Page 3 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
“I have,” he said wryly, still watching the people coming and going, dancing and talking and enjoying themselves at the season’s first ball.
“Ah, that explains why you’re hiding here then,” she said. In another life, another situation, he might have been intrigued by her. He might have even asked her name, but he had no patience for it.
“I’m hardly hiding,” he said. “I’m watching. As I’m sure you’ve been told, I’m not very experienced at such events. I’d like to see how they go before jumping into them.”
“Very wise,” she said, a single eyebrow raised.
Sebastian was about to reply when he spotted him: Edward Sinclair, Duke of Westment. He narrowed his eyes, tracking the man as he made his way across the ballroom towards the garden.
“Do excuse me, won’t you?” he said.
Sebastian thrust his wine glass into her hand and marched away before she could answer. He pushed through the throngs, chasing the duke. He couldn’t let the man out of his sight. He had to know the truth. He had to worm his way into the inner circle.
“My Lord Duke,” he called. “Your Grace.”
To his pleasant surprise, Sinclair turned and looked at him. “And you are?” he asked, shaking his head as if disturbed by the riff-raff.
If only he knew.
Sebastian took in a deep breath. This was his moment. “The Duke of Ravenswood, Your Grace,” he said with a bow, condescending only to age and not to his equal title. “Sebastian.”
When he straightened himself once more, he allowed himself a closer look at Edward Sinclair. It was him; he was sure of it. He would remember those callous eyes anywhere. He held his hand out to shake but lowered it when Sinclair didn’t respond in kind.
“And what can I do for you, Sebastian Ravenswood?” Sinclair asked. His eyes had narrowed, and Sebastian knew he had to tread carefully. Sinclair had untold power within this world, power Sebastian wanted to draw upon. This could be his only chance to gain access to the man who killed his mother—and exact his revenge.
“Well, I …” Sebastian let out a self-deprecating laugh. “If I’m perfectly honest, this is my first time at such an event. I hear you are a man who is … how can I put it? In the know, shall we say? Someone I ought to befriend.”
Sinclair turned fully to him now, and Sebastian suppressed a grin. He knew that meant the duke’s interest had at least been piqued. He had set his first step within the door. Now, all he needed to do was prise it open.
“Perhaps I am,” Sinclair replied, narrowing his eyes even further. “You are the one they call the Dark Duke, yes?”
Sebastian smirked and looked down at his feet, acting for all the world as if he were proud of such a moniker. “I believe that is the name the ladies have come up with, yes, though I can’t for a second think why.”
Sinclair smirked, too, and Sebastian saw it again: the coldness, the hardness. The man was a monster underneath, and Sebastian’s mind flashed back to that day so long ago. His poor mother, lifeless and limp, the man above her, hands covered in her blood.
When Sebastian had walked in, all but six years old, the man—thisman—had turned to look at him, an expression of glee written across his face. Sebastian had promised himself he would never forget those eyes, and he hadn’t.
And now he will be punished for his crimes.
Sebastian knew he had to bide his time, especially if he wanted a punishment that would last. Lashing out at the duke here, with all these people, would earn him nothing more than a blackened eye and a split lip. No, Edward Sinclair deserved much worse than that, and Sebastian was determined to ensure he got it.
“The ladies do adore a man of mystery, Ravenswood, and it seems to me that you have presented yourself as one of those. I must admit, even many of the gentlemen are intrigued about you and where you have come from. It’s rare a duke simply appears in our midst.”
“I can imagine,” he said with a smile. “What can I say without putting myself at risk of scandal? I have lived life to the fullest up until now.” Sebastian hoped to imply he was a good fit for the secret society thanks to his past, but he wasn’t convinced Sinclair understood that.
“Have you indeed? Well, now, isn’t that interesting? There are plenty of rakes in our ranks already, though.”
Sebastian chuckled again. “I am far from a rake; I can assure you of that. I prefer to think of myself as …” He allowed himself a moment’s thought. “Free from society’s dictatorship?”
Sinclair nodded his approval. “Well, Ravenswood, you’re lucky to find me. Honestly, I rarely attend such banal events, especially not when there are so many more exciting places to visit.”
He had a twinkle in his eye as if testing Sebastian and his knowledge. Sebastian knew all about the Lord’s Society, a secret group of gentlemen run, in part, by Edward Sinclair. The late Duke of Ravenswood had told him everything he knew about it. It was a debauched place, an open secret amongst certain parts of theton, with parties and balls that most ladies would blanche at.
It disgusted and excited Sebastian in equal measure. He was not one to shy away from carnal matters, but the way these men satisfied their urges did not sit comfortably with him. Still, he had to see it with his own eyes if he wanted to get close to the duke.
“Are there indeed?” he asked, feigning innocent curiosity. “I do hope you’ll share them with me.”
Sinclair’s lips twitched with a smirk. “Perhaps one day,” he said. “For now, I bid you goodnight.” Sinclair dipped his head and turned to leave.
