Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham)

by Lorraine Heath

  “You’re younger by all of two minutes.”

  “More like an hour, I think. I seem to recall Nanny telling us that at some point—before the world went topsy-turvy.” The night their parents died. None of them liked to talk about it although Ashe was more likely to refer to it as the night all went to hell.

  “Did you meet anyone of interest tonight?” Edward asked.

  Ashe wasn’t surprised that Edward was shifting the conversation away from himself. In spite of Edward’s need for attention, he didn’t like to divulge much about his personal matters. It was a trait they had in common.

  “No.” Ashe couldn’t explain his reasoning, but he didn’t want Edward heading to the Nightingale with the purpose of deflowering Lady V. He expected she would return at some point. Based on the kiss they shared, she was an extremely passionate woman with untapped desires. He’d been so incredibly tempted to remove the mask, to discover her identity.

  Damn his obsession with capturing the perfection of the human form. Damn his aversion to taking a woman’s innocence. She had wanted to be bedded. He should have obliged, instead of spouting all the drivel about love and the farmer’s daughter who had broken his heart with her callous betrayal. It hadn’t helped that it had been Edward in the blasted hayloft with her. But that was long ago, and with distance, he came to realize his heart had been barely bruised. Still, he did have fond memories of the girl. Might have had fond memories of Lady V if he’d truly thought she understood exactly what she was getting into. There had been moments when she’d seemed a woman of the world, strong and tough. And others when she had seemed almost naive. Innocent. Too trusting.

  The women who usually visited the Nightingale had been hardened by something in life: an uncaring husband, a cruel one, an indifferent one. A disappointing lover. They’d given up on dreams, love, and happy-ever-afters. Lady V didn’t fit the mold of those who usually frequented the place. He nearly scoffed aloud. What did he truly know about her? Perhaps she didn’t deserve love. Perhaps she was a termagant. Or unlikeable. Maybe she was dying. Maybe she was merely young and foolish.

  Why hadn’t he questioned her? Why hadn’t he cared about her reasons for being there? Because, like Edward, he was accustomed to merely caring about his own needs and desires. She wasn’t the fool. He was. For missing an opportunity simply because something about her had struck him as fanciful, had made him believe she deserved more than an anonymous coupling.

  But it had been what she’d wanted. It had been her choice to go there. Who was he to question it?

  Who the devil was she? Lady V. No doubt, for her, the V stood for virgin. For him, it was verbena. He brought his glass to his lips, and her scent wafted around him, caused a tightening in his gut. If he seduced her properly, she would pose for him. But to seduce her properly, he needed to know more about her. He needed to know who she was.

  He shot to his feet. “I’m going out. Take whichever bedchamber suits you.”

  Edward shoved himself out of the chair, then leaned on it for support. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, it’s a personal matter.”

  “Has she a name?”

  The problem with growing up with someone was that he tended to know him too well. “I’m sure she does. Unfortunately, I’ve yet to learn it.”

  Leaving Edward to ponder the cryptic statement, Ashe went in search of his coachman to have his vehicle readied. It was after midnight, but his man was accustomed to his keeping odd hours. Ashe felt no degree of remorse when Wilkins, dressed in his nightclothes, answered the door to his bedchamber.

  “What address did she give you?” Ashe demanded.

  Wilkins blinked, clearly flummoxed by the question.

  “The woman at the Nightingale, the one I had you take home,” Ashe explained.

  “I rather fancy keeping my tongue, Your Grace.”

  Ashe sighed. “Right.” He had a good many faults, but lying to women wasn’t one of them. He’d given her his word that neither his driver nor footman would tell him the address. To gain what he wanted from her, he required her trust. If his driver told him—

  “You can’t tell me the address but you can take me there.” He could see the discomfiture cross Wilkins’s face. “Look, man, I told her that you wouldn’t tell me. I didn’t promise you wouldn’t divulge it in some other manner. I realize it’s semantics, but it works. Now come on, get dressed. I want to see where she lives.”

  Hopefully, he would recognize the house, would know who resided there. If he didn’t, he would find someone who knew, or he’d send Wilkins to the servants’ door to make discreet inquiries among the staff. Determining her family was the first step to figuring out who she was.

  Nearly an hour later, Ashe was staring at the building, one with which he was far too familiar. As he hadn’t bothered to awaken the footman, Wilkins had opened the coach door for him and was now standing beside him.

  “She had you bring her to the Twin Dragons?” Ashe asked, incredulously. A few years earlier, Drake Darling had extended membership in his exclusive gaming hell to women.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Did she go in?”

  “Marched right up the steps. Footman opened the door before she got there. Didn’t appear that she had to show her membership card.”

  That Lady V would come here rather than being returned home indicated she didn’t trust him, was extremely clever, and had a reputation to protect. Or perhaps she had a gambling addiction. She’d certainly been playing the odds tonight at the Nightingale.

  “So she comes here on a regular basis. She’s known,” Ashe murmured.

  “It would appear so.”

  It was unlikely that she was still there, but on the off chance … he bounded up the steps. Unlike her, he did have to present his membership card. He’d not been to the place since he returned to London. Once inside, he stopped by the counter, where a woman was only too happy to take coats and keep track of them. She smiled at him.

  “Have you seen—” he began, not certain where to go from there. When Lady V had emerged from the dressing room at the Nightingale, she’d been wearing a dark green cape over her pale green gown. How could he describe her? Her hair was some shade of brown, which he couldn’t properly identify because of the dimness at the Nightingale. Dark eyes that could belong to any woman although the shade could have been an illusion caused by the absence of any significant light. Not terribly tall. That was a certainty. Not heavyset but not particularly slender, either. She was the sort a man could hold on to, and dammit all if he wasn’t suddenly desperate to do just that.

  The clerk was waiting expectantly, leaving Ashe to feel completely idiotic. He was accustomed to being in charge of a situation. He didn’t like that she had such control over him, could make him lose sight of all rational thought. “Never mind.”

  He strode into the gaming area. This time of night, there were gents aplenty, only about a half dozen ladies. But not a single female garbed in pale green. She could be in the area restricted to women. He wasn’t going to send someone in to search for her. That wouldn’t gain her trust. And again, he couldn’t provide an accurate description. He might know her if he saw her, but then again, he might merely make a fool of himself.

  Still, he walked the perimeter of the room, searching. He meandered between the gaming tables, wandered into other areas that were open to both genders. Surely, if she spotted him, a measure of surprise would cross her features. But then there were so few women, and while they acknowledged him—a couple even seemed quite pleased to discover he’d returned to London—none of them seemed taken aback, embarrassed, or nervous by his presence. She was either a damned fine actress, or she wasn’t here.

  Disappointed, he acknowledged it was most likely the latter.

  However, knowing she frequented this establishment increased his chances of finding her at some point. He’d return here tomorrow night after Julia’s blasted affair.

  MINERVA was curled on a sofa in the m
orning room reading Brontë when Grace walked in. Considered family, she didn’t require a butler announce her arrival. Her eyes filled with worry, she quickly crossed the room, sat on the sofa, and searched Minerva’s face. “How are you this morning?”

  Minerva smiled. “Quite fine.”

  With a huge sigh, Grace slumped back against the cushions. “Thank God. I hardly slept a wink last night thinking of you going to that decadent place. I’m so glad you didn’t.”

  “But I did.”

  Grace sprang forward. “So it’s done?”

  The heat rushed to Minerva’s face, nearly scalding her with its intensity. “Not exactly. Seems I didn’t have the nerve for it after all.”

  “But you went.” Grace glanced around as though she expected to see spies hidden behind the plants. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “What was it like?”

  Minerva laughed. “After all your warnings, you have the audacity to ask?”

  “I’m curious. I would never go there, but now I have an opportunity to hear all about it.”

  “That’s really why you’re here, isn’t it? Curiosity, not concern that I might be suffering through misgivings.”

  “I’m here first and foremost for you. I’ve been so worried that you’d select someone who wasn’t kind or someone who cared only about his own needs. I didn’t want you to have a selfish lover.”

  She didn’t think Ashebury would have been selfish. If his kiss were any indication, he would give far more than he received.

  “So come on, Minnie, don’t be cruel. Satisfy my curiosity. Tell me about this wicked, wicked place.”

  She almost suggested Grace ask her brother, but she was obligated not to reveal who all she’d seen there even if it was someone she considered family. “It wasn’t what I expected. It was all very proper. People stood around talking. Ladies masked for secrecy. Men not caring who knew they were there.”

  “Who was there?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Because you didn’t know them?”

  “I took a vow not to reveal any identities. The woman in charge wears an emerald green gown and matching mask. Very flashy. You have to reveal yourself to her so she knows who everyone is. She’ll come after you if she learns you’ve spoken the name of anyone there. I don’t know how she would manage to find out, but I believed her.”

  “But you can tell me. I won’t tell.”

  “I really can’t.”

  “Well, you’re no fun.”

  “So more than one gentleman has told me.”

  “Minerva, I didn’t—”

  She squeezed Grace’s hand. “I know. I’m just being difficult. And the truth is that I’m not bothered by the myriad of ways that gentlemen find me lacking. It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks as long as I’m true to myself—as my mother, bless her, constantly reminds me. Last night, for the first time, I actually believed it. It was quite liberating.” While everything that happened there was not to be spoken of, this was Grace, her dearest friend. “I caught a very fine gentleman’s attention.”

  Grace’s eyes widened as she leaned forward. “Who?”

  Minerva scowled.

  “Right then. You can’t tell me. Was he handsome?”

  “Why does everyone care about looks? But, yes, exceedingly so.”

  “Charming?”

  “Very.”

  “Nobility?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dark hair?”

  Laughing at her friend’s blatant attempt to deduce who he might have been, she shook her head. “Enough, Grace. I’m not going to play your little game. You’d never guess anyway. But I will tell you that he was immensely intriguing. He spoke about the beauty of the human form, in particular my legs.”

  “He saw your legs?”

  “Well, not the entire leg. Just up to my calf. But when I arrived, I had to change into this silky bit of nothing, very similar to what is depicted in paintings that reflect the women of Rome. It’s extremely easy to get into and, I suppose, exceedingly easy for a gent to get you out of. While I was almost completely covered except for my arms and décolletage, it didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. No corset, no petticoats. I rather liked it, actually. It was light as a feather. But I suppose its purpose is to provide a more accurate assessment of one’s figure.”

  “What did the men wear?”

  Minerva scoffed. “That was the irritating part—they wore everything. I shall never understand why men and women must have different rules.” She smiled. “But he removed his boots, so I would be more comfortable. Still, I just couldn’t get comfortable enough to climb into bed with him.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “It’s going to sound silly, but we talked.” She moved closer. “Here’s the thing—he looked into my eyes when we conversed. So intensely as though he was truly interested. I have sat in the front parlor with gentlemen who were mesmerized by the design of their teacups. I ask a question, they answer with a solitary word. I attempt to start a discourse, and they can’t be bothered to keep it going. I’m irrelevant. They seek to impress me by merely making an appearance. My man last night was attentive. He asked me questions. He told me a story from his past.” She sighed. “It was bittersweet, Grace. To experience what it is to have the attention of a man who was intrigued by me. After I arrived home, I rather wished I hadn’t left the Nightingale.”

  “It wasn’t real, Minnie.”

  “Trust you to be so honest and blunt. Still it felt real. I’m rather convinced that not everyone is there for what goes on between the sheets.”

  “Why are they there?”

  “I’m not sure. I expected to see people hungrily kissing or maybe even fornicating on a table or a chair—but there was none of that.” She gave her head a slight shake, lifted a shoulder. “Oh, people sat closely together, and I saw a hand on a thigh here or a hip there, but they weren’t ashamed of what they were doing.”

  “How could you tell? They were wearing masks.”

  “Not the men.”

  “But men are never ashamed.”

  Minerva smiled. “I suppose you have a point. Still, it would be nice if we were a bit more open about things.”

  “So you were open with your parents and told them where you were going?”

  “Absolutely not!” She shoved playfully on Grace’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean we should be that open about things. No, I waited until they’d gone to bed. I slipped out, found a cab. Then my gentleman insisted his driver bring me home—only I had him take me to the Twin Dragons. I couldn’t risk his discovering who my parents are. I don’t think he’s the blackmail sort, but you know my father. He would protect me and my reputation at any cost.”

  “Well, jolly good for your man, not letting you roam the streets searching for a cab at all hours of the night. If you should ever decide to go there again, you’re to let me know, and I’ll have one of our carriages waiting for you at the end of the street. I should have thought of that before. I was just so muddled with the notion of your actually doing it that I wasn’t thinking.”

  “And how will you explain the carriage to my brother?”

  Grace smiled slyly. “Not to worry. I can handle Lovingdon.”

  “You’re the dearest of friends, but I doubt I’ll go back. Although I can’t seem to stop thinking about what might have been.”

  “It can still be, just not there,” Grace assured her. “My mother was on the shelf when she fell in love with my father.”

  “I’m not certain she could be considered on the shelf when she didn’t have a Season. She was a commoner, a bookkeeper. I don’t think commoners worry about getting married as much as we do.”

  “I suppose you have a point, there.”

  “I’ve also been a terrible hostess. Shall I ring for tea?”

  “I can’t stay. I’m meeting my mother in a bit, and we’re going on a round of the orphanages. You should come with us.”

  “You’re kind to invite me, but
it was a rather late night, so I shall probably take a nap. By the by, did you receive an invitation to Lady Greyling’s soiree this evening?”

  “The one welcoming the hellions back to London?” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why their return is given such fanfare.”

  “They went on safari. I think everyone wants to hear about it.”

  “Are you going then?”

  “I was thinking of it, yes.” Especially as Ashebury was certain to be there. She knew it was silly to take an interest in him, to place herself in his path so soon after last night, but he intrigued her. Besides, it was unlikely he’d approach her, that he would realize she was Lady V, but she would still have the opportunity to gaze on him—and to imagine what might have been between them.

  “Shall we go together?” Grace asked. “Lovingdon and I could pick you up at half past seven.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  “Jolly good. I’ll see you tonight then.” Standing, Grace leaned in and kissed Minerva’s cheek. “I’m glad nothing untoward happened last night.”

  “As am I,” she lied.

  Chapter 5

  THE Countess of Greyling’s drawing room was packed to the gills with ladies sitting on sofas and chairs while gentlemen stood about wherever they could find a few spare inches of space. Minerva and Grace had managed to secure tight spots near the center of the room, sharing a sofa with Ladies Sarah and Honoria.

  Leaning against the wall, near the fireplace, the Duke of Ashebury radiated confidence and openly flirted with the ladies nearest to him, while gifting others with a secretive look that made each think she had his unfettered devotion. Not that he directed any of his heavy-lidded gazes Minerva’s way. Fighting not to let his inattention sting her pride, she was incredibly grateful that she hadn’t allowed him to bed her. It would have hurt immeasurably to see him showering others with his attentiveness while she received not an ounce of interest from him—even though her purpose in going to the Nightingale had been to ensure her anonymity. She could hardly bemoan his not dashing over to greet her when his not even batting an eye at her arrival was reassurance that he didn’t recognize her from the night before.