Page 102 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
“Women are a mystery, my friend, which only serves to make us want them all the more,” the duke had said.
At long last, while swaying extremely slowly with this woman incredibly near, her breasts brushing against his chest, her long, slender legs in danger of becoming entangled with his, Harry finally understood what the duke had been striving to teach him. That no one question, no one answer applied to every woman. Each woman was unique, each provided a very different experience. He knew so little about Aphrodite, but he discovered he wanted to know everything, but already he knew that a lifetime wouldn’t provide all the answers.
But there were certainly adventures to be had in trying to uncover them.
Dancing with Avendale was different from when she’d danced with him the first night when they’d met. She was as aware of him, but she wasn’t frightened that he would discover her secrets, that he had the power to ruin all her plans. Before he’d been an enigma, a curiosity, a possible means to an end. She had wanted to use him.
Now she wished there had never been any deception between them, no bargains struck. She wished that she had trusted him sooner, that they had come to where they were through mutual wants. On the other hand, she was pragmatic enough to realize that she would never be more than an ornament in his life.
While those closest to him might have been bold enough to cast societal rules aside and marry those not of their class, Avendale would want nothing to do with her if he understood the full extent of her deceptions and swindles. Oh, he might still want her plump breasts and sweet thighs, he might still yearn to skim his hands over every inch of her flesh, he might still desire her body cradled beneath his, but he wouldn’t want her for a wife. He would tire of her eventually.
And she would tire of the life he provided. Not that she didn’t appreciate all the comforts, but her daily routine would offer no challenges—just pleasing him, doing whatever he wanted, even if what he desired was exactly what she wished to bestow. She would grow bored without her plotting and conniving.
When the time came for them to part all she would have were the memories. The wonderful, glorious, marvelous memories. The way his eyes never strayed from hers as they waltzed. The slight smile that promised another sort of waltz later in the night, in his bed, where the music would be a crescendo of their moans, sighs, and cries.
Oh, she was going to miss him. While she knew it could be years before that came to pass, she could not help but believe that their parting was going to come much too soon.
He circled her around the floor, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Harry in a beauty’s arms. Dancing—at least as much as he was able. Her heart tightened, swelled at the pleasure written on his face, and yet she worried that the woman might ask more of him than he could deliver.
“Who is that woman dancing with Harry?” she asked.
Avendale didn’t even bother to look to the side, so she knew he must have been aware of their presence. For how long? she wondered.
“Her name is Aphrodite.”
“Truly?”
He shrugged. “Probably not. Just as you are not Mrs. Sharpe. People change their names for all sorts of reasons, so I wouldn’t judge her too harshly if I were you.”
“I’m not judging her, but I do want to ensure she doesn’t take advantage of Harry.”
“Oh, I suspect he wouldn’t mind if she did.”
“Is she the sort who would?”
“With the proper incentive.”
“Which you no doubt provided. Is she one of the charities you’ve given to over the years?” She despised the jealousy that rifled through her voice.
He gave her an understanding smile and that irritated her even more. “She is one of the women with whom I grew bored, even though she is remarkably talented and quite free with her affections.”
In his voice, his tone, she heard no lingering desire for this Aphrodite. He might as well be explaining how a gentleman put on his trousers. Still, she had come to understand his relationship with her brother well enough to know the incentive behind the woman’s appearance. “You brought her here to entertain Harry.”
“He’s a man, Rose. We talked about a good many things late at night in my library. He’s curious about women. It seemed a sin for his curiosity not to be sated.” He pinned her with a daring stare. “You said you trusted me.”
“I do. I’m just not certain if I can trust her.”
“She has a heart of gold.”
As she glanced over, she saw that Harry had stopped dancing, that he and the woman were leaving the ballroom, arm in arm. “What if she hurts him?”
“What if the building crumbles in on top of us?”
She jerked her gaze back to Avendale. He gave her a gentle smile, one she’d never seen, one that captured her heart, squeezed it. “You can’t always protect him, sweetheart. Let him be a man tonight, enjoy the pleasures found in the company of a willing woman.”
“It hurts so to grow up.”
“I know. I spent years of my life trying not to. But for all its pain, there are rewards aplenty.”
