Page 42 of Duke of Wickedness
Well, Ariadne was bold and courageous and clever and a thousand other marvelous things. She had a natural inclination for sensuality that couldn’t be taught or learned.
But she also hid those things. And it was not David’s place to reveal her.
And her cleverness and curiosity weren’t the same as being immune to pain. If David were her brother—a thought that he only let glance against him before it flittered blissfully away—hewouldn’t feel good about her potential for getting hurt, not when it came to a man like him.
So, David didn’t have a choice but to lie.
“It’s nothing,” he said.
Percy rolled his eyes. “Just tell me it isn’t another actress,” he said. “It always gets somessywhen it’s an actress. This shouldn’t surprise you. Their whole job is to make things into public spectacles.”
In this, at least, David could be honest.
“It’s not an actress,” he said.
The idea was almost laughable. Prim and proper Society darling Ariadne Lightholder was about as far from a scandalous actress as one could get. Indeed, an affair with an actress was—while not technically proper—something that was broadly accepted among gentlemen of theton. David wasn’t even married, so a liaison would barely be a footnote in the gossip columns.
David might not believe that sex ruined a lady, but the rest of thetondid. So, if Ariadne’s deal with him was discovered, shewouldbe ruined, at least in the eyes of Society. And that would be the scandal to end all scandals.
Even he would not be immune from the repercussions, though he would suffer far less than Ariadne.
Percy gave him an intense glare, and David struggled not to fidget. It turned out that he did not like lying to his friend. How fascinating. He was learning something new about himself.
“David,” Percy said.
“Percy,” David returned, trying to deflect.
“David.” This time, more exasperation drenched Percy’s tone.
“You have gotten less fun since you got married, did you know that?” David ventured. “I can’t torment you about things, because you’re too busy, happy with your beautiful wife and wonderful life. It’s boring. Could you have some sort of misfortune so that I have something to gossip about? Thanks ever so much.”
Percy shook his head, but it didn’t hide his laughter.
“You should have thought of that before you matchmade me like you’re some sort of mother hen,” he said mildly.
“I didn’t mat?—”
“Of course,” Percy interrupted in that same infuriatingly mild tone. “You didn’t do anything.”
Even as discomfited and all around not himself as he was feeling, David couldn’t help but enjoy himself, just a little. For all thathe had teased his friend, getting married to Catherine had made Percy a little looser, a little happier, and a whole lot less self-important than he had been before he had met his duchess.
For a few moments, they sat in companionable silence, and David was reminded of how very much hedidn’thate Percy, actually.
Then his friend said, “But surely there issomething,” and David took back every thought he’d had about the wonders of friendship.
David leaned his head back against the plush leather chair, which had the unfortunate consequence of making him think about Ariadne’s head tipped back, her throat moving as she clenched with pleasure.
“There is…something,” he admitted, because talking to Percy was the best distraction he had yet found for his body’s certainty that any thought of Ariadne—any at all—should leave him hopelessly, almost painfully aroused.
“Ha!” Percy exclaimed, far more pleased with himself than this scant confession merited. “Tell me everything.”
“I’m sorry,” David said. “But was ityoucallingmea…what was it? A matchmaking mother hen?”
“I’m not trying to matchmake you; I’m trying to mock you for being shameless,” Percy said—rather shamelessly himself.“Also, as you observed, I am boring. Blissfully happy with my wonderful, wonderful life?—”
“Get a grip, man,” David groused.
“—but somewhat lacking in gossip.” Percy paused, his smile fading. “And at least a little bit concerned, for your sake.”
