Page 16 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
Although they’d been married for a little over two years, it was unlikely the length of time would matter. “He loves her. Besides, he was never quite as wild as the rest of us.”
“He thought he had to be responsible, set an example for me.” Edward shrugged. “I’m glad to be the second son and not have responsibilities. Besides, as the younger brother, I’m to be indulged.”
“You’re younger by all of two minutes.”
“More like an hour, I think. I seem to recall Nanny telling us that at some point—before the world went topsy-turvy.” The night their parents died. None of them liked to talk about it although Ashe was more likely to refer to it as the night all went to hell.
“Did you meet anyone of interest tonight?” Edward asked.
Ashe wasn’t surprised that Edward was shifting the conversation away from himself. In spite of Edward’s need for attention, he didn’t like to divulge much about his personal matters. It was a trait they had in common.
“No.” Ashe couldn’t explain his reasoning, but he didn’t want Edward heading to the Nightingale with the purpose of deflowering Lady V. He expected she would return at some point. Based on the kiss they shared, she was an extremely passionate woman with untapped desires. He’d been so incredibly tempted to remove the mask, to discover her identity.
Damn his obsession with capturing the perfection of the human form. Damn his aversion to taking a woman’s innocence. She had wanted to be bedded. He should have obliged, instead of spouting all the drivel about love and the farmer’s daughter who had broken his heart with her callous betrayal. It hadn’t helped that it had been Edward in the blasted hayloft with her. But that was long ago, and with distance, he came to realize his heart had been barely bruised. Still, he did have fond memories of the girl. Might have had fond memories of Lady V if he’d truly thought she understood exactly what she was getting into. There had been moments when she’d seemed a woman of the world, strong and tough. And others when she had seemed almost naive. Innocent. Too trusting.
The women who usually visited the Nightingale had been hardened by something in life: an uncaring husband, a cruel one, an indifferent one. A disappointing lover. They’d given up on dreams, love, and happy-ever-afters. Lady V didn’t fit the mold of those who usually frequented the place. He nearly scoffed aloud. What did he truly know about her? Perhaps she didn’t deserve love. Perhaps she was a termagant. Or unlikeable. Maybe she was dying. Maybe she was merely young and foolish.
Why hadn’t he questioned her? Why hadn’t he cared about her reasons for being there? Because, like Edward, he was accustomed to merely caring about his own needs and desires. She wasn’t the fool. He was. For missing an opportunity simply because something about her had struck him as fanciful, had made him believe she deserved more than an anonymous coupling.
But it had been what she’d wanted. It had been her choice to go there. Who was he to question it?
Who the devil was she? Lady V. No doubt, for her, the V stood for virgin. For him, it was verbena. He brought his glass to his lips, and her scent wafted around him, caused a tightening in his gut. If he seduced her properly, she would pose for him. But to seduce her properly, he needed to know more about her. He needed to know who she was.
He shot to his feet. “I’m going out. Take whichever bedchamber suits you.”
Edward shoved himself out of the chair, then leaned on it for support. “I’ll go with you.”
“No, it’s a personal matter.”
“Has she a name?”
The problem with growing up with someone was that he tended to know him too well. “I’m sure she does. Unfortunately, I’ve yet to learn it.”
Leaving Edward to ponder the cryptic statement, Ashe went in search of his coachman to have his vehicle readied. It was after midnight, but his man was accustomed to his keeping odd hours. Ashe felt no degree of remorse when Wilkins, dressed in his nightclothes, answered the door to his bedchamber.
“What address did she give you?” Ashe demanded.
Wilkins blinked, clearly flummoxed by the question.
“The woman at the Nightingale, the one I had you take home,” Ashe explained.
“I rather fancy keeping my tongue, Your Grace.”
Ashe sighed. “Right.” He had a good many faults, but lying to women wasn’t one of them. He’d given her his word that neither his driver nor footman would tell him the address. To gain what he wanted from her, he required her trust. If his driver told him—
“You can’t tell me the address but you can take me there.” He could see the discomfiture cross Wilkins’s face. “Look, man, I told her that you wouldn’ttellme. I didn’t promise you wouldn’t divulge it in some other manner. I realize it’s semantics, but it works. Now come on, get dressed. I want to see where she lives.”
Hopefully, he would recognize the house, would know who resided there. If he didn’t, he would find someone who knew, or he’d send Wilkins to the servants’ door to make discreet inquiries among the staff. Determining her family was the first step to figuring out who she was.
Nearly an hour later, Ashe was staring at the building, one with which he was far too familiar. As he hadn’t bothered to awaken the footman, Wilkins had opened the coach door for him and was now standing beside him.
“She had you bring her to the Twin Dragons?” Ashe asked, incredulously. A few years earlier, Drake Darling had extended membership in his exclusive gaming hell to women.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Did she go in?”
“Marched right up the steps. Footman opened the door before she got there. Didn’t appear that she had to show her membership card.”
