Page 30 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
Avendale heard the absolute conviction in the words. He couldn’t envision having such faith in one person, to know her so well. He had once had the same belief in his mother, but it had been a childish thing. He suspected Lovingdon would one day find his belief in Grace tested. He hoped not, but in his experience people were created to disappoint. Turning, he handed Lovingdon his glass, clinked his against it. “Cheers.” He savored a deep swallow before asking, “Then what brings you here?”
“Curiosity. I saw you at the theater last night.”
With a groan, grateful for the muted light of evening, Avendale dropped into a chair near the window. Lovingdon joined him. Both men stretched out their legs, lounged in comfort. They had been friends too long to pretend manners mattered between them.
“She was quite lovely. I can’t recall ever seeing you with a woman who appeared respectable at first blush,” Lovingdon said.
“She is a widow,” he felt obligated to explain. “I intend to teach her that respectability is overrated.”
“Who was her husband?”
“Some chap named Sharpe. She’s a commoner. I doubt we knew him.”
“A commoner, a widow, and a woman who is for the moment respectable. Not your usual fare.”
“She makes me feel as though I have spent my life sampling pudding. She is something far richer, far more tasty.”
“Where does she hail from?”
“I’m not really sure. Her husband died in India. A tiger apparently fancied him for a meal.”
“Recently?”
“Two years ago. Not to worry. She’s properly out of mourning.”
“I’m not sure anyone really comes out of mourning. They simply learn to live without the ones they loved and lost.” Lovingdon would know. He’d lost his wife and daughter. But then he’d found Grace and seemed to be embracing life again. He learned forward, planted his elbows on his thighs, and turned his glass between his hands. “It’s not my place to say—”
“Then don’t say,” Avendale suggested.
Lovingdon lifted his gaze. “I know it would not be intentional, but you could do irreparable harm if she is not ready.”
He wondered if he’d already done so, last night in the coach. No, he didn’t believe he had. She had been taken aback by what had happened, but only because she hadn’t experienced it before. She hadn’t wept or slapped him or called him a blackguard. “She strikes me as being quite strong. I won’t harm her.”
“As I said, it wouldn’t be intentional.”
Avendale swirled his scotch, downed it. “Why do you care?”
“For as long as I have known you, last night was the first time that you looked as though you were precisely where you wanted to be.”
“Theater? I abhor theater.”
“But not the woman you were with.”
Avendale came out of the chair, returned to the marble table, and refilled his glass. “Because I want her, Lovingdon. I want her in my bed as I’ve never wanted anyone else.” Turning he met his friend’s gaze. “And I intend to have her.”
Thanks to Lovingdon’s visit, Avendale was in a foul mood when he entered through the doors of the Twin Dragons. He wanted a private card game where the stakes were high and the men at the table ruthless. He didn’t care if his finances took a beating, preferred it in fact. He’d almost gone to Whitechapel in search of a brawl. He felt like taking a pounding. He felt like—
Pounding into her.
His Rose was here. Somehow he’d known she would be. She wasn’t innocent as Lovingdon insinuated, she wasn’t going to get hurt. She was a widow who had obviously not experienced life to the fullest, and so she came here, just as he did, searching for something that would fill the emptiness inside.
He would very much like to fill her. He could avail himself of one of the secluded rooms. Drake wouldn’t object. But Avendale wanted her inhisbed. He wanted her scent lingering there after she left.
He began striding toward her. She was standing near the roulette wheel. Close enough to observe, but not near enough to have placed a wager. He’d never understood the pleasure to be found in simply watching. If nothing was at risk, where was the excitement, the thrill? Even losing was better than not having participated at all.
As he approached, she glanced over, smiled, but there was an oddness to the upturn of her lips that he couldn’t quite place. He might have attributed it to an uncomfortableness with him after last night, but he thought if that were the case, she’d have not come here at all, knowing in all likelihood he’d be present. But then he also thought her pride wouldn’t allow her to cower in her residence. No, she would face him, but she would do it with a challenge in her blue eyes and a lifting of her chin.
Something else was amiss. He’d bet his life on it.
