Page 98 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
When the interminable dance finally ended, Charley came to join her and Bink, the Duquesa dangling her fingers along his arm.
She pointedly removed them and gave him a little nudge. “There you go, Mrs. Everly. I have returned your new husband to you.”
He was never yours to return. Graciela pressed her lips together to hold back the words, her cheeks burning.
“And I wish you every happiness.” The woman was still talking. “Such an enchanting gown you are wearing. I do like it much better than your attire the last time we met.” That came with a warm smile.
Perhaps she did not need to hate the Duquesa. She eased in a breath. “Es verdad.”It is true.
Mr. Gibson groaned. “Gowns, Charley. We are to talk of gowns?”
The Duquesa noticed him for the first time, letting her eyes linger on his wide shoulders and broad chest, and Graciela’s ire rose again. It was good Paulette was not present.
Charley made introductions.
“I spent a few years in your country, Duquesa,” Mr. Gibson said affably. “Ciudad Rodrigu, Badajoz, Vitoria. Madrid was quite interesting.”
“You were with your Duke Wellington?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
Charley took Graciela’s arm. “The quadrille is mine, I believe.”
“Wait.” The Duquesa looked over her shoulder, and the tiniest of shivers went through her. “Do not forget what I have said.”
Graciela followed her line of sight and chilled also. Next to her, Charley tensed. A man approached, parting the huddle of guests, like Francisca’stlahuelpuchisearching for a source of blood. All eyes followed, greedy for a spectacle.
Her legs twitched with the need to run.
“Steady.” Charley breathed the word into her ear. “Your Excellency.” He bowed, as did his brother, and made introductions.
Doubt churned in her. Charley knew the man, and yet had dallied with the wife, or had led everyone to believe so. This was indeed a dangerous game.
Yet one could see why the Duquesa would prefer Charley. Though, he was handsome enough, this Duque, stuffed into his velvet coat and decorated with many ribbons. Gray streaked his temples and deep wrinkles carved the skin around his silver eyes. A paunch marred the line of his coat, but his shoulders were wide, his bearing haughty. His bold gaze sliced her from head to foot.
He was familiar to her, yet she knew she’d never once met him.
“So, you have taken a bride of your own.” The Duque’s deep voice flowed like honey, but his silvery gaze threatened the sword. “And how lovely she is. Perhaps I should honor you with a dance, my dear.”
Those last words had dripped seductively from lips pulled back in a sneer.
Charley held her more firmly. “I’m afraid the next dance is mine.”
The first bars of the music were starting, and the Duque was blocking their route to the dance floor.
The man chuckled without smiling. “So, you are the daughter of the infamous Captain Kingsley.”
Infamous?Fire ravaged her cheeks and her neck while she sought for a response that would not bring down brimstone.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted Lord Kingsley stepping into this blaze, his wife hovering behind in the crowd.
A trembling started in her chest. All that was needed was for Gregory Carvelle to appear.
She smoothed her free hand along the secret pocket and lifted her chin.
Charley’s grip on her hand firmed even more, and she caught his meaning.Do not speak. I will handle this.
She squeezed his hand back and defiantly dropped it. “Lord Kingsley,” she said.
