Page 3 of A Lady Never Tells
Maxwell shook his head, but did as his friend asked. He handed Crawford his glass of brandy, then sat back behind his desk. He set his brandy down and asked, “Why are you here?”
“I heard you attended the Duke of Sinbrough’s masquerade a little while back,” the marquess said in a casual tone. Maxwell just stared at him. There was never anything casual about his friend. He was asking for a reason, but he didn’t know what it could be.
“That was six weeks ago,” he said. He kept his tone as neutral as Crawford’s had been. He didn’t want to let anything slip. “I’ve attended before.”
“Not very often,” Crawford replied, then sipped his brandy. “What made this one different?”
Damn… His friend was right. He hadn’t gone to one of the Duke of Sinbrough’s debauched events in quite a while. For the most part, it wasn’t his type of ball. Honestly, no ball was one he liked to attend, but it had been important to him to go that night. It was when he first realized he would have to marry soon. It was like his last night of decadence before becoming the man who would soon have a woman he called his. He would never tell Crawford all of that. His friend would make it out to be something bigger than it actually was. He shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“And you don’t think you should have gone now?” He lifted a brow. Crawford was mocking him, and he didn’t know why.
“What are you really asking me?” Maxwell didn’t have the patience for games. There was too much for him to decide, and the marquess wouldn’t let this go easily.
“I heard you found yourself a woman.” Crawford sat up straighter. “A blonde goddess that Sinbrough wanted for himself.”
Maxwell grinned at that. He had spent the evening with a blonde and it had been memorable. So much that he’d thought of her every day since. It was too bad he didn’t know her identity. He wouldn’t mind a few more nights with her before he found himself a suitable wife. “The Duke of Sin definitely wanted her for himself.” Maxwell shrugged. “She hadn’t been interested. The lady definitely had more refined taste.”
Crawford barked in laughter. “Sinbrough does spread his love around more freely.” He lifted a brow. “Who was she?”
He frowned. She hadn’t told him her name, but he knew almost every inch of her body. Her mask had never come off and the blasted thing had covered nearly her entire face. “I don’t know.”
“How is that possible?” Crawford downed his brandy, then grabbed the decanter to refill it. “You did spend the entire evening with her, did you not?”
He had… “I fell asleep, and she left before I awakened.” Maxwell really should have insisted she tell him her name. He’d been more inclined to ravish her at the time, though. “She never removed her mask. It’s not like I attend those masquerades very often. I doubt I would know most of the people there.” or at least recognize them… “Some ladies prefer that their identities remain unknown.”
“That is true,” he agreed. “However, most of them at least tell their lovers their given name. This one didn’t share at all?”
“No.” He didn’t need the reminder that he’d blundered. Maxwell had given her pleasure, but he’d lost his mind when he’d seduced her. All he had been focused on was her and her delectable body. She’d been so bloody perfect. “If I could change that, I would. Why do you ask?” He hoped Crawford didn’t want to bed the woman himself. He might have to beat his friend senseless if he did. Maxwell thought of her as his, and yes, he knew he shouldn’t. She didn’t belong to him, but his desire for her was not yet quenched.
“It’s probably nothing,” he said. “I heard a rumor you were looking for a wife, and then, in the same discussion, the gentlemen were discussing your night at the masquerade. Some are wondering if you intend to marry her.”
Maxwell laughed. The gossip that went around the ton could be ridiculous. “I do intend to marry,” he told his friend. “It is time. Sarah needs a mother.”
“But since you don’t know Lady Seductress’s name, you can’t very well marry her.” Crawford grinned. “I don’t envy you searching for a suitable wife. Do you have anyone in mind?”
He shook his head. “None.” He sipped his brandy. It burned as it traveled down his throat. “I have requirements, though.”
“As you should.” Crawford grinned. “Care to share them?”
“She has to be beautiful,” he said. “If I have to marry, I want to like actually looking at the woman.”
“That goes unsaid,” the marquess agreed. “And the rest?”
“She should be biddable. I don’t need a woman harping on me daily.” That sounded like a damned nightmare. “I don’t need an heiress, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt that she didn’t need to marry me for my fortune.” What else? “She also has to be kind and capable of loving a child that isn’t hers. I won’t have her neglecting Sarah when that is the very reason I am even considering marriage.”
“So to summarize,” Crawford began. “You do not want a simpering young miss or an acerbic bluestocking, but something in-between. One with beauty and a flush dowry.”
He glared at his friend. “You make it sound as if my list isn’t attainable.”
Crawford rolled his eyes. “Because none of those young debutantes are going to show you who they really are. All they will see is your title and they’ll pretend to be the type of woman you want. The only things on that list of yours you will be able to check off immediately are the beauty and the dowry. You’re going to need help with the rest.”
Bloody hell… “Are you volunteering?”
Crawford wrinkled his nose. “I’ll speak with Lyonsdale. Between the two of us, we can uncover the rest. Just let us know which young ladies catch your attention and we will investigate them for you.”
“Thank you,” he told his friend. The Earl of Lyonsdale was their other friend. The three of them had been inseparable since they met at Eton. “I appreciate your assistance in this.” His wife would have to be the most suitable woman he could find. His young niece had enough upheaval in her young life. He lifted his glass. “To finding me a wife.”
Crawford held his glass up. “To surviving the season.”
