Page 2 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
“Well then, I’ll let you get to it. I do hope you enjoy your evening.”
“Oh, I shall most certainly strive to do exactly that.”
Miss Dodger took her leave then, and Rose made a mental note to ask Beckwith about the girl’s father. It was quite possible that she might want to form a friendship with Miss Dodger, even if she wasn’t nobility. Unlike most people, Rose was more interested in coin than rank. As the new owner had opened the establishment to those who were not peers, it seemed he, too, valued coin over birth. A wise principle as one could not choose family.
She knew that well enough.
Rose walked into a dining room. Such a tremendous amount of food adorned the sideboards that they were in danger of buckling. People sat at round linen-covered tables, enjoying the fare. The lights were dimmer. Candles flickered in the center of the tables. The room would serve as a romantic rendezvous. She would dine here when the time came, would do a good many things here.
They had allowed her in. Her skill and cunning would ensure she took advantage of their lack of good judgment.
The woman in red drew his attention as soon as she walked through the entrance doors as though she were the queen of England herself. His notice of her surprised him, as nothing about her was particularly eye-catching.
Looking out from his perch in the shadowed corner of the balcony at Dodger’s—
Avendale growled. The Twin Dragons. Why the bloody deuce had Drake changed the name of the decades-old gaming hell? Not only the name but almost everything else about it? Avendale didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. He especially didn’t like that women were now allowed inside, would be members, would be strolling about, just as the lady in red was doing now.
Her hair, piled up and held in place with pearl combs, was blond silk. Not vibrant or fiery or different. It should have ensured she blended in. But she didn’t.
It was her mien. The elegant slope of her neck, the way she carried those slender shoulders as though they’d never known a burden. The way her gown hugged her curves, made men wish they were hugging them as well. She had a rather nice full bosom, displayed to perfection, drawing gazes from her face to the gentle swells. He suspected a good many of the gents here tonight would recall the lady in red over breakfast, yet he doubted a single one would be able to accurately describe the features that formed her face, but they would be able to expertly mold her shape in the air before them.
He knew the majority of the women in the aristocracy. He did not know her, which meant that in all likelihood she was one of the wealthy commoners that Drake was enticing into his club. Or an American. From what he’d been able to gather, they were all as rich as Croesus. She certainly gave the appearance of someone who was no stranger to the finer aspects of life.
In the main salon, she’d spoken to only one person—a footman. Shortly afterward, she’d disappeared into the ladies’ private chambers for a bit. He’d almost gone after her, but he didn’t like this curiosity about her plaguing him. No doubt it was simply a result of his growing so blasted bored of late. His partner in wickedness, the Duke of Lovingdon, had recently taken Lady Grace Mabry to wife, leaving Avendale to carouse on his own. Not that he required a male companion when he had female ones aplenty.
But sometimes it was nice to have someone with whom he could carry on a halfway intelligent conversation. Someone with an intellect. Someone who appreciated his ribald jokes. The women usually in his company tended to mewl, sigh, and whisper naughty things in his ear. Not that he didn’t enjoy them. He did. But they were so alike. They seldom varied. Oh, their hair, their eyes, their shapes were different, but at their core they were all the same. Exciting while in his bed, but dreadfully dull out of it.
Yet the lady in red didn’t appear at all dull.
He knew a very private card game—without women—was being played down the hall. He should be there. It was where he’d been headed when he decided to peer out over the crowd. And spotted her.
She’d held him enthralled ever since. Even when she wasn’t visible, she toyed with him. Generally with women, for him, it was out of sight, out of mind.
Not very gentlemanly of him, really, but he tended to spend his time with loose women who didn’t expect—and probably preferred not—to be remembered. He avoided those crowding the main floor, except for occasions like weddings or this event tonight, which involved friends of the family. He usually made an appearance for appearances’ sake, when the mood not to be an arse struck. It pleased his mother. Gave them a couple of moments to catch up.
He’d spied her earlier meandering about with her second husband, William Graves. Avendale’s father had been her first. A sorry affair that had been.
He shook off the memories, shoved them back down. They were not the sort he liked to examine. But the lady in red...
He would very much like to examine every inch of her.
She knew she was being watched. She could feel the gaze homed in on her, was aware of little shivers cascading along her skin. The fine hairs on the back of her neck had risen. But she gave no outward appearance that she was bothered by the scrutiny while inside her heart pounded with the fierceness of a regimental drum beating out the call to battle.
She’d overheard someone talking about an inspector from Scotland Yard who was wandering about. But he was supposedly a guest and not searching for her. She hadn’t been in London long enough for alarm bells to be ringing, for anyone to suspect—
“Champagne?” a deep voice asked behind her.
She would dearly love some, but needed to remain sharp and focused. Spinning around to decline the footman’s offer, she came up short.
The man extending a flute toward her was most certainly not a servant. Nobility, entitlement, privilege screamed from every pore, every finely stitched seam, every thread of exquisite cloth that cloaked his magnificent frame. His dark eyes blatantly assessed her, and the hairs on her nape quivered once more. So it had been him watching her. He possessed an intensity that was slightly unsettling, made her fear that he could see straight through her.
But if he could, he would be calling for that inspector who was around here, not offering her champagne. His gaze wouldn’t roam over her as though he were taking measure of every curve, dip, and swell while imagining how each would fill his hands.
If she had to guess this man’s rank, she would put him as duke. He wore power and influence like a second skin. She could make do with a duke.
She gave him her most alluring, sensual smile. “I am quite parched, and so appreciate a man who can fulfill my desires. Thank you.”
Wrapping her gloved fingers around the stem of the flute, she made sure that her fingers touched his, lingered for a moment. His eyes widened slightly, and a corner of his luscious mouth curled up almost imperceptibly. Anyone else might not have even noticed, but she had trained herself to discern the smallest of details. People communicated far more truth with their bodies and facial expressions than they ever did with their words.
