jacob Blake.
Her pulse pounded in her ears while she scanned the quiet street. Not far from her father’s house, Mount Street offered a well-lit and safe escape from the busier roads surrounding Piccadilly, and she had no doubt Blake had chosen the meeting spot to ensure her safety and to ensure no one spotted her meeting with him.
She pulled the pocket watch out of her waistcoat and flicked it open. Still another ten minutes. She’d replied in the affirmative but could not help steeling against disappointment. Maybe he wouldn’t turn up. Perhaps he was still annoyed about the other day at the park, though she could not fathom quite why he had stood there scowling whilst barely saying a word to her.
She’d escaped quickly, unable to bear the way he kept looking at her. It made her both confused and overheated when his gaze bore into her as though she were the only thing in existence at the time. To say she was befuddled by the whole incident was putting it mildly. She replayed it in her mind over and over and still could not make sense of it.
Perhaps he would explain all tonight when they went to this meeting.
Or perhaps he would not turn up and had decided he did not need her. The very thought lifted a weight off her shoulders at the same time as making her stomach sink.
“Foolish girl,” she muttered, then clamped her mouth shut when a young couple strolled past on the opposite side of the road.
If they saw a young man muttering about being a foolish girl, they might think her addled. Or him addled. Or... It didn’t matter. She would do whatever it was Blake needed her to do and then she could return to loving him from afar. It was much easier and far less confounding.
Wagers of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 3) Page 6