Page 8 of From Duke Till Dawn
“I can’t stay.” She pressed a quick kiss to his knuckles—to his shock and pleasure—then slipped away, back into the heat and chaos of the gaming hell. He stepped out from the corner, watching her go as though she was the last glint of light in the darkness.
Ellingsworth and Langdon appeared suddenly, flanking him.
“Who was that?” Langdon demanded.
“You never mentioned a blonde,” Ellingsworth accused at the same time.
Alex cleared his rusted throat. “That’s a story I won’t be sharing.”
His two friends exchanged glances. Ellingsworth had, despite his vocal disavowals to the contrary, done very well at university. His mind was nimble, perhaps overly so. “The unknown lady.”
“What of her?” Alex snapped.
“Lady Emmeline was never truly your goal,” he deduced. “You courted her, yes, but it wasshewho held pride of place in your heart.”
“Ellingsworth—” Alex said warningly.
Yet his friend wouldn’t be scared off. “The wooing of Lady Emmeline was merely a way to overcome heartbreak.”
“Stop reading your nieces’ sentimental novels,” Alex muttered, but he couldn’t outright lie and tell Ellingsworth he was wrong.
“Cheltenham,” Langdon suddenly exclaimed.
Alex jerked in response. “The hell are you talking about,” he growled.
“You’re right,” Ellingsworth said with surprise. “You went away to Cheltenham, and when you came back... you’d changed. Turned even more serious—if such a thing was possible. And there was...”
“What?” Alex snapped.
“Pain in your eyes.” Ellingsworth looked nearly embarrassed to have noticed this much.
“There wasn’t,” Alex said lowly, but his friends were too perceptive. He grabbed a drink from a passing servant, and his friends did the same. Alex threw back his wine, but Langdon and Ellingsworth sipped at theirs.
Ellingsworth continued, “It was her. The blonde. She had to have been at Cheltenham, too. You weren’t yourself when you returned. Shoulder had healed but you’d been wounded another way. Took months before you came out of that cloud—and when you did, you started looking for a bride. Lady Emmeline. A girl to fill the gap left by the Cheltenham blonde.”
“Enough of your fancies,” Alex muttered, but there was no denying how close his friends were to the truth. He tipped his glass back for more wine, but it was empty. Moodily, he set it on another passing servant’s tray.
“Oh ho,” Langdon crowed. “A crack in the ducal defenses.”
Alex scowled, glancing away.
Langdon and Ellingsworth shared another look, this one fraught with unspoken words.
“Let Ellingsworth and me take you somewhere else,” Langdon urged. “There’s a fine tavern in Leicester Square that hosts knife-throwing tournaments. Plenty of pretty wenches to turn a man’s head, too.”
“No,” Alex said at once. “I’m in no humor for wenches or knives or anything else.” He craned his neck, looking once more for Cassandra.
A thrill of panic juddered along his spine. Had she disappeared again? No—she was by one of the windows, smiling and talking with a gentleman and two ladies. The vise of his fear loosened. He took an instinctive step toward her.
“Don’t blame you,” Langdon said, keeping pace beside him. “She’s a striking woman. Got a queenly aura about her.”
Alex wheeled to face Langdon. “She’s not to be leered at.”
Langdon’s brow raised as he held up his hands in surrender. “Not a glance. Not a peek in her direction.”
“Why don’t you go to her?” Ellingsworth asked quietly.
Alex felt his jaw harden. “It would jeopardize her employment here.”
