Page 26 of Her Duke at Midnight
Cecily wondered if she could persuade him. There were times, if she addressed him in just the right way or said just the right words, that Archibald would relent and go to sleep rather than continuing to drink. Something about Whitlock sparked a bit of sympathy she’d rarely felt for her husband. He was an elderly man and making a fool of himself, whether he realized it or not.
“Perhaps I’ll go and speak to him.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” From her tone, it was clear Portia thought otherwise.
“If he can be persuaded to go and rest, and that it’s for his own good, it will be worth it.”
“Please take care, Lady Bissenden.”
“Of course.” Cecily nodded and made her way toward a footman who stood at the edge of the drawing room. “I’m going to attempt to persuade Lord Whitlock to retire early, but he may need assistance getting up to his room. Will you help if I signal to you that he’s ready to go?”
“Indeed, your ladyship.” The young man eyed the elderly lord.
Cecily beelined for a spot across the drawing room, where Whitlock seemed to be searching for someone with whom he could strike up a conversation. She couldn’t help but scan the rest of the room for Adam, but though a few more guests had filed into the drawing room, he wasn’t among them.
As she drew closer to Whitlock, she realized he wasn’t standing on his own. Behind the frame of his body, she spotted the same lady she’d overheard leaving Adam’s room the night before—Lady Arbuthnot.
Whitlock whispered to her, and Cecily drew so close that anyone watching might think her rude for eavesdropping on a conversation clearly intended to be private.
“I offer generous terms,” Whitlock hissed out the last word.
Lady Arbuthnot turned to him with such anger in her eyes that Cecily half expected her to strike the old man.
“I’m not quite that desperate, I assure you.”
Whitlock scoffed dramatically and took another drink from his glass. “Not what I heard, Louisa. Everton’s not interested, but I could be.”
At mention of Adam’s name, Lady Arbuthnot’s face fell, and her eyes glistened as if she might cry. But then she noticed Cecily, and that same anger she’d directed at Whitlock now seemed aimed at Cecily.
The lady pushed past the elderly lord and then past Cecily, mumbling, “If you’ll excuse me.”
Whitlock swigged back the remnants of liquor in his glass, set the empty tumbler on a side table, and scanned ahead of him as if looking for his next uncomfortable encounter.
“Lord Whitlock,” Cecily said softly.
The man spun so fast, he almost lost his footing. Out of the corner of her eye, Cecily spied the footman moving closer, as if waiting for his cue.
“Heavens, Lady Bissenden, you’re a stealthy one.” He scoured her with a glance, his gaze hovering on her bosom before he finally looked again at her face. “Though not as careful as you should be, my lady.” He leaned closer, pitching close enough that Cecily smelled the sharp bite of liquor on his breath. “I hear you’re the one Evertonisinterested in.”
Cecily suspected her connection with Adam would be noticed by someone eventually. Apparently, eventually had already come.
“You look fatigued, Lord Whitlock. I suspect the hunt was exhausting.”
He frowned at her. “Did you not hear what I said?”
“I did, my lord, but I don’t give much merit to rumors.”
He sneered at her. “All of society loves gossip, Lady Biss—“ He stumbled on the word and waved his hand as if pushing the sibilant, troublesome name away from him. “Ladies especially,” he added loudly. “Though not when they are the subject of it, perhaps.”
A rusty sound emerged from his chest, and Cecily realized he was laughing at her.
“You don’t wish to cause a scene this evening, Lord Whitlock. Why not sleep this off and join the party again in the morning?”
His brow puckered as he stared at her, almost as if she’d confused him. Apparently, her suggestion wasn’t having any effect at all.
“You are a fetching thing, aren’t you?” When he lifted an arm as if he’d reach for her, the footman sprang toward them.
“May I help, my lady?”
