A corner of his mouth quirked up. “As though my saying no would stop you.”
Oh, he knew her well, and she loved when he teased her like that. No barbs were ever hidden within his words, even when he was put out with her.
“The night I came to ask for your assistance and you opened the door . . . you didn’t resemble David.”
He blinked. “David?”
“Michelangelo’s David.”
“Ah.” He gave a brusque nod. “I should hope not. My hair is not nearly that curly.”
She laughed in spite of the fact that he was deliberately making this difficult for her. “I wasn’t referring to your locks, but rather lower. Were you aroused?”
He sounded as though he was strangling, and she wasn’t certain if he were choking or laughing. He held up a hand. “I’m not having this conversation.”
“I don’t know who else to ask about these matters. Not my mother, surely. Minerva, I suppose.”
“My sister won’t know the answers,” he said tersely. “Or at least she’d best not.”
“So I must depend on you.”
He scowled, and she feared his next words would be a command for her to leave. Instead he rubbed his bristled chin while studying her. She’d been glad that he’d not had time to shave while she saw to breakfast. She liked how dark and dangerous he appeared when he wasn’t properly decked out. Three buttons on his shirt were undone to reveal a narrow V of chest and he hadn’t bothered with his cuffs. Yes, there was no formality here.
“I had a woman in my bed, Grace,” he finally said. “Of course I was aroused.”
“A man’s—” She pointed her finger at his lap, scratched her neck. “—it’s quite a fascinating bit of anatomy. Can you control it?”
“A bit . . . of anatomy?”
She felt the heat suffuse her face. “Well, somewhat more than a bit, but you know what I mean. Can you control it?”
He rolled his shoulders as though they’d suddenly grown tense. She supposed she shouldn’t continue with this line of questioning but she wanted some answers.
He cleared his throat. “Sometimes, sometimes not. Where are we going with this? For God’s sake, hasn’t your mother spoken to you about it?”
She shook her head. “As I understand it, it’s a topic that only comes up the morning that a woman marries.”
“Ask Lady Sybil.”
“I have, but she’s very vague. Here’s my concern. If a man isn’t aroused, then he can’t make love or produce children, can he?”
He shifted his position as though he were exceedingly uncomfortable. “You have the gist of it, yes.”
“Is love enough to arouse a man?”
He shifted again, leaning forward, planting his elbows on his thighs, bringing himself nearer to her. “Little Rose, are you worried that a man won’t find you attractive? I assure you that you are in danger of having more children than you can count.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re my friend. I’m thin. There are no paintings of thin women.”
“What has that to do with anything?”
“Art reflects what one finds beautiful. Women without an abundance of curves do not find their way into art.”
“Of course they do.”
“Name one artist who portrays thin women.”
He looked at his ceiling—
“Nymphs,” she said, as though he’d gone blind. “Chubby nymphs frolicking in the gardens.”
Scowling, he looked at the fireplace, at the window. Snapped his fingers and looked at her with satisfaction. “Monet.”
“But the women are clothed.”
His jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon?”
“In every painting, every statue, that I’ve seen of nude women, the subjects are plump, which leads me to believe that’s what men prefer. What if a man doesn’t find me enticing?”
She might have died if he’d laughed. She was certain any other gentleman would have, but ever since he’d discovered her weeping in the stables, he seemed to have an understanding of her insecurities, even though he had no knowledge of how they’d grown tenfold of late. He scooted nearer to her.
“Trust me, Grace, that is not something about which you need to worry. You are lovely beyond—”
“I’m not searching for compliments, Lovingdon. I’m quite disappointed in myself for needing reassurances, but there you are. I can be in a man’s bedchamber and not entice him in the least.”
Based on the way his gaze slowly roamed over her, she feared she might have overstepped the mark with that comment.
“Are you attempting to seduce me?” he asked in a silky voice.
“No, but I’ve always been able to talk with you as I can talk to few others. I thought if I understood men a little better, I might have more luck at securing that which I seek.”
“Men are aroused by all sorts of things, Grace. For a man who loves you, the thought of being with you will be enough.”
“Will it?”
“Of course.”
She sighed. She didn’t believe him. She’d caught sight of the courtesan in his bed. She suspected the woman’s toes were even voluptuous. “I shall embrace your optimism.”
“As well you should.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll attend tonight’s ball.”
He slowly shook his head. “I intend to take a long soak in a tub of hot water that shall last the remainder of the afternoon.”
An image of naked limbs, long and muscular, flashed through her mind. She really shouldn’t have these sorts of thoughts where he was concerned. They only served to cause her stomach to quiver.
“So how will you spend your evening?” she asked.
“I shall join Avendale for an evening of merry-making and a visit to Cremorne Gardens.” He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t go there, do you?”
“On occasion.”
“But not after the fireworks.”
Smiling mischievously, she half lowered her eyelids. “Perhaps.”
The lounging duke was replaced by one who sat up stiffly and gave her his complete attention. “You’ve not been to Cremorne during the wicked hours.”
She lifted a shoulder slightly. “Once.”
“Do you have any notion how dangerous it is for a woman alone—”
“I never said I was alone.”
His jaw dropped, although he recovered quickly enough and gave her a blistering glare. “Who was with you?”
“I can’t tell you. You wouldn’t approve.”
He settled back, but he didn’t appear nearly as relaxed as he had earlier. “Well whoever it was, you should no doubt marry him, as it’s obvious you’ve wrapped him around your little finger.”
“I never said it was a gent.” She rose, and he came to his feet. “I must be off to begin preparing for the ball. I only stopped by to thank you for what you did for Sybil. It means a great deal to me. Enjoy your adventures this evening.”
She could only hope that she would enjoy hers.
Lovingdon settled for a cold bath rather than a hot one because he was warm enough as it was. He’d had other women in his bedchamber, most with far less clothing than Grace, but he’d never felt so fevered. He was fairly certain she’d not meant to be a seductress, but when she picked up the strawberry, studied it as though it was the most interesting object in the room, and then closed her lips around it—
His body had reacted as though she’d closed her lips around him. And then when she began speaking about nude women in paintings, he’d envisioned her lounging over a bed, with sheets draped over her enticingly revealing just enough to set a man’s blood to boiling.
He dropped his head back against the rim of the copper tub and stared at the nymphs cavorting over the ceiling. Surely they weren’t all Rubenesque. When he realized he was searching for a tall, willowy one with long limbs and narrow hips, he cursed soundly, closed his eyes, and immersed himself in the frigid water.
Blast her! The girl had no sens
e whatsoever. Spending the afternoon in a scoundrel’s bedchamber, licking strawberry juice from the corner of her mouth, touching her tongue to that damned little freckle, talking of nudity, conjuring up images of her in repose, flesh bared—
He came up out of the water and shoved himself to his feet. He had to get these thoughts out of his mind and had to keep them out. He needed her to stop showing up at his bedchamber. He needed her to leave him in peace.
Stepping out of the tub, he snatched up a towel. “Bailey!”
His valet rushed into the bathing room. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“I need evening attire for tonight’s outing.”
Bailey looked as though he’d said he intended to dispense with clothing altogether. “Evening attire, sir?”
To be honest, Lovingdon realized he shouldn’t have been surprised by the man’s reaction. He’d not donned evening attire in more than two years. “Yes, Bailey, surely it’s around here somewhere, buried in moth balls.”
“I’m afraid, Your Grace, that it might be a bit outdated.”
“I’m not striving to be named the most fashionably dressed man in London. Find it. Then have the carriage brought ’round.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Are you celebrating something this evening?”
Bailey’s ill-conceived attempt to get to the heart of the matter.
“No, Bailey, I’m determined to get a woman out of my life.” Before he did something they would both regret.
Chapter 7
Lovingdon wanted to bury himself in a woman, drown himself in drink, and show Lady Luck that no matter how atrocious the cards were, he didn’t need her. He could make do very well on his own.
So other than cursing Grace, what the devil was he doing here? He’d expected the first time that he attended a ball after Juliette’s passing would very much resemble taking a hard kick between the legs. He couldn’t deny that when he first entered the ballroom, he’d glanced around, out of habit, searching for her.
But then his gaze was arrested by coppery hair held in place with pearl combs, and a smile that had threatened to steal his breath—even if it wasn’t directed at him. With whom the deuce was she dancing? He didn’t recognize the young upstart, but then he was obviously closer to Grace’s age than his own. He’d have to ask around, he thought, then decided it was pointless to do so. Grace needed someone more established with a bit more maturity. That he’d fallen in love at nineteen had no bearing on the situation. Besides, he didn’t like the way the lad looked, too moony-eyed.
He’d managed to slip in through the back gardens, through the open doors that led onto the terrace. To his immense satisfaction, he succeeded in observing the festivities unbothered. That had not been the case at the first ball he’d attended. There, the moment he’d walked through the door, he was pounced on by every mother with an eligible daughter. But he’d been a different man then. While he still had a respected title and a generous yearly income, his behavior of late made him less than desirable as a suitor. An eligible bachelor he might be, but husband material he was not.
Grace had spotted Lovingdon three dances earlier, while she was waltzing with Lord Edmund Manning, a second son who was looking to better his position in life through marriage. She did not consider him a serious suitor, but based on Lovingdon’s scowling, she couldn’t help but brighten her smile. He lurked in the shadows like some misbegotten miscreant. She couldn’t deny the pleasure that swept through her at the sight of him, halfway hidden behind the fronds. He wasn’t the shy sort, so she knew he was imitating a wallflower because he didn’t want to deal with desperate mothers who might take delight in his presence. She could almost feel his gaze upon her, following her.
When the present dance ended, her latest partner escorted her from the dance floor.
“Thank you, Lord Ekroth,” Grace said once she reached the sitting area where her maid waited for her.
“I hope at the next ball, you will be kind enough to reserve two dances for me.” He lifted her hand to his lips, raised his gaze to hers. “And that I might call on you tomorrow.”
“I can’t promise you two dances, but I would, however, be delighted to have you pay a call.”
“Until tomorrow, then.”
He walked off and exited up the stairs, no doubt to join the gents in the gaming room. He had made it clear where his interest resided and that she was the only one with whom he would dance. He was tall with dark hair and swarthy skin. His mother came from Italy and had brought with her a small fortune. If rumors were to be believed, however, his father had not tended it well.
“I hope you’re not considering him.”
She swung her gaze around and smiled at Lovingdon. “Lord Ekroth?”
He nodded. “He doesn’t fancy you overmuch.”
She released a laugh of incredulity. “I daresay you’re quick to judge. I have it on good authority that the opposite is true.”
“Well, then, if you have such good authority, you have no need of my observations.” He turned to go. She grabbed his arm.
“Wait. I . . .” What could she say to hold him near? “I do value your opinion.”
He gave her a dark smile. “As well you should.”
She wanted to roll her eyes at his arrogance. Instead, she said with sincerity, “I didn’t expect you to show.”
“I decided that I can’t avoid balls for the rest of my life.”
“Actually, I suppose you could, but I’m glad you didn’t. Has it been difficult?”
“Not as difficult as I thought. I’ve been concentrating on who is here rather than who isn’t. Who was that child you were dancing with earlier? I daresay he’s not taken a razor to his face yet.”
Discreetly, she gave his arm a light punch. “Lord Edmund Manning. A second son who was honest enough to tell me that he is determined to better himself through marriage.”
“I hope you informed him it would not be through marriage to you.”
“I was not that blunt, but I doubt he’ll send me flowers in the morning. So upon what do you base your opinion regarding Lord Ekroth?”
“Watching him dance with you.”
“He was the perfect gentleman.”
“Exactly.”
She furrowed her brow. “All your cryptic comments will have to be discussed later. The next dance will be upon us soon and my card is full.” A pity, she thought, wishing one spot remained for him.
“Let me see it.” He held out his gloved hand.
“I’ve told you before that looking at the names—”
“I’ve observed several gentlemen dancing with you.” He snapped his fingers. “Your card and your pencil.”
He could be so irritating, and yet what she valued in him was his tendency to speak his mind. With a sigh, she handed over the requested items and watched in dawning horror as he struck through one name after another before handing the card back to her. The names of all the gentlemen with whom she’d danced had been obliterated. “All of them?”
“All of them.”
She laughed caustically. “And Lord Vexley? You struck through his name, and I haven’t even danced with him yet.” At least not at this ball, not where Lovingdon could observe him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him approaching to claim his dance. The music was starting up.
“He vexes me,” Lovingdon said.
“He vexes you? He doesn’t vex me.”
“He should, if you have any sense about you. Besides, you’ll be dancing with me.”
Her heart tripped over itself. “I didn’t think you were interested in marriage, and based upon your reputation of late, you could very well ruin mine. You were only to observe.”
He gave her a caustic look, as though she was perhaps vexing him. “Observation is not sufficient. You need a lesson. I intend to show you how a gentleman who fancies you would dance with you.”
“But I promised Lord Vex—”
“I’ll handle it.” He took her arm and fairly propelled her toward the dance floo
r, passing Vexley on the way. “Sorry, old chap, but I’m claiming this dance.”
Without a pause in his stride, he had her in the midst of the dancers before she could object further. And while she knew she should protest heartily, should leave him where he stood, she couldn’t deny that she wanted to dance with him, wanted this moment. She might never have another opportunity. She placed one hand on his shoulder, while he held the other and pressed his free hand to the small of her back. Even with his glove and her clothing providing a barrier between their flesh, she could feel the warmth from his hand seeping into her.
“That was quite rude,” she said.
“Unfortunately, the only way you would ever realize how much in my debt you should be would be if you were to marry the poor sod.”
“I don’t think he’s as bad as all that. We’ve danced before and I find his conversation quite delightful.”
“He talks while you’re dancing?”
“Of course.”
“Then he’s not fond of you.”
“Because we converse?”
“While dancing. The purpose of dancing is to provide an excuse for a gentleman to get very close to a woman, and if he has an interest in her, he is going to take advantage of that. The gents I crossed off your list spent their time looking about.”
“So that we didn’t run into someone.”
“I’ve not taken my eyes from yours since we began waltzing, and yet neither have we stumbled into anyone.”
As much as she wanted, she couldn’t deny the truth of his words. “Loving—”
“Shh.”
She almost blurted for him not to shush her, but the words that followed caused her heart to still.
“Pay attention to what we’re doing.”
She knew exactly what they were doing. She’d been doing it most of the night. Dancing. Waltzing, at this particular moment. But his hand holding hers tightened around her fingers and his eyes bore into hers. She became aware of his closeness, his bergamot scent. His legs brushed against her skirts.
“We’re improperly close,” she whispered.
When the Duke Was Wicked Page 9
