Page 59 of From Duke Till Dawn
“She’s not on the menu,” Ellingsworth added. “Much to Langdon’s dismay.”
Indeed, the man in question appeared crestfallen that this Amina would never yield to his seductions. What a novel experience it must be for Langdon, to want a woman and not be able to have her.
“When is the next time the club meets?” Alex asked.
Langdon brightened. “You’re in luck, because it’s tomorrow night. I can give you the direction, if you want. And the password. If you want to go.”
A union hall for swindlers? Secret masked sex clubs that required passwords? London was a far more varied place than Alex had ever given it credit for.
“I do,” said Alex. It was the best clue toward finding Hughes.
“What about the widow?” Langdon wondered.
“It’s because of her that I’m going,” he answered.
His friends exchanged baffled looks, but he wasn’t about to explain what he meant.
“Don’t forget,” Langdon cautioned, “wear a mask. Tell no one your real name.”
“And tell useverythingthat happens,” added Ellingsworth.
“I’ll wear a mask and keep my identity a secret,” Alex said. “But I’m not telling either of you a thing. I thought that was the object of the club—secrecy.”
Ellingsworth laughed. “Point to Greyland.”
Alex laughed in acknowledgment. He had a feeling his friends kept him around just to tease him and rile his sense of decorum—but they were there when he needed counsel and attention, so surely they had some genuine fondness for him.
Langdon gave him the address and password, which he scribbled down on a slip of paper and tucked away with the coin in his pocket.
With his mission completed, Alex started for the door. “Already taking your leave?” Ellingsworth asked with a puzzled frown. “The night’s barely started.”
“I’ve no taste tonight for the theater or another gaming hell,” he answered. Impatience gnawed on him.
“At least join us in another round of billiards,” Langdon protested. “Before you ruined our game, I was two-thirds of the way to beating Ellingsworth, and I need someone else to play.”
“More like three-fifths toward besting me,” grumbled Ellingsworth.
“No need to rush away,” Langdon concluded. “Unless...” His look turned speculative. “You’re scurrying off to see the Cheltenham widow.”
“I don’t scurry,” Alex answered at once. He paused. Was that what he was doing? Running home so he could be near Cassandra?
He was.
Alex was balanced precariously on a sword’s tip. He could fall in either direction. He could stay and try to prove to himself through sheer obstinacy that he didnotstill have feelings for Cassandra. Or he could follow his heart’s demands and go home.
Langdon and Ellingsworth gazed at him expectantly. A film of sweat coated Alex’s back. He looked at his friends and wondered what the hell was happening to him.
Cassandra slowly walked along the length of bookshelves lining Alex’s library. She ran her fingers over the spines, enjoying the feel of the smooth leather and the scent of quality paper. She wasn’t much in the mood for a book—despite her fifteen years of literacy, reading still didn’t come easily. She could peruse a book for its meaning, but the process was slow and difficult. The theater suited her much better, and she’d heard that Lady Marwood had penned a new burletta for the Imperial Theater. Yet she hadn’t the funds or desire to venture out of the safety of Alex’s home. No one could threaten or hurt her here. That also meant she’d have to find some way of amusing herself for the length of the evening.
The library felt strongly of Alex, as if he somehow lived within the rows and rows of books and knowledge and privilege—a private library was an expensive luxury reserved for very few. The scents of smoke and leather also reminded her of him. She could picture him here, soberly perusing book after book, filling his mind with information and facts. There were few novels here, mostly treatises on history, science, and politics. She smiled to herself. None of the tart, sentimental works of Miss Austen for the duke.
She pulled a large volume down from the shelf.The Fauna and Flora of North America. This might prove interesting, considering the fact that she might be emigrating soon.
Settling down in an armchair by the fire, she opened the book and propped her chin in one hand. Leisurely, she turned the pages, enjoying the sounds of crinkling paper and the bright colors of birds and flowers. She didn’t bother reading the small descriptive paragraphs about each specimen. Her mind was too much at war with itself to hold on to anything of worth.
She hadn’t left her room until she’d been certain Alex had gone for the night, off to seek the counsel of his friends. Her body still felt the heat and strength of his arms enfolding her, keeping her safe. Holding her as if she mattered.
The tip of her finger traced the outline of a creature called the golden eagle. The bird’s sharp profile and powerful gaze—as well as its dangerous talons—evoked Alex. They were so alike in looks and character. Both were striking and commanding, lethal and regal. An illustration of a mother eagle on her nest accompanied the image. She looked protective yet caring for her defenseless young. Even that recalled Alex, and the way in which he’d cared for and sheltered her.
