Page 23 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
Having been raised by one who was brought up on the streets, she was schooled to consider all avenues before responding. That he’d gone to the Twin Dragons could have been coincidence, but she doubted it. His driver had informed him where she’d been dropped off. Or he’d followed her.
But even then, she’d whisked into the gaming hell and swiftly passed through to the back area of private rooms and offices. Accessing them had required a key, which she possessed. A dash through the inner workings of the establishment had brought her to another locked door, another key which had gained her access to the mews. She’d walked for a bit before turning onto a street where she hired a hansom to return her home.
Unless Ashebury were as quick as lightning, he couldn’t have observed her at the Twin Dragons. He was fishing, suspected that she might be Lady V, and was searching for confirmation. But what had given her away? The shape of her mouth? Good God, was it that distinctive? Her chin? It was more square than she would have liked, but it wasn’t particularly unusual. She had no moles or warts with hairs growing out of them for anyone to notice. He couldn’t know with absolute certainty that she was the woman he’d met at the Nightingale. Maybe he was uttering the same words to every woman he spoke to in an attempt to find Lady V. She had to admit to being flattered that he wanted to find her, but she didn’t quite trust the reason behind his effort. What did he want? What did he hope to accomplish? She toyed with the idea of playing his game, of following to see where he might lead—but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of having something to hold over her. Best to nip it in the bud before it got out of hand. She needed to manipulate her answers to deflect his suspicions, to ensure he doubted what he quite possibly suspected.
“I don’t see how you could have,” she said calmly. “I wasn’t there last night.”
“But you have a membership.”
As did a good many women since it had opened its doors to the fairer sex. “My father owned the place before he sold it. Part of the condition of the sale was that he and all his descendants have membership for life. So, yes, I am a member, and I do frequent it on occasion. But not last night.”
He angled his head thoughtfully. “I could have sworn it was you.”
“The Duchess of Lovingdon will swear I was having dinner at her residence, should it come to pass that I’m required to prove my whereabouts. Although I must confess to feeling rather like a murder suspect in one of the cases dissected so blatantly in the newspapers.” While she was bothered by Society’s need for the minute details of gruesome killings, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from poring over the accounts in fascination.
“My apologies, Miss Dodger, for putting you on the spot. In retrospect, I see I was mistaken. The woman I spied lacked your ... shall we say, vivaciousness?”
“I did not mean to offend, Your Grace. It is simply that I know where I was and where I was not.”
“An admirable quality, to be sure.”
She bit her tongue to stop herself from reacting to his mocking tone, the scapegrace. He wasn’t nearly as charming as he’d been the night before, but then, at the Nightingale, he’d been flirting with Lady V not Minerva Dodger. She was surprised he’d approached. Surely, he’d hoped for someone far more enticing, with more pleasing features. He would leave her now, she was rather sure of it. He’d come over here for mischief, to try to discern if she was Lady V. She’d deflected his inquiry.
She’d been a fool to come here, to put herself in his path. Although the journey of her thoughts didn’t cross her face, his gaze bore into her as though he was desperate to know her contemplations. Other than last night, men never studied her with such intensity. She fought not to be flattered. He hadn’t approached because he was attracted to her, but rather he thought he’d uncovered the mystery of her. Which made her wonder what he might have done with that information if she had confirmed his suspicions. Perhaps he simply wanted the satisfaction of solving a mystery. The rules of the Nightingale prohibited him from proclaiming she was there.
“We’ve never really talked, have we?” he asked quietly.
“No.” Not in a perfectly acceptable social situation, anyway.
“An oversight that I should—”
“Duke?”
He turned at the squeaky intruding voice, one Minerva found particularly grating, although maybe it was only because the lady was able to snag his attention so easily. Minerva despised the sin of envy, constantly reining in the emotion when it reared its ugly head.
He smiled warmly, as though his fantasy woman had suddenly materialized in front of him. “Lady Hyacinth. Aren’t you a vision of loveliness?”
Minerva felt the need to pound her fist into his shoulder. There was the reason that they had never really talked. She was not a vision of loveliness. Yes, leaving him unsatisfied last night was the smartest decision she’d ever made. How silly of her to have regretted it earlier. She hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to see a man she might have been intimate with flirting with other ladies. Somehow, she thought she could be immune to the petty jealousies, could spend a night with a man and move on. How did men manage to do it with such ease?
Lady Hyacinth blushed becomingly, batted her eyelashes, before acknowledging Minerva with the slightest tilting of her head, then returning her emerald gaze to Ashebury. “I was hoping you might take some refreshment with me if Miss Dodger is finished dominating your time.”
Minerva held her tongue, refusing to be drawn into the cattiness that ladies often played. It was so unbecoming—at least to her. Men seemed to lap it up like milk.
“I fear it was I dominating hers,” Ashebury said, much to Minerva’s surprise. No wonder the ladies of London fell over themselves to have his attention. He managed to stand up for her so easily without offending Lady Hyacinth. “But you are quite right. We’ll become the fodder for gossip if I linger much longer.” He took Minerva’s gloved hand, bowed over it slightly, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She felt the heat of his mouth clear down to her curling toes, toes that knew the feel of his thigh. “Thank you for appreciating my poor efforts, Miss Dodger. Should you ever like to see the photographs Lady Greyling found offensive, you need only send word.”
Her voice had quite suddenly deserted her. His eyes took on a slumberous look as though he’d only just awoken. Something about them was decidedly carnal. “Then there is always my private collection,” he said with a low purr that he had probably learned from some great cat in the wilds.
Then he was gone, escorting Lady Hyacinth into the midst of gaiety near the refreshment table. Minerva should have responded to his comment about his private collection, should have at least given an indication that she didn’t know what the devil he was talking about even though she understood perfectly well to what he was referring. Did he know that she knew? Were his parting words a last valiant attempt to determine if she was the woman whose ankle he had held in his large hands? Or had he believed her lies?
“Dear God, it was Ashebury.” At the familiar voice, Minerva spun around, wondering when Grace had approached, how long she had been observing her, and what she might have been able to read in Minerva’s face that someone who didn’t know her nearly as well would never be able to discern.
“What are you on about?” she asked as haughtily as possible.
“You were with Ashebury at the Nightingale Club. He was the one who gave you attention.”
Minerva swallowed hard, not liking that she was lying to her dear friend, but there were some things a woman kept for herself because they were too delicious to share. Her moments with Ashebury, for example. “Don’t be ridiculous. We were simply discussing his photographs. I find them quite exquisite.”
“I saw the way you were looking at him. You’re more than taken with him.”
