Page 20 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
“Our new members seem to be settling in well,” Pembry said, nodding towards young Joseph Campbell. He was caught in a tryst with one of the dancers, and he looked at once terrified and enthralled. Edward snorted.
“He’s barely more than a child.”
“Ramsbury’s boy’s not much older,” Pembry said, nodding in the other direction. “Though by the looks of him, this isn’t his first time experiencing a woman.”
Edward chuckled, his shoulders bouncing. “I’ve always said we should start them young. Get them into the swing of things before their minds are fully developed. It’s almost like training.”
Pembry laughed. “You are a brute sometimes, Sinclair.”
“I always thought that’s why we’d become such good friends,” Edward replied.
“I can’t deny it helps,” Pembry replied sardonically.
Edward scanned the dance floor, looking for his own protégé. Though Ravenswood was neither as young nor as innocent as some of the other new members, there was a certain freshness to him, and he was, of course, Edward’s responsibility. There was something about him, though, something secretive and mysterious.
The more Edward thought about it, the more convinced he was that it was not merely an act to intrigue people, as was becoming common consensus. No, he was certain the Duke of Ravenswood was hiding something and determined to find out what.
He spotted him leaning against the wall, drink in hand. It seemed to be a habitual place for Ravenswood. He was not one for interacting with others, and Edward wondered why. Was the man worried he would reveal too much? Or perhaps he simply didn’t like company. It was peculiar, either way. He followed the duke’s gaze across the room. He was watching Arabella, making Edward grit his teeth.
“What do you think of Ravenswood?” Edward asked, nodding in the man’s direction.
“I had a little chat with him earlier this evening,” Pembry said. “He seems a decent sort. Curious. Asks a lot of questions. But I think he fits in well. I’d wager he’s hiding something, but weren’t we all when we started out?” He laughed again, and Edward laughed with him.
“Oh, he’s definitely hiding something,” he said, musing on his thoughts. “I only wish I knew what.”
“You think it’s something bad then?” Pembry turned to him, intrigued by Edward’s words.
“I think it’s something he is desperate we don’t find out. I have a few ideas but …”
He trailed off, biting his bottom lip as he let his thoughts wander. He had questioned Ravenswood already, of course, but he hadn’t been satisfied with his answers. The Dark Duke was dark indeed—secretive and sly. Such devious cunning might make a good fit for the Lord’s Society, but only if Ravenswood was honest with the rest of them.
That was how they protected one another—and held each other to account. They knew everything about one another.
Pembry looked out at the duke again. “I thought you liked him.”
“Idolike him,” Edward replied honestly. He already felt a fondness for the man, but even that he couldn’t well explain. “But there’s just … there’s justsomething. I can sense it.”
Pembry snorted. “You can probably sense that he has eyes for your young Arabella.”
Edward turned his dark eyes on him. Everyone had eyes for Arabella, but he had to admit he had noticed something of a spark between his daughter and his protégé. He would have to put a stop to that, one way or another. He hoped he wouldn’t have to do away with the duke like he had that pest, George Heath, but he would do what he had to do to protect his Arabella. He turned to face Pembry, his back to the ball.
“You’re good at finding out information, aren’t you?”
“I have my sources,” Pembry confirmed.
“Find out what you can about him. Dig into his past a little. I want to know everything there possibly is to know.”
Chapter 11
The night had been a long one. The clock had already struck twelve, and the early hours of the morning were creeping up on them. Arabella had paused in her painting to pick at the food on her plate with her fingers—meat, cheese, and long-cold potatoes. She remained at her easel, of course, never being allowed to join the guests at the dinner table, and she held the plate in one hand while she picked with the other.
She sighed unhappily, her eyes sore from focusing too long on the details of her artwork, her hands aching from holding the brush. Had she been granted permission to attend the Pembertons’ society ball, she would have been tucked up in bed by now, dreaming of all the wonderful dances she’d had, the attention lavished on her so different from that of the Lord’s Society.
She picked up another potato and grudgingly shovelled it into her mouth, looking at the scene around her. Although she was used to it now, it still made her feel dirty, especially at this time of night. She dreamt of love and passion, of enjoying the sensual touch of a man. But it was so very, very different to this … whateverthiswas.
“It gets tiring, doesn’t it?”
Arabella jumped at the woman’s voice and turned to find Lady Spencer flopping down into the chair next to her. She had to be two-score-and-five if she were a day, her face thick with powder and her cheeks heavily rouged in a poor attempt at covering the lines in her flesh.
