“There you are.” Killian Hayward, Marquess of Southfork, moved through the throng and joined him within moments. “I almost thought you had given up on joining us tonight.”
“Apparently, there was no chance of you missing my entrance.” Devin tilted his head in wry amusement at the crowd before them. Killian flanked his side and followed his gaze.
“It does look pathetic, does it not?” Killian shook his head in sympathy at the wave of commotion that was spreading across the room like wildfire. “I do not know how you handle it so indifferently.”
Devin shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, quick, before the vultures set in.” Killian inclined his head to the men, approaching from several angles, who were eager to confer with the two friends. “I have found out quite a bit.”
“Tell me.” Address in hand, Devin had easily found out her real name and about the functions she was to attend over the next several days. Bits and pieces of her story were still trailing in when he left for the ball. But he still wanted as much information on Lady Augustine Christopherson as possible.
“Most important, she is here.”
That caught Devin’s attention. His eyes quickly scanned the room, but he found nothing. “Where?”
“The left far wall. Next to the middle terrace opening.”
Devin’s eyes swept over the spot several times before he finally spotted her.
Cloistered by a matronly cluster of women, his search had passed over the group several times before her face was upturned. He recognized her immediately, even with a dirt-free face.
There was no mistaking her large green eyes. Even at this distance. Surrounded by soot or not—in the glow of a carriage lamp or in a well-lit ballroom—they were wholly unique.
A classically lined face, she was not an immediately striking beauty, not one that reached out and grabbed the jugular. She possessed a quiet, sophisticated beauty. The kind that the longer one stared, the more obvious the beauty became. Elegant beauty that would not fade over time.
“Is that what you were expecting?”
Devin shook his head, eyes not leaving her. No. He hadn’t quite expected her to be so desirable.
“Me either,” Killian said. “From what you described, I was thinking of a tiny little waif with a bulldog face to match her actions.”
Killian snatched two glasses of Madeira from a passing tray. “And it looks as though your time is officially up,” Killian said in a low voice as he handed the glass to Devin.
He turned from Devin, a smile plastered on his face as he attended the task of maneuvering the men now surrounding the pair. “Lord Smiton, Lord Torrent, so good to see you.”
Devin afforded polite greetings, then didn’t hesitate to tune the men out and shift position so he could keep Aggie in his line of vision. His eyes swept over her, assessing her.
Her attractiveness caught him off-guard. The soot-stained face he had looked at the previous night had hinted at, but not promised the real beauty she was. A slight frown settled on her face, telling him she was completely ignoring the conversation about her and concentrating hard on some issue.
She absent—mindedly tucked an errant tendril of honey-colored hair behind her ear. Her hair, soft with waves, was upswept in an elegant chignon, tendrils hopelessly escaping to curl about her slender neck.
The duke’s eyes moved downward. Her cream gown was modest by society’s standards, the neckline only teasing the graceful slope of her breasts—ample, and set upon a lean body.
She was enticing, and intriguing enough for him to expend the energy. Those eyes. That one brief moment she had let all the despair and hopelessness she felt portal into the world through those green eyes. She had tried to cover it up, but Devin had seen it. And it was, above all, what he remembered of her, what intrigued him, what haunted him. That one unguarded moment.
He wanted to help her.
His eyes ran back up her body, stopping at her bosom again. And, it turned out, he wanted her.
That part would be easy. Women were bees to honey when it came to his title and money. Aggie would be no different. The fact that women got his bed, and no proposal, never bothered any of them. It was understood by the women of the ton that his bed was all that was available. And it was rarely empty.
Aggie looked about the ballroom, nodding to one of the elderly ladies surrounding her. Devin saw a very poised, interested look slip onto her face, but it was not enough to fool him—he knew she was bored out of her breeches. Applicable because he had seen those legs in breeches.
Devin almost chuckled to himself when, within minutes, she flicked open her fan, waved it prettily before her face, and after a few exchanges, exited the ballroom for the terrace.
She was looking to escape the boredom of the party.
Devin smiled. A more perfect opportunity he could not have planned himself.
~~~
Aggie leaned against the black iron railing, gulping down fresh air, fighting the suffocation that had set in. She needed to be concentrating on the evening’s plans, not listening to the smothering gibberish of gossip.
Aggie had never heard the gossip reach as high a pitch as it did when the Duke of Dunway made entrance. The murmur had started at the far end of the ballroom, and like a giant wave, swept through the crowd toward the far end where Aggie stood, jarring her from her thoughts.
“Aggie, my dearest, this one is to be avoided at all costs,” her aunt said.
The matrons surrounding her flew into tizzies.
“The mother…”
“…the dreadful end of her…”
“…his horrific rage…”
“…should not be allowed into polite society…”
“…for only his title…”
On and on it went for several minutes, the ladies gleefully tossing about their gossip. The flurry and agitation of the people whispering about the duke soon began to cause feathers from the many headdresses to escape and float into the air.
Aggie had to stifle her laughter at the sight of a sea of flying feathers floating above heads. As amused as she was with the suddenly comical ballroom, she couldn’t help but hear the many comments, and within moments, had pieced together the ton’s story of Devin Stephenson, twelfth Duke of Dunway.
Aggie had raised herself onto the balls of her feet, peeking around the heads of the taller men in the ballroom in effort to catch a glimpse of the duke she was supposed to avoid. Neither interested, nor tall enough to gain better positioning to actually see the duke, Aggie rolled back down on her white slipper-encased feet.
She didn’t know the duke, had never heard his name before, but made a mental note to avoid him. Attention and scandal—true or not, Aggie didn’t really care—surrounded him, and Aggie could not draw any undue attention to herself by a chance meeting with the man.
Her thoughts had already shifted back to going over the plan for the evening, but the ladies surrounding her, of course, were not done, all vying for her fresh ear to gossip in.
So Aggie had flicked open her fan, flickered it, waited an appropriate five minutes, then excused herself to the terrace for fresh air.
Now, thankfully, she was in the clear night air. She took another long breath, enjoying the woodsy scent of neatly trimmed boxwoods wafting up from below the empty section of the terrace.
Tonight had to be the night. Everything was out in the open—the killers knew what she was up to. Even though it would be impossible for them to discern her from the hundreds of other hack drivers in her dark garb, they still knew she was going about town disguised as a hack driver. They would be looking for her. And she was going to let them find her.
Aggie leaned back from the railing and smoothed down the skirt of her delicate cream gown. Possibilities. She always had to run through them, again and again, questioning her own decisions. The only other option she could think of that would allow her to run amuck through the city without notice was posing as a lady of the night.
Playing a prostitute was again—as it had been when she first formulated her plan—not an option. She couldn’t even begin to imagine all the trouble that could cause her. Terrifying. A hack driver was still the safest option.
Her lip slipped under her teeth. She had to sharpen her wits. Those remaining brutes would be out for her. With luck, she would stumble upon them quickly. And with a little more luck, she wouldn’t overreact as she had done the previous night. She would also make certain not to put an innocent man’s life in danger again.
Aggie fidgeted with her white gloves as she leaned her forearms on the railing. Her eyes closed with resolve as she worked through her forthcoming foray into the slums of London. Tonight had to be the night.
A warm breeze picked up, lightly caressing the tendrils that had escaped Aggie’s artfully piled hair. She opened her eyes to gaze at the small formal garden below, thankful to be the only one taking advantage of this section of the terrace. Roses rode the breeze, mingling with the boxwoods.
Aggie could see countless couples strolling about the grounds and into the maze at the back of the garden. Laughter flitted up frequently from that area, and Aggie guessed that some of the couples had been gaily lost within. The night air enveloped her, and she allowed herself a few short moments to succumb to it, balancing one elbow on the railing to allow her hand to cup her chin.
Love must be the most wonderful blessing. The thought snuck into Aggie’s conscious mind before she knew it was there. And the second she recognized it, she snapped at herself.
Thoughts of love were not a possibility, and she hated herself when she submitted to senseless snippets of an unattainable dream. She had her family to protect. She had herself to protect. Aggie shook her head and straightened as she cleared her mind free from fanciful notions of love.
She needed to get back to the task at hand—how to draw out the serpents that had slid into her life and were trying to choke the life out of her. Dispose of them, and she would be free. Free to get back to a peaceful life in the country with her mother and sister. Nuggets of hope filled Aggie.
A tendril of light hair caressed the sleek indent in the back center of Aggie’s neck and gave her goose bumps. She reached back to tuck the piece into her upsweep, but bumped into something very solid.
A hand.
A hand at the back of her neck.
Not a piece of hair blowing in the breeze. A hand.
Whirling around, a scream stuck in her throat and came out as a tiny croak.
Her pathetic croak smothered into an exasperated groan when she saw what she spun to.
Staring down at her were the most unusual steel grey eyes she had ever seen. Eyes that were completely unmistakable—it was her fare from last night.
Her shock mutated into anger at being needlessly frightened. “Blazes bite your ass, sir. Only a hell-bound rogue would sneak onto a lady like that.”
“Hello there, nymph.” He inclined his head. “Not exactly the enthusiastic greeting I was expecting, but it will suffice. And it is good to know you have such a tongue.”
“What—” Aggie’s eyes darted back and forth on the balcony as she sputtered, “what are you doing here?”
What the blazes? How in the world had this gentleman just shown up at a party she was attending? Aggie fought for breath. And not only had he shown up, but he appeared with the audacity to tickle the back of her neck.
“Not the wittiest reply I have heard this evening, Aggie. But I realize after our last encounter you had hoped—nay, prayed—that I would fall into the dark, forgotten abyss of which you must throw many men.”
He moved to the railing next to her, casually leaning on it. Body frozen, arms at her sides, her head followed him. She knew her jaw was open, but she couldn’t quite manage to close it.
“You really must be more selective of the men you pick up in your coach, my dear. It would not do at all to have your dance card filled with past fares now, would it?”
His eyebrow cocked in mock question as he looked down on her. “Much less with the men that you have invited to a shoot-out.”
A couple rounded the terrace corner from a shadowed cove on his last words. The lady’s flushed face wrinkled in puzzlement at the comment, but the man at her arm smirked, obviously taking a different inference to the words, “shoot-out.”
“Evening, your grace.” The man tilted his head in passing as the couple passed on their way back to the ballroom. “Nice to see you out and about this fine evening.”
Her fare nodded politely toward the gentleman and lady. Aggie forced her head to incline in acknowledgement at the passing couple.
The couple moved out of ear-shot, and her fare bent to whisper in her ear. “No need to worry about loose lips from those two. His heiress is inside looking for him.”
Separating, the couple disappeared into the ball, and Aggie’s eyes veered back to her fare, only to be met by his penetrating gaze. Her breath caught.
He was waiting for something from her. Patiently.
Then it hit her. Without mercy, the full implication of the man’s greeting to her fare snuck up and clubbed her.
“Your grace…” Her earlier croak resurfaced. “Really? Your grace?”
She grabbed the fan that had been delicately dangling from her wrist and spastically twisted it in her hands. There was only one duke in attendance here tonight. She spun on her heel away from him, taking a step. Then she whipped back to him.
“Please, sir…” Voice trailing, she turned away again, then back. She stared at his chest, attempting another start at words. “I…”
It wasn’t successful. Her mouth went dry. She lost all words, not even attempting to hide her shock.
Speechless, she stared at his chest, until the silence became awkward. Finally, realizing the twit she was making of herself, her eyes lifted to his.
What she saw in his grey eyes was complete amusement. Amusement at her uncontrolled emotions—realization, disbelief, outrage, and just plain dumbstruck. She’d shot through them all—openly displayed them, like an idiot. Easy amusement for the duke.
It was rude of her to react as she did. But even ruder of him to find laughter in it.
Well, no more.
No more uncontrolled reactions to the situation. The initial shock of his presence, who he was, and what that could mean to her plans, sunk in. He could ruin everything. And would be amused in doing so. Why else would he have sought her out, if not to decimate her plans?
Frustration with the situation that had just escalated out of her control, combined with the duke’s smirk, catapulted her into whirlwind of indignation.
His smile. So smug. So completely in control.
Lips pulled hard, Aggie did the only thing she could, the only thing she could think that would shock the duke enough to wipe that arrogant smile off his face.
She flicked his ear.
Bold forefinger launching out from her thumb with mighty force, she went up on her toes and flicked his ear.
Stunned, his jaw dropped. But no words escaped out of his open mouth.
Taking advantage of his incapacitated state, Aggie stepped alongside him, their arms touching. She didn’t look up at him, her eyes trained on the corner of the building. “Your grace, if you would be so kind as to follow me to the side of the balcony, there are some things that need discussion.”
Not waiting for him, she stalked off, turning the corner and moving along the extension of the main balcony. Finding a nook closed off by lattice-work, where they would be out of eye—and ear—shot of the ball attendees, Aggie stopped, crossing her arms over her chest, fan swinging.
She turned to make sure the duke was following her. He was.
Aggie’s heart sped into fast thuds when she realized that every step he took, every movement of his body, was lethal. She glanced around at the spot she had stopped in. Maybe out of sight and sound of the party wasn’t the smartest move. But she couldn’t back away now. She straightened as tall as she could as he st
opped in front of her.
The heavy scents of the rose garden wafted up into the cove, and the two stood, both in stance for battle, glaring at each other, daring the other to make the first move.
Aggie deemed it would be her.
“Your grace, I realize what a shock this must be for you, seeing me here,” she started, now in firm control of her emotions, and full of determination that he not ruin her upcoming plans.
“Rest assured, you need not worry about the threat of me spreading word throughout society about your cowardice,” Aggie said. “Doing so would serve neither of us any purpose, even though, for myself, it would bring me great satisfaction to have your particular faults examined and heckled—but I have never much cared for the way society treats its weaker people.”
She blustered a look that reeked of pity, ignoring the fact that his eyes had turned into dangerous thunderclouds, their deepest blacks promising destruction.
She sadly shook her head. “They can be so harsh—wolves weeding out the weak—and it is, frankly, distasteful to me. I will not play a part in such abhorrent behavior. So I promise you, no one will know of your cowardice.”
Aggie’s gut flipped. He looked very near to choking her.
It took every bit of Aggie’s steel to raise her gloved hand and place it gently on his forearm. A pitying motion. He knew it, and his muscles flexed under her touch.
She knew she had gone much, much too far in calling him a coward. Especially when it was so opposite the truth. But it was the only way she could think of to rid herself of him and she couldn’t stop now. She had to finish this. She needed to remove the threat he posed. She couldn’t let him ruin her plans. Her life, her family’s lives, depended on it.
“So, your grace, if it would be amicable to you, I would like to keep our little…shall we say…adventure, between the two of us?” Her look turned to concern. “Your grace, are you listening to me? You seem a bit pale. Are you feeling well?”
He took a menacing step toward her, closing the space between the two of them. “Yes, Lady Augustine, I am listening to you. And I am well, thank you for asking. While my recollection of last night’s activities is quite different from yours, you are correct in your assessment of what would happen to my reputation if word spread that I was called out as a coward by a woman. You have chosen an interesting gambit.”
Hold Your Breath 01 - Stone Devil Duke Page 4