Page 34 of Duke of Wickedness
“If you did want to see me, however,” he went on, “I would let you know that I am free tonight.”
Her eyes darted toward him in a flicker of interest before she returned to the tree.
“Are you?” Her nonchalance was—no surprise—not very compelling.
“I am.” He drew closer. He could have reached out and touched her shoulder now if he wanted to. “In fact—and this is the strangest thing, I allow—I anticipate finding myself just around the south corner of your home. Just after midnight.”
When she turned to face him, the feigned disinterest was gone, replaced with a sly look that was all too real.
“Do you? How coincidental,” she said. She bit her lip. Christ,hewanted to bite that lip. Then, he would soothe the sting with his tongue, before delving in to taste her again, and?—
And this was not the time for that.
He couldn’t have much time left; Catherine would be back soon, and he needed to not be standing so close to her sister when the duchess returned.
He reached out just enough to wrap his fingers around Ariadne’s wrist. He felt her pulse gallop and stutter beneath his fingertips. He wanted to kiss and bite that part of her, too.
“Meet me there, Ariadne,” he urged quietly. “Please.”
She hesitated for a moment, but something made him think that this wasn’t because she was uninterested, but rather because she felt she wassupposedto hesitate. She sucked in a steadying breath and then nodded.
“I’ll be there,” she promised.
He indulged himself in one more gentle squeeze, one more fleeting fantasy about how she might flush and squirm when he pinned her wrists as he held her beneath him—and then he let her go.
By the time Catherine came back, David was the one looking out the window at the oh so intriguing tree. Ariadne was back on thesettee, sipping her tea, which hopefully was still warm enough to account for the lingering flush on Ariadne’s cheeks.
Ariadne didn’t know why she had spent so many useless years learning things like how to arrange flowers just so or what depth of curtsey went with what rank of noble when she should have been asking the important questions.
Questions like'What do I wear to a midnight assignation with a notorious duke?'
This was, she reflected, really the Duke of Wilds’ fault. He had made this mad offer, and then, instead of letting herthink,he had touched her wrist. With his fingers! His naked fingers. Not a single glove in sight.
Ariadne had been frustrated with the rules of propriety more than once in her day, but the feeling of the duke’s warm, rough fingers against her inner wrist had made her think that wearing gloves shouldn’t just be recommended; it should be the law of the land. Why were his fingers even so rough? He was a duke, not a blacksmith.
“This isn’t right,” she muttered to her reflection as she tugged at the neckline of the gown she had chosen.
Fine. Thefourthgown she had chosen.
She had morning gowns. She had walking gowns. She had gowns for tea parties. She had ballgowns, cursed items that they were.
But nobody had ever taught her what worked for a midnight meeting gown. She didn’t even know where they were going! Should she wear something elegant? Suggestive? She cleared her throat as an idea occurred to her. Should she wear something easy to remove?
Ultimately, she didn’t end up making a decision as much as she just ran out of time. She had put on a sixth gown, which was actually one of Catherine’s castoffs. It was pleasinglynotproper, made from dark green velvet that was soft and sumptuous against her skin. The heavy fabric draped in a way that made the dress feel more elevated than it was, and it was something she could put on by herself.
This last bit was critical because Ariadne was running low on bribery money, so she hadn’t dared involve her maid.
By the time she was finished lacing herself up, then craning her neck to make certain she’d actually done so correctly, then shaking out her head to counteract the crick that this produced in her neck, the clock on her mantelpiece told her that midnight was only five minutes away.
She supposed that rushing to get to a place was one way to avoid obsessing about whether or not oneshouldbe going to that place at all.
She crept down the back stairs, then even more quietly tiptoed her way through the kitchens, flinching at every shadow. Edwards, their butler, was a notoriously light sleeper and could be regularly found puttering around in the night. Ariadne hadher own history puttering around in the night, and had, as a child, spent more than one predawn hour sipping cocoa with the man.
And while Edwards had been sweet and kind when she had been a child, driven from her bed by nightmares of the worst night of her life, she did not think he would be so encouraging to find her slipping from her bed and into the dark London streets.
It took Ariadne quite a few minutes to get out the door.
When she snuck past the mews, she found a carriage waiting. It was unmarked, but it was too fine to be a hired hack, even in this highly prestigious part of Mayfair. The door to the carriage opened as she approached, and the Duke of Wilds swung himself half out the door, a boyishly charming grin on his face.
