The Duke and the Lady in Red

by Lorraine Heath

  As they strode—­as this man could do nothing except stride with confidence—­through the room, he acknowledged a few but was greeted with deference.

  “Your Grace.”

  “Avendale.”

  “Duke.”

  She’d been correct about his title. She wondered how many lesser ones he might possess, how much property. What was he worth? Based upon the excellent tailoring of his black swallowtail coat, trousers, and waistcoat, along with the jeweled pin nestled in his cravat, he was worth a princely sum.

  They arrived in a room that was much darker than any of the others she’d viewed. The walls were papered in rich burgundy and forest green. The furniture matched. A massive fireplace dominated one of several sitting areas. Glass cabinets held an assortment of spirits. Liveried footmen served amber liquid.

  She finished off her champagne and set the flute on the tray of a passing footman. The man beside her—­Avendale—­did the same. She didn’t like noticing that he seemed to belong here more than in any other place. That he was made of—­and for—­debauchery. He was comfortable with his surroundings, would flourish here as well as in the bedchamber. She was rather certain of it. Even in shadows, he would stand out, prowling toward her, conquering every aspect of the night, conquering her. She wouldn’t so much as whimper in protest.

  “Would you care for something darker?” he asked.

  He grinned wolfishly, and for a moment she feared he read all her thoughts. A shiver went through her before she grasped his meaning. He’d distracted her. Normally she kept her head around men, even handsome ones. Or perhaps she was giving him too much credit, had simply sipped the champagne far too quickly so that her mind had dulled for a moment.

  “Is it allowed?” she asked innocently.

  “It is. That’s Darling’s purpose here—­to open up every manner of vice and decadence to the ladies. But wouldn’t it be far more enjoyable if it weren’t allowed?”

  He held her gaze and she was no longer certain they were discussing liquor. Things not allowed generally were more enjoyable. How did he know that was what she preferred? What she thrived on? The forbidden was always more alluring. She suspected many of the ladies would soon wonder what all the fuss had been about now that they could walk through the doors whenever they chose.

  “Did I hear my name taken in vain?” a deep voice asked.

  Turning to the side, she came face to face with the man she’d earlier seen kissing the woman in the dance area. That woman was now beaming with happiness and inappropriately nestled against his side. But then Rose supposed in a place like this nothing was completely inappropriate. That was the entire point to it.

  “I’ve been taking your name in vain ever since you came up with this ghastly idea to allow women into our sanctum,” Avendale said, clearly disgruntled.

  “Yet here you are walking about with one of those ladies,” Drake Darling said. “Are you going to introduce us?”

  “I fear we have not yet been introduced.” Avendale’s gaze ran over her. “Names are unimportant to me.”

  So he had only a temporary interest in her. Perhaps for just tonight. A tryst, something wicked. She was insulted enough to take offense, but not so much that she wasn’t also flattered. Yet both emotions were schooled not to show. Much more satisfying to make him pay later for his arrogance. Oh, and how he would pay. She could hardly wait, but taking her time would make it all so much sweeter.

  “My apologies, Mr. Darling,” she said softly. “I am Mrs. Rosalind Sharpe.”

  A dark eyebrow arched over dark eyes. “You know who I am?”

  “You had an invitation delivered to me. I made inquiries after I arrived here and someone pointed you out. I had planned to make your acquaintance straightaway but you seemed rather busy.” Smiling, doing all she could to blush, she looked at the woman.

  “Yes, I was rather,” he admitted.

  “You do realize you’re going to have to marry Lady Ophelia now,” Avendale said, “after that spectacle you made earlier.”

  Rose fought not to show her surprise that a commoner had snagged nobility.

  “I shall do so with great pleasure. And I’m being rude. Lady Ophelia Lyttleton, allow me to introduce Mrs. Rosalind Sharp.”

  “A pleasure,” Lady Ophelia said.

  “The pleasure is all mine, my lady. I do hope we may have an opportunity to know each other better,” Rose said. “I am quite fascinated with the place. I can see myself spending considerable time here.”

  “I’m sure I’ll pop by from time to time, but for the immediate future I’m going to be extremely busy arranging our wedding.” She looked up at Drake Darling with adoration, and Rose fought back the little bite of envy. Love was not for her and well she knew it.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” Mr. Darling said, “we need to finish making the rounds.”

  Their arms linked, they wandered off.

  “And so another one falls,” Avendale said somberly.

  Rose looked up at him. “You seem to be friends, which surprises me. He is a commoner, and based upon the manner in which ­people greeted you, you are a duke.”

  He shrugged laconically. “Our families share a past and a deep friendship.”

  “That makes it even more odd.”

  “We are quite a mixture of commoner and nobility, far too complicated to explain with few words. I’m not in the mood for words, but rather drink.” He snatched two glasses containing amber liquid from a passing footman and offered her one. “Something darker than champagne.”

  “Thank you.” She took a small sip. “Excellent brandy.”

  “A woman who enjoys the finer things.”

  “Oh, I am most certainly that.” She glanced around. “So within this room, men drink, smoke, read, and converse. Where do they play cards when they don’t wish to remain civilized?”

  He nodded toward the back of the room. “A door over there takes them to another room where they gamble to their heart’s content without ladies seeing how dashed awful they are at gambling, and how much they lose without blinking an eye.”

  “You don’t strike me as someone who loses.”

  “You don’t have to flatter me, Mrs. Sharpe. You have my attention.”

  “But for how long without flattery?”

  He chuckled low. “Until I grow bored. And flattery bores me.”

  “Well, then, without further ado, I would like to finish my tour of the place. You are welcome to accompany me or not. Makes no never mind to me.” She could be as cool and aloof as he required. She did like that he didn’t crave adulation, but it did leave her a bit discombobulated, as she’d never before dealt with a man who didn’t react to being fawned over.

  He showed her the gaming room that was for men only. It was much like the salon: dark and ominous. Masculine. It spoke of power and wealth. How she would like to be a fly on the wall in here.

  With few words uttered, he escorted her back to the main salon. But he was a man who communicated nonetheless. With a touch to her elbow, the small of her back, her shoulder. Light and quick caresses, but still there was an air of possessiveness to them. He was not completely immune to her charms. He was simply striving not to be sucked in too far.

  “Dance with me,” he said.

  His words startled her. Inwardly she cursed herself for losing her composure for a moment, for letting him take her off-­guard. “I’m not certain why but I didn’t think you were one to dance.”

  “Normally, I’m not, but my mother spent a fortune on lessons. I should put them to use now and again. Would you prefer to dance here or in the ballroom?”

  “There is a separate room for dancing? I somehow missed that.”

  “Something tells me you don’t miss much.”

  And neither did he. She considered making her excuses, leaving now before things went too far,
before she was the one sucked in, the one not thinking clearly, but it had been a good long while since anyone intrigued her. He was mysterious. Based upon how few ­people stopped to speak with him, she suspected he was not known for being interested in their affairs and was known for not sharing his. She could take advantage of his tendency toward privacy.

  “I should like to see the ballroom,” she said.

  “If I must walk that far for a dance, I shall have to have two.”

  “That would be rather scandalous, wouldn’t it?”

  “You’re past the first blush of innocence. I suspect scandal suits you.”

  “In all honesty I try to avoid it, but I have not danced in ages, not since my husband’s passing,” she felt obligated to say. Wrapping her hand around his arm, she gave him a smile intended to charm, to make him feel as though he were the only man in the room worthy of her attention. “Lead on.”

  As he escorted her through the rooms and hallways, she caught the speculative glances, the raised eyebrows. It was to her advantage to garner attention, but not too much. A woman was always best served by keeping an air of mystery about her.

  The ballroom was magnificent. Glittering chandeliers. Mirrored walls. A balcony with an orchestra of at least a dozen. Lilies emitted their sweet fragrance into the air. Ah, yes, Drake Darling was providing a place for the untitled wealthy to socialize with the nobility. Clever man. He had brought all she sought into one convenient place. She would have to send him a note of appreciation when the time came.

  “You seem impressed,” Avendale said.

  “I appreciate elegance.” And it was important that she remember every detail. She would no doubt be grilled on them when she returned home. “I shall have to do something similar with my ballroom. It’s in need of a touch more stylishness.”

  “You have a ballroom?” he asked, and she heard the surprise in his voice.

  “My husband, bless him, left me quite well off. I’d have thought you intelligent enough to discern that I’m a woman of independent means. How else might I have garnered an invitation?”

  “Quite right. I wasn’t thinking. I forgot that Darling has certain requirements regarding his members. At least it should keep out the hoi polloi.” He nodded toward the center of the room. “Shall we?”

  “By all means. I would be most delighted.”

  With a smoothness that set her heart to tripping over itself, he swept her into the fray of dancers. She realized a tad too late that waltzing with him was a mistake. He held her close and firmly, possessively. Yes, she could see the peril now. He was a man accustomed to owning what he desired.

  His dark eyes never left hers. She was acutely aware of his blatantly assessing her. Every strand of hair, every eyelash, every blush. Which was only fair as she was assessing him. Not a strand of his dark brown hair was out of place. Sometimes when the light hit it just so, she thought she detected shades of red in it, but mostly the dark had its way. She suspected it dominated all aspects of his life.

  Nothing about him seemed light or carefree. Everything was intense. While others conversed and smiled at their partners, he merely studied every line and curve. She could tell that he preferred the curves. She was accustomed to that when it came to men. Her bosom was her finest asset, and she took great pains to show it off. She’d long ago shed the mantle of timidity.

  His face was composed of hard lines and harsh angles. He would never be considered beautiful, and yet there was beauty in the ruggedness of his features. Handsome, manly. Appealing. He appealed to her in ways no other man ever had.

  That made him very dangerous indeed. She kept a wall between herself and men. They were to be used, then discarded. She didn’t think this man would be easily tossed aside. She needed to escape his company as quickly as possible, while she could. She was far too attracted to him. That would not suit her purposes at all. He would not suit.

  The final strains of the waltz drifted into silence.

  “That was lovely,” she said. “Thank you. I shall leave you to enjoy the remainder of your evening now.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I thought we had agreed to two dances.”

  “I don’t wish to dominate your time.”

  “There is no one else I would rather dominate it. Is someone expecting your company?”

  She should say yes. But then he would no doubt keep an eye on her to discern who was of interest to her. She didn’t want him observing her. Best to give him a bit more time tonight and then move on. “No.”

  “Then it seems another dance is in order.”

  The music began. Another waltz. Did the orchestra know naught but waltzes? Did her skin have to welcome the press of his hands? Did she have to feel his touch cascading through her entire being? It was at once disconcerting and exciting to have these reactions to his nearness. What was it about him that affected her so? It was more than his handsome features, something deep within him that was calling to something in her, something that had been dormant, that was awakening. She needed a distraction from these unsettling thoughts.

  “Where is your estate?” she asked.

  “Cornwall.”

  Yes, she could see that. His being part of the rugged coast. Perhaps he was even descended from pirates. She could well imagine thievery and plundering in his heritage.

  “You’re not one for conversing, are you?” she asked.

  “Not with words, no. I prefer other means of communication, especially when a lady is involved.”

  She was losing her edge with him. She didn’t know how to get it back. “That sort of communication deals only with the surface. There is no depth to a relationship of that nature.”

  “I care for only one sort of depth.” His eyes smoldered with his innuendo and she nearly stumbled.

  She was out of her league with him. He would not be easily manipulated. But something inside her yearned to accept the challenge. Things had become too easy of late. She was bored. She hadn’t realized it until that moment. There was no life, no excitement in her anymore. She simply existed. But he brought a spark to her. He interested her. She thought he might have secrets as dark as her own. Drawing them from him would be a challenge, might prove to be to her advantage.

  “You offend me with your insinuation,” she said.

  “If that were true, you would have slapped me by now. You’re a widow, not an innocent miss. The other ladies here interest me not in the least, because they are naive. I prefer a woman who is seasoned.”

  “And you judge me to be seasoned?”

  “You intrigue me, Rosalind.”

  “You’re taking liberties with your informality.”

  “I believe your protests are false. You want me to take liberties. It’s the reason you haven’t left in a huff.” He narrowed his eyes. “No, you are not one to huff about. I think you would make me pay in other ways.”

  Oh yes, he had the right of it. She most certainly would make him pay in other ways. Might still do so. But for now they were merely taking measure of each other.

  “I find you equally intriguing, Your Grace, but I fear I have been too long away from the social scene. My skills at being coy are sadly lacking.”

  “You don’t have to play false with me. I prefer honesty.”

  “Then know that I find myself attracted to you, although I’m not sure it’s wise on either of our parts.”

  “But it could be enjoyable.”

  She had no doubt of that. He was a man not lacking in confidence. He could show her a jolly good time, but she knew far too little about him. Her purpose here tonight was not to settle on one, but to amass many admirers. He was distracting her from her plans.

  The waltz came to an end, but he didn’t release her immediately. He simply held her scandalously close, allowing the minutes to tick by as though there were no one to see, no one who possessed a tongue to wag. If
she were a young girl of nineteen, with a father or brother to speak for her, she would find herself betrothed by midnight.

  “What else is there to see here?” she asked.

  “I believe you’ve seen it all. Perhaps we have run out of reasons to stay.”

  How she was tempted to accept his invitation, to go with him wherever he wished to go. But she had planned too long to be reckless now.

  “I spied a draped balcony in a far corner of the main salon.” She suspected it was from there that he’d observed her earlier. “I should very much like to see it. How does one get to it?”

  “One must possess a key.”

  She angled her chin. “Do not take this as flattery, Your Grace, but rather the truth being spoken. You strike me as a man who would possess a key.”

  He did indeed possess a key. It was no doubt unwise to take her up there, as he wanted to do things with her that were best done within shadows, and there were shadows aplenty within the balcony, and his passions were on a weak tether. She was not an innocent miss, only recently presented to the queen. She was a widow. She had to know men, had to know that he was with her at that moment because of his desire to know her in the biblical sense. Without guilt, he could give in to his desires.

  But she was not quite what she seemed. Of that he was fairly certain. He had spent a lifetime avoiding entanglements and relationships. He never looked below the surface of a woman, but something about her urged him to explore a little deeper.

  She wasn’t an American as he’d first wondered. Her speech was refined, definitely English, deliberate, but now and again he caught the lilt of something else, as though she were putting on a performance and forgot for a moment her role in the play.

  That little aspect to her intrigued him all the more but was no cause for alarm. He didn’t want anything permanent with her. He merely wanted to explore all that lay beneath the red gown. His hands would span her waist. Her breasts would overflow his cupped palms.