Page 13 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
“Has she been here since the ball? I’ve not seen her.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Drake leaned against the wall. “Have you an interest in her?”
Avendale saw no point in mincing words. “I want to bed her.”
Drake narrowed his eyes. “The ladies welcomed to my club are not here for that purpose.”
“I’m not going to force her, but I certainly intend to seduce her. Nothing I do will reflect badly upon your establishment.”
“I should hope not. I would hate to revoke your membership.”
“Has she been here?” Avendale repeated succinctly.
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
“Did she purchase a membership?”
“I would have to check my records.”
“Then check them.”
“That information is private.”
“We have long been friends—“
“We’ve never been friends. Acquaintances—due to our family connections and our friendship with Lovingdon. But other than that, I would be hard-pressed to refer to us as friends.”
Avendale scowled. For a man who catered to vice, Drake was far too upstanding. And irritating as the devil, even if he was being generous with the definition of their relationship. “Is there anything you can tell me about her?”
“Not really, no.” Drake held up a hand before Avendale could lambast him for his unwillingness to cooperate. “I don’t truly know her. As I said, I invited her because of a recommendation.”
“But you must have researched her a tad. And you would have obtained her address in order to send her an invitation.”
“Again, private.”
“Devil take you.” Avendale turned his attention back to the main floor. What if she never returned? What if she hadn’t been intrigued by what the Twin Dragons had to offer? What if she’d not been intrigued by him?
The kisses they’d shared indicated otherwise. But perhaps the attraction had frightened her. Just because she was a widow didn’t mean that she’d known passion. Her husband could have been one of those sanctimonious sorts who believed only men derived pleasure from copulation. What had transpired between her and Avendale had been heated—
Blond silken strands caught up into a perfect coiffure with a few curls dangling along a slender neck snagged his attention as a woman walked through the door. The air backed up painfully in his lungs. She wore a deep violet gown that left her shoulders bare so that he could nibble on them more easily. White gloves rose past her elbows. He would enjoy leisurely peeling them off.
“What’s garnered your attention?” Drake asked.
“She’s here.” At last, at long last. He released his breath. It was unconscionable that she affected him so. To maintain the upper hand, he would remain up here for at least half an hour. Then he would slowly make his way—
To hell with it. He couldn’t risk her leaving before he ensured their paths crossed.
“Have a room prepared for a private card game.” He strode briskly from the balcony.
“Is the elusive Duke of Avendale smitten?” Drake called out.
Ignoring the mocking tone, Avendale carried on. Smitten was too tame a word for what he felt. Regretfully he had no words to describe this madness that was in possession of him because he’d never experienced anything like it. He simply knew he had to have her. One way or another. At any cost.
She’d waited three nights before returning to the club. Best not to appear too eager. But they might have been the longest nights of her life, even though she’d spent them with Harry, reading, playing whist, walking through the gardens. He preferred the gardens at night. Although the flowers had closed their blossoms, their fragrance still lingered.
Here, the fragrances were very different. Tobacco, spirits on the breath, dark masculine colognes fought with lighter feminine perfumes for dominance. She was surprised not many women were about, but then simply because a place was accessible to ladies didn’t mean they would frequent it, particularly if they had domineering fathers, brothers, or husbands in their lives. She was fortunate to rule her own life. She had since she’d reached the age of ten and seven and run off from her cruel father.
She handed her wrap to a young woman at the counter by the door, received a slip of paper with a number on it, and tucked it into her reticule.
