Page 4 of Courting Scandal With The Duke
Which was why he had come to Almack’s.
‘By the way,’ Julian said. ‘Thank you for your advice on that race at Newmarket. I never would have picked that horse to win. I recouped most of my losses from Epsom.’
‘Which you incurred because you went against my advice and bet on the favourite.’
Despite his renowned expertise on racehorses, Xavier very rarely gave tips on races any more. He’d done it to gain friends at school, only to realise they were fair-weather friends at best. Now he offered advice only to those closest to him. And only if pressed. He never advised on races in which he had one of his own horses running, because in the past rumours had spread that he had somehow fixed the results.
‘It was a nice-looking beast. How could it not win?’
‘All show and no go.’
A ripple of interest over by the entrance caught Xavier’s attention.
Like the seas parting, a space opened between him and the door. His jaw dropped. Red. The lady was wearing red.
He snapped his mouth shut.
‘Oh, my word,’ Julian murmured. ‘That has set the cat among the pigeons.’
And an exceedingly exotic feline it was to be sure. Walking with a sinuous grace, she entered in the room, taking in her surroundings. Her dark eyes sparkled, her full lips curved in the hint of a smile and her hair was a sleek as a panther’s fur, except on one side where it fell to her shoulder in a riot ofringlets. And she was wearing the tallest ostrich plumes he had ever seen. On such a tall woman, they towered above all around her.
Confidence—and something else he could not quite name—exuded from her every pore.
Stunning. Startling. Shocking.
The ennui that had been washing through him a few seconds before dissipated in a heartbeat. ‘Who is she?’
He could not believe he had asked the question. He could not recall the last time he had enquired about a woman.
‘No idea.’ Julian chuckled. ‘Some poor hick from the country I would imagine, if she thought that colour was acceptable.’
Red? Or crimson? Perhaps scarlet? It was brighter than the large exotic-looking rubies in the jewels at her throat and ears. Whatever the shade it might be called, it was most definitely the most daring gown he had ever seen. Cut low across her generous bosom, it missed her shoulders altogether; mere wisps of fabric clung to her upper arms, apparently in an attempt to stop the gown sliding to the floor.
At any moment.
Like him, every other gentleman in the room seemed to be holding his breath. Questioning. Hoping. Would the gown slowly slide over those curves to the floor?
Annoying. ‘A veritable country bumpkin,’ Xavier pronounced.
Several bystanders within earshot closed their mouths and turned away from the vision in red.
A hint of his disapproval was all that was needed.
The buzz of conversation picked up again.
Yet for some reason, he could not resist the temptation to look again. A casual glance. His gaze drifting past where she was now engaged in animated conversation with an elderly grey-haired woman wearing a dreary grey gown. The older woman did not look happy.
The woman in red flicked open her fan, a black lacy affair, with feathered edges. She hid the lower half of her face, but there was no mistaking the amusement in those dark eyes. Almost taunting.
A gentleman approached, clearly intent on asking her to dance.
‘You are doing it again,’ Julian said.
Xavier dragged his gaze from the tableau playing out across the other side of the room and glanced down at his friend. At six foot two inches, he looked down on even the tallest of men. ‘If you are unhappy with the way I look, old fellow, perhaps you should find someone else with whom to converse.’
Julian laughed. He knew Xavier too well to take offence. ‘Perhapsyouwould prefer to play cards?’
‘Only old men play cards at Almack’s.’ He had come here to view candidates for marriage, to identify those suitable to be his bride, if at all possible. He certainly wasn’t about to let some hussy in red distract him from his purpose.
