He guided her through the crowd that was becoming more populated by the hour. How many blasted invitations had been dispatched? He doubted he would seek sport here after tonight. The club would no longer be as exclusive as it had once been. But then he’d long ago found darker places in which to vent his shame and anger.
They came to the door that opened into the hallways where offices and secluded rooms provided very private entertainment. Removing the key from his waistcoat pocket, he extended it toward her.
She gave him a delighted, wicked smile, filled with mischief and daring. She enjoyed doing things she ought not. He liked that about her. Before the night was done, he anticipated that they would do a great many things they ought not.
Inserting the key, she turned it, twisted the knob, and opened the door. She hesitated not even a heartbeat before walking through and passing the key back to him. After closing the door, he once again offered his arm.
“Everything here seems older,” she said.
“Darling didn’t bother refurbishing this part, for which I’m glad. There is something comforting about the familiar. It has been this way for decades.”
“You don’t look old enough to have been visiting it for decades,” she said.
“I got started quite young.” Although she was right. He’d visited for only a little over a decade. “I know its history. It’s legendary among those of my acquaintance. The stairs that lead to the balcony are here.”
With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her up them and down the short hallway that ended at the balcony.
“As long as you stay behind the draperies, you can’t be seen,” he said quietly. “The shadows serve as cover.”
She eased forward slightly and gazed out over the assembled guests. “Is this where you were when you spotted me?” she asked in almost a whisper.
He came up behind her, only a hairbreadth separating his body from hers. “Yes.”
“It’s odd, but I felt your gaze on me.”
“Perhaps it was someone else’s.”
“No, I’m rather sure it was yours. You have an intensity about you. Do you often stand up here, gazing out, spying on those below?”
“Darling did. He liked to watch the money coming in. Dodger, the previous owner, did as well.” He removed his gloves, stuffed them into the pockets of his coat, and skimmed a bare finger along her nape. Beneath his touch, she shivered. “I was simply striving to determine if it was worth my time to go downstairs tonight.”
“What would you have done if you hadn’t gone downstairs?”
“There is a private game in one of the rooms up here. The stakes are high, but those who play cheat.” He pressed his lips to the juncture where her neck and shoulder met. “You should be aware I employ any means to get what I want.”
“You sound ruthless, Your Grace.”
“That is putting it kindly. I want you, Rosalind. I have wanted you from the moment you walked through the door. There are rooms here. We can make use of them. Or I can take you to my residence.”
“I am not quite so easy to obtain.”
“Are you not?”
She turned to face him. “No.”
“I am prepared to convince you otherwise.”
He claimed her mouth as though he already owned it.
She shouldn’t have been surprised that he took advantages of the shadows. She knew she’d been toying with a man who was far more daring than his civilized veneer let on.
She was, however, surprised by her reaction to his generous mouth blanketing hers. She welcomed it.
Acutely aware of his arms banding around her and pressing her flat against the hard planes of his body, she should have protested. Instead she indulged her curiosity and her own flagrant desires that she had held at bay for so very long. She couldn’t remember the last time that she’d taken something she wanted, that she had done something for herself.
She was certainly indulging now.
Scraping her fingers up into his thick hair, she regretted that she wore gloves. Tasting the richness of brandy on his tongue, she regretted they’d not had more to drink. As the pleasure coursed through her, she regretted that she was not free.
With that thought, guilt speared her. She did not resent that she was not untethered. Freedom came at a terrible price she was not yet ready to pay.
She forced all those thoughts back and concentrated instead on the moment. It was always best to focus on the moment. The sweep of his determined tongue. His large hand caressing her back, her backside, coming up along her hip, dipping in at her waist, and resting just below her breast. She felt the stroke of his thumb along the underside. She should have been appalled. She should have struck him.
But a woman did not reach her years without yearning for things that eluded her. She was certainly no stranger to kissing, but this man was doing far more than pressing his lips to hers. He was claiming her, branding her. She would forever remember his taste, his strength, his fragrance.
Sandalwood and bergamot. Dark and rich.
She would remember rising up on her toes to welcome his mouth. His deep groan rumbling within the small confines of the balcony. The dizziness. The sensations swirling around her.
He dragged his mouth from hers, along her neck to the sensitive spot just below her ear. “We’ll never make it to my residence,” he rasped. “There is a room only a few steps down the hallway.”
“No.” She said it too softly. He must not have heard because he began worrying her lobe between his teeth. She nearly sank to the floor with the absolute pleasure of it. He could have her here. “No,” she stated more firmly.
Breathing harshly, he drew back, his dark eyes pinning her. “Just as you require no chaperone, you have no innocence to protect.”
“I am not a woman with no morals. I don’t fall into bed with a man simply because he wishes me to do so.”
“You wish to do so. Your moans and sighs are proof of that.”
“Unfortunately, life is such that we are not always granted our wishes. I have been absent from the gaiety too long. I must return to it lest rumors begin.”
He curled his hand around her neck, stroked the underside of her jaw. “You do not strike me as a woman who cares about rumors.”
“I care about the opportunities that tonight affords me.” She could not have spoken truer words. “I am here to meet people, to become part of Society. To be accepted and welcomed. It would be reckless of me to risk all that I might gain for one night of pleasure.”
“I promise it would be worth your while.”
Of that, she had absolutely no doubt, but the price was too high—to her plans, quite possibly to her esteem. To have him walk away afterward . . . she was always the one who walked away, who decided when it was time to move on. Swallowing hard, she pushed back the temptation plaguing her. “Good night, Your Grace.”
She had taken a mere two steps when he wrapped his large hand around her arm, turned her back to him, and again took her mouth. His was lush and hot and so very skilled at making her forget her responsibilities, her duties. What would it hurt if just once in her life she did something for herself? If she took something she craved?
Tearing her mouth from his, she shoved on his massive shoulders, frustrated when she couldn’t even make him stagger back a step. “No.”
His eyes were as heated as his mouth. “You’ve been teasing me all night, Mrs. Sharpe. You can’t possibly think I’m going to let you walk away without doing my damnedest to convince you to stay.”
Another kiss would probably do the trick, damn him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man. I’m not ready for what you’re proposing.” Reaching up, she combed her fingers through his hair, straightening the strands she had mussed. “Please let me go.”
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he released his hold
. “At least allow me the honor of escorting you home.”
“We both know that would be most dangerous. Alone, in a small space, in the dark. I do not believe I would arrive home unscathed. Besides, I have a carriage. So again, good night.”
“I won’t give up.”
She’d barely turned when his words froze her on the spot.
“I will have you,” he said, his voice a whispered promise that caused a shiver of foreboding, a quiver of pleasure to ripple through her. “Because you want it as much as I do.”
She nearly denied the words, but she feared if she delayed, she’d find herself back in his arms, this time without the wherewithal to deny him, to deny them both what she thought might be a glorious night. She wanted to flee, to run, but she kept her pace slow and measured as she left the balcony, surprised her trembling legs managed to carry her down the stairs. Twisting the knob, she opened the door and strode into the main salon. She had planned to continue with the rounds, to be seen, perhaps to make a few other acquaintances, but he had unsettled her. She was not accustomed to being unsettled.
As calmly as possible, she walked to the entrance, acutely aware of his gaze following her the entire way. She’d made a mistake tonight, misjudged. She would have to be more careful in the future. The Duke of Avendale had the power to destroy her.
Chapter 2
By the time Rose strode in through the front door of her residence, she was back in control, her heart no longer pounding ferociously and threatening to crack a rib. A part of her was grateful she’d managed to escape. Another part, one she seldom allowed to come to the fore, wished she were still in the shadows of the balcony captivated by a kiss.
Merrick shuffled out of the parlor, his brow deeply furrowed. “Wasn’t expecting you home so soon.”
Removing her wrap, she handed it down to him. “See what you can uncover regarding the Duke of Avendale.” She’d given the man too much power. To avoid that happening again, she needed to learn everything she could about him.
“Duke? That’s a bit bold, even for you. He could be influential enough to see you hanged once he realizes what you’re about.”
“The trick there, then, is to ensure he doesn’t realize what I’m about. Any problems this evening?”
“No.” Merrick scrunched a face weathered by a harsh life. “He seems happy enough here. He’s sleeping now. Maybe we could stay this time.”
“You know that’s not possible.” She headed for the stairs, aware that Merrick traipsed along behind her.
“Maybe we could find another way.”
She spun around. She’d misjudged his nearness and he rammed into her. Grabbing his shoulders, she prevented him from tumbling over. When he was once again steady, he peered up at her and repeated, “Maybe we could.”
“What would you suggest? What could I possibly do that would provide us with the means to live in the luxury that we do?”
“Mayhap we don’t need as much luxury.”
“But Harry should have it. I owe him that.”
“Ain’t your fault the way your father treated him.”
Merrick had not witnessed all that she had. He could not possibly fathom all the ramifications of her father’s cruel actions. “Remember, Merrick, you are here by my good graces, not to question me. Now, let Sally know I’ve returned so she can assist me in preparing for bed.” She carried on up the stairs, refusing to feel guilty over the life she led or consider the consequences it might heap upon her. Life was filled with choices. She’d made hers. It was too late for regrets, and they served no purpose except to distract.
In her bedchamber, she peeled off her gloves and tossed them onto the dressing table before walking to the window and gazing out on the fog-shrouded gardens. She’d not accomplished all she’d meant to tonight. She had hoped to make associations with women who would invite her to their balls and dinners. The more she was seen within high Society, the more she would be trusted, the more people would wish to assist her. But the duke had distracted her from her purpose.
After the blistering kisses he’d leveled on her, she could hardly stay at the affair. It had not been until she was halfway home that she’d been able to think properly again. How could she scheme when her mind had turned to rubbish? Oh, she’d been given kisses before, but none that spoke of possession, none that consumed. She was quite surprised they’d not erupted into a conflagration on that balcony.
As she heard the door opening, she swung around and smiled. “Sally.”
“Did you enjoy your evening?” Merrick’s wife asked.
“Tonight’s purpose was work, not enjoyment.” She walked to the center of the room where a short stool rested and turned around. Sally stepped up and began loosening buttons and ribbons.
“Seems like you could mix the two.”
“I might end up concentrating too much on one and losing sight of the other.”
“Wouldn’t be so bad if it was the work you lost sight of. When was the last time you had a bit of fun?”
With the gown loosened, Rose worked her way out of it. “I read an entire book just last night before I went to bed.”
Scowling, coming around to take the gown, Sally said, “I’m talking about fun with others.”
Rose smiled. “I have a jolly good time with you.”
“You’re being difficult now.”
“Yes, I am, because I don’t wish to discuss it.”
After removing the remainder of her underclothes and slipping into her nightdress, she sat on the bench in front of her dressing table. If she could, she would have a home absent of mirrors, but she needed to know how she appeared before she went out. Appearance was crucial to the game.
But here, within her bedchamber, not so much. When she looked at her reflection, she saw a woman nearing thirty, one who would never have a husband who loved her or children to adore. One who was so remarkably lonely that it was all she could do not to weep. She despised these moments of weakness when her lost dreams nudged her to be refound.
She had no right to complain, not when others suffered far more than she.
“You look sad,” Sally said, as she moved near and began brushing Rose’s hair.
“Simply tired. It was a long night.”
“Merrick mentioned that you’re inquiring about some duke.”
“We danced.” The reflection caught her smile. It appeared almost dreamy, as though she were a young girl filled with hope after her first waltz. “He was quite charming.”
Deliciously so. And tempting.
“Was he handsome?” Sally asked.
“Do you know of a duke who isn’t?” Rose asked.
“Don’t know any dukes.”
Rose laughed lightly. “Yes, he was handsome. Dark hair and darker eyes. Haunted eyes. He is not a joyful man.”
“You was always so skilled at reading people.”
She needed to be in order to do what she did. She’d learned the talent at her father’s knee, not that learning anything from him was worthy of boast.
“Did you like him?” Sally asked.
Did she? “I don’t know him well enough to know whether or not I like him.”
“Was he a pleasant fellow?”
“He was intense. Most intense. He didn’t visit much with people, although it was obvious a good many knew him. I think he was there for one purpose: to indulge in whatever sort of misbehavior became most convenient.”
“And he thought to indulge with you.” Sally moved around, draping Rose’s plaited hair over her shoulder. “But you held him at bay.”
The words were not a question but a declaration, and Rose knew Sally would be disappointed if anything untoward had happened—such as a kiss in the shadows. “It would not suit my purpose to give in to temptation.”
“Were you tempted?”
Rose twisted
on the bench, which put her on eye level with Sally. “No.”
The lie should not have come so easily. It was slightly disconcerting that it did. If she could lie so easily to her dear friend, could she lie as easily to herself?
“Thank you, Sally. I’ll see you in the morning.” Rising, she walked to a corner table and poured herself a splash of brandy, as was her nightly ritual.
“You’re troubled,” Sally said.
“Tired, as I stated earlier.” Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled. “I’m well. Good night.”
She waited until Sally left, then walked over to the sitting area and curled up on the corner of the sofa. She inhaled the intoxicating aroma first. Taking a slow sip, she savored the flavor more than she ever had before. It reminded her of him. She imagined again his lips on hers.
And she tried not to regret that she had not left with him.
Avendale strode into his residence and staggered to a stop as a couple weaving toward the stairs nearly stumbled into him.
“Your Grace,” the young swell slurred with an awkward salute before tumbling into a heap on the floor, dragging the woman at his side with him.
Avendale thought there was little worse than a man who could not hold his liquor.
With a delighted laugh, Aphrodite untangled herself from the drunkard and pushed herself to her feet. She swayed toward him. “Avendale, I seem to have lost my partner. I’d prefer to have you anyway.”
Her gossamer gown revealed all her curvaceous attributes. Her blue eyes glinting with desire, she slowly ran a hand up his chest, over his shoulder. “I’m yours,” she said with a sultry voice.
Yes, because he paid her—not in coin, but in excess. Clothes, jewelry, baubles, perfumes.
“Not tonight, Aphrodite.” What he desired tonight, he’d been unable to obtain, which only served to make him want Rosalind Sharpe all the more. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been denied anything, the last time his thoughts had been so occupied with one woman.
Without guilt or remorse, he edged politely past Aphrodite—she’d find a new partner easily enough—and strode down the hallway to his library. A footman—not only standing at attention, but also standing guard as no one except servants was allowed in this room—opened the door. Avendale stepped inside. As the door was pulled closed behind him, he walked to a glass case that housed his spirits. A marble table rested beside it with glasses and decanters. After filling a tumbler with scotch, he took a chair near the fireplace and downed half the glass’s contents, before sighing and dropping his head back.
The Duke and the Lady in Red Page 3