Page 11 of When the Duke Comes to Play…
Her cheeks flared once more as the memories washed over her in a pleasant, erotic tide.
She’d woken that morning feeling forever changed after her night with Charles. Though she liked to believe herself mostly levelheaded, there were several long moments in the watery morning light when she’d wondered to herself how she was supposed to go back to her old life after experiencing suchrapture at his hands. How was she supposed to move forward? How was she supposed to forget about him and resume her respectable spinster lifestyle? How could she be content knowing pleasure of that magnitude existed in the world…andshe would likely never taste it again? Her eyes had been forever opened to it and there was no turning back.
She realized it made her the worst sort of pathetic ninny, but, even now, she couldn’t help but feel that she had shared a connection with Charles, that he’d understood her and liked her as well.
Ariel shook her head to knock some sense into herself. Of course, Charles hadn’t felt that way—if that was even his real name! It had been one night and that was it.
One night to last her forever.
∞∞∞
The ballroom was abuzz with excitement, the low hum of voices rising and falling like the drone of an excited bee flitting from bloom to bloom. London’s elite had gathered for a birthday ball and Arnold had insisted Ariel accompany him; he’d missed a meeting with the guest of honor and wanted to apologize in person—though, upon their ar- rival, he’d promptly relinquished her into the care of her friend, Caroline, Marchioness Brinley, and ducked off to the room set aside for cards and drinks. She and Caro were taking a turn around the room, waiting for the duke’s arrival, when Ariel was suddenly tugged into a secluded corner.
“I simply must know,” Caro gripped her hands, her wide hazel eyes sparkling. “How did the other night go?”
“Caro…” Ariel groaned and glanced around to confirm they were well out of earshot of other guests. Her cheeks began to burn furiously and she barely resisted the urge to fan her face. The last thing she wished to do was draw attention to them.
“Well you aren’t offering up any details and I’ve been desperate!” she hissed, not unkindly. “I helped facilitate this little rendezvous and I feel entitled to at least know if it was everything you were hoping for.” Ariel chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. Caro was right; Ariel wouldn’t have been able to procure Charles’ company without Caro’s connections. Her husband’s illegitimate half-brother had married a very sweet young lady…whose mother happened to run the most illustrious and scandalous bordello in London. It was all a very com- plex, thrillingly scandalous story better saved for another time.
Ariel flushed even more deeply and finally admitted that the evening was so much more than even her wildest imaginings. Caro practically squealed in delight for her friend.
The things Ariel had done…the things Charles had done to her…made her skin flush and just thinking about it made the flesh between her legs grow damp. She’d been brave enough to revisit the memories and try her hand at pleasuring herself. While the memories of Charles’ touch did bring her to climax, it was not quite the same as having his hands and his mouth on her. She nearly shivered from the memories.
“So, Adonis lived up to his reputation, then?” Caro asked, wagging her perfectly arched brows a little. Though she was a respectable lady and a mother now, it wasn’t difficult to see what a hellion she’d been even a few years prior. She’d been persona non grata amongst respectable circles, but her marriage to another former hell-raiser and subsequent motherhood had gone a long way toward making her more respectable in the eyes of most of Society. Her closest friends, however, knew a bit of the old Caro remained.
“I suppose Charles was an Adonis,” Ariel replied thoughtfully, his handsome features playing before her mind’s eye.
“Charles? Emily said he went by Adonis.” Caro gave a little frown. “Oh? Perhaps Charles is his real name?”
Caro shook her head. “I’m told they never use their true names. Blond? Tall? Blue eyes? Emily inquired about your tastes, but I wasn’t sure. He sounded more than passably handsome from her description.” Ariel’s stomach grew uneasy; Caro continued. “Perhaps he looked different in the dark and just decided to offer you a mundane name to make you more comfortable?” Caro offered. Just as Ariel’s confused mind began to pick up speed, Caro grabbed her upper arm. “Oh, look! The duke is arrived!”
Ariel’s mind was whirring so quickly she barely had time to register the steadily rising excitement surrounding them. It made some sense that Charles—Adonis…whatever his name was—may have used a different name with her. But then why would Caro have believed his appearance was supposed to be so very different? He was certainly tall, but there was nothing blond about his hair, nor had his eyes been blue. She’d stared into them enough to memorize the honey-gold rings around his pupils.
Ariel missed her friend’s next words, but she did her best to respond with a weak smile and look in the direction to which Caro was gesturing. Their fellow guests were gathered like a swarm around a man whom Ariel couldn’t quite see for all the plumage and flower arrangements. The duke gradually made his way through the crowd, greeting guests and accepting well wishes, and Ariel caught glimpses of broad shoulders and dark, curly hair…
“I met him at Lady Morton’s dinner last month when you had that head cold,” said Caro. “If I weren’t a very happily marriedmother, I certainly would have tipped my cap at that tall, dark American.”
“A—American?” Ariel had known the new duke to be an American—all of London did—but this, coupled with the odd conversation about Adonis made Ariel’s knees weak. Her stomach lurched uncontrollably.
It couldn’t possibly be.
There was simply no way.
Improbable.
Unthinkable.
She hardly heard Caro speaking over the growing deafening roar in her ears. She watched the dark head grow nearer, along with her unease. She didn’t want to look, but she knew she had to. She had to prove to herself just how foolish she was being. Surely there was no way fancy man Charles was—good lord, he was the Duke of Ryton!
Chapter Five
The party was by far the most extravagant birthday celebration Charles had ever had. The day had lost all its meaning when his mother died and it had become just another day on the calendar. His cousin’s widow, however, was determined not to allow his thirty-third birthday to slip by unnoticed. Indeed, it seemed as if she’d gone well above and beyond to give him an experience worthy of all the years he’d spent avoiding celebrations. In fact, Eugenia seemed to revel in it.
She had been prepared to move from the expansive home upon Charles’ arrival from America, but he’d immediately made it clear that he wanted nothing of her life to change. She would continue liv- ing as she had as the duchess and he would ensure she was provided for. Grateful beyond words, she remained in residence and made it her mission to treat Charles as her adopted son, taking him around London and introducing him to her friends and other notable connections.
Charles had gradually developed the suspicion that Eugenia harbored a secret hope that Charles would make London his home…but that road would only lead to disappointment.
He did not doubt she knew Charles would have put a stop to the extravagance of this celebration if he’d caught wind of it, which was precisely why she’d organized it in secret. Eugenia had been so pleased to pull it off that Charles hadn’t had the heart to send everyone out of his house. Faced with an expectantcrowd of people he barely knew, he took a deep breath and prepared himself for an interminable evening filled with fuss and stuffy conversation.
