Page 58 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
Scoffing, he looked quickly out the window. The fog had yet to roll in. “It’s not going to rain.”
“I’ll wager the five hundred quid I won tonight. If it doesn’t rain before the sun peers over the horizon, it’s yours. If it does rain, I keep the five hundred and you give the same amount out of your pocket to the duchess and tell her it’s from me.”
“She would appreciate the cunning behind that wager,” he told her. “But I’ve no need of the money. If it doesn’t rain, I get an additional night of you in my bed.”
“Done.”
He was surprised she capitulated so easily. Was it because she welcomed another night in his bed or was she arrogant enough to believe she couldn’t lose now that she’d had a taste of winning? It didn’t matter. He owned the wager. The scent of rain wasn’t even on the air.
“I like your friends, but I have the impression your friendship doesn’t run deeply.”
She was far too astute. He should have known she’d pay attention to more than the cards. “I am closest to Lovingdon. He was the one with whom I sought out trouble before Grace got her clutches into him.”
“You don’t approve of the duchess?”
“I don’t approve of any woman leading a man on a merry chase to the altar.”
“Eventually you’ll marry.”
“I doubt it.”
“But you’re a duke. You require an heir. Your bastards can’t inherit.”
“I don’t have any—” He stopped, grinned. “Clever girl. If you wanted to know if I had any children, why didn’t you just ask?”
“You’re not very forthcoming with answers when I pose questions.”
“I’ve always taken precautions to ensure no offspring come from my loins.” Only he hadn’t with her, he realized now. And she wouldn’t have the knowledge to prevent conception. Damnation. He’d been so obsessed with her, wanted her so badly that he hadn’t given any thought to protecting her. “If you find yourself with child, you’re to let me know.”
“Do I really strike you as the sort to come begging?”
The light from a streetlamp they passed caught the necklace at her throat, a gift she would leave behind. No, she wouldn’t come begging. After their time together, he’d never see her again. A fissure of anger sliced through him at the thought and he tamped it down. He didn’t need her, didn’t need anyone. It grated to acknowledge that he might actually miss her when she was gone. “Still, I should like to know.”
“As you wish. So do you visit Cremorne often?” she asked, and he was grateful she was taking the discussion away from the possibility of children. He didn’t want to analyze why it was that the thought of having children with her wasn’t abhorrent.
“Nearly every night,” he said. He didn’t understand this insane need he had for her to see how he lived.
“What shall we do there?”
“Drink, dance. Kiss in the shadows.”
“We could have done all that at the Twin Dragons.”
He chuckled low. “We could have, yes, but it all seems so proper there. Nothing at all is proper about Cremorne Gardens.”
He had the right of it there, Grace thought, as she walked along beside him, her hand nestled in the crook of his elbow. She wasn’t certain why it made her melancholy to imagine him here night after night, searching for something that she suspected would not be found within these gardens.
Music played. People danced—on the pavilion and off of it. Wine and drink flowed. Women—no doubt the charities to which he made donations—strutted about, flitting from man to man, some boldly taking their pleasures out in the open. She didn’t want to contemplate that he might have found surcease with some of these women, that he had taken them against walls or trees.
No one acknowledged him, although surely there were people here who knew him. She supposed it was an unwritten rule: whatever happened within these confines was not discussed beyond them and identities were held secret.
Now and then Avendale would stop, cup her face, and lean in to kiss her. Here to kiss in public was acceptable. Although, so it seemed, was fornicating. She would not go that far. What she shared with him was for them only. It was personal, private.
But a man could bring his mistress here without experiencing censure. It fluttered through her mind to wonder how many nights a woman needed to be with a man to qualify as being his mistress. Avendale could share with her all the tawdry places because she wasn’t decent or respectable. He could have the sort of fun with her that he couldn’t have with a wife. That thought saddened her, made her want to leave.
Yet she wanted to stay, touched that he was sharing part of his life with her, even if it didn’t shed a particularly good light on him. She wondered why he strove so hard to convince her that he was naught but wickedness and vice. Unfortunately her mind was not clear enough to discern his reasoning. On the morrow perhaps.
They’d been drinking since they arrived, and the spirits were having their way with her. She staggered against him. His arm came around her, held her near. She laughed. “This isn’t you.”
