by Eva Devon
How did Rob explain that Mary was both excited and terrified? His sister’s eyes were haunted. Haunted by the knowledge that everyone knew what her father and brother had been like. Haunted by the fact that, at any moment, it would get out just how bad her family situation was. So, at present, she was laughing and sparkling as if her life depended on it. Quite possibly, because it did.
Rob drew in a slow breath, hesitant to speak. Hesitant to ask his friend for something.
“What is it?” Harley asked.
Blinking, Rob asked with as much lightness as he could, “What makes you ask?”
“Your brow is furrowed.” Harley eyed him up and down. “You would outdo a Basset Hound.”
Rob scowled. Did he, indeed, look so troubled? “That is not particularly flattering.”
Harley grinned. “You are clearly reticent in asking a favor. Have we not been friends for years?”
“We have,” Rob agreed.
“Then ask.”
Rob ground his teeth for a moment then blurted, “Would you. . . would you ask Mary to dance?”
Harley paled but then he gave a nod. “Only for you, dear friend, would I face the perils of that sea of fresh-faced debutantes and their determined mamas.”
A wave of relief washed over Rob. “Thank you.”
Harley adjusted his cravat and eyed the ballroom with the same air as a man about to be sent into the forlorn hope of Wellington’s Army. He proclaimed, “Once more unto the breech, dear friends.”
And then he was off, charging through the crush. The moment he exposed himself, dozens of mothers who had gained his acquaintance over the years rushed forward, fans and handkerchiefs waving as they attempted to seek his notice. But much to Harley’s credit, he used his remarkable height to stare over the heads of the ladies and head straight for Mary.
Rob let out a sigh, feeling a good deal better. This was a good thing done. With Harley’s nod of approval, Mary would be truly set. It was, much to his sadness, the most he could do for his sister at present.
“Do you not dance, Your Grace?”
He jumped at the sound of the Dowager Duchess of Harley’s voice. Was he to be ambushed by Harleys? Given he’d spent so much of his childhood with them, he supposed he should not have been surprised by their seeking him out. Still, he’d gotten a bit used to being on his own.
He did his best to keep his face neutral as he replied, “I do not intend to dance.”
“Ah, but you must,” the dowager countered easily. “So many young ladies are in want of a partner.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but then he looked at the Dowager Duchess of Harley and was confronted by that motherly authority that he had grown to respect so greatly over the years. He could say no to her as easily as he could say no to his own. Which was to say, not at all.
Dropping his arms to his sides, admitting defeat, he asked, “Who is it you wish me to ask?”
“Given your reticence,” she replied as she waved her fan slowly, her thick lashes batting with overly-played innocence. “Why not ask a young lady that you know?”
He arched a brow, suspicious now. “Which lady is that?”
Suddenly, the dowager was waving her fan and he realized how easily he had been summarily cornered. Harley was much better at avoiding such things than he.
Within moments, they had been joined by none other than Lady Harriet, Harley’s sister.
He did not try to hide his smile or his relief. After all, as the sister of one of his dearest friends, he’d never think to marry her. And well, she’d certainly never think to marry him. They’d thrown mud pies at each other, after all. Despite their age difference of about eight years, she’d trailed after him and Harley like a mascot, eager to prove her worth.
Like proper boys, they’d been both annoyed by the young hanger on and absolutely devoted to her.
Yes, he was hardly the sort of romantic suitor that the grown up Harry would desire.
“Lady Harriet,” he greeted with a bow. But as he did, he truly caught sight of her. And he paused. Somehow, he realized, he had not truly looked at her in some time. Truth be told, it had been months since they’d encountered each other. But even then, she’d still romped about with a wonderful hoydenism as if she’d be a rebel until her dying day.
Now? Good God. Now? She looked like a siren. A mythical creature that might begin to sing and lead him to certain doom.
It was harrowing. He felt the instinct to escape wash over him. But that instinct warred with a sudden desire to pull her into his arms.
When had her corn-colored hair grown so golden? When had the ruddy red of her cheeks turned to a subtle pink? Was it simply her gown, her absolutely shocking gown, which transformed her?
He was not certain. But what he was certain of was that he was flummoxed, for Lady Harriet was one thing. And one thing only. A stunner.
“Your Grace?” Lady Harriet inquired as she curtseyed. The curtsey did the most magnificent things to her figure.
He looked away quickly. She was Harley’s sister for God’s sake. They’d bathed naked in a lake together. They’d been friends.
“Did you wish to ask me something?” she asked. That delicious voice of hers, as sweet and rich as summer wine, slipped over him.
“Did I?” He coughed. “Oh. Yes.”
He swung his gaze to her mother. There was no tactical retreat for him. No, only forward. It was really the best way. “Would you care to dance?”
Lady Harriet smiled, that dimple in her cheek which had always given her a cheeky air, flashing. “It would give me the greatest pleasure.”
He cleared his throat and extended his hand. “Then shall we?”
The dowager beamed at them both. Feeling as if he’d been thrown to the wolves, he led Lady Harriet to the floor. As he gazed down into the absolutely beautiful and merry face of the young woman he’d known for years, he knew somehow, in the deepest part of his soul, that nothing was going to be the same again.
Chapter 7
Harry swept onto the dance floor, hand in hand with the Duke of Blackstone and could hardly stop her grinning. So far, it had been a marvelous night and it was wonderful to see her old friend. She’d always thought Rob a magnificent fellow and so it felt quite fitting dancing with him at her first ball.
As she curtseyed, the perfect curtsey she had practiced until her knees had cried, she felt a sweeping feeling that everything was going to go absolutely swimmingly. As she looked up at him, she was surprised to find that he did not mirror her own joy.
In fact, he looked rather as if he had fallen off a cliff. No, that wasn’t true. He looked like he’d been shoved. Which was quite an odd look because Rob was the most handsome man in the room. There was no question about that.
He’d always been a mischievous boy with a devilish glint to his eyes and a wicked, laughing turn to his lips. One never quite knew what he’d do next. She’d adored that about him.
Much to her surprise, that carefree, laughing boy seemed to be gone now. Instead, she stared at a man whose face appeared almost stony. It was. . . astonishing.
“Your sacrifice is duly noted,” she teased as he took her hand and the first strains of the orchestra played.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, his hand firm but light beneath hers.
“I know you did not wish to dance with me,” she began. “My mother fairly swooped down upon you as a hawk does a mouse.”
“A mouse, my lady?” And there it was, that slight turn of his lips. Lips that were sensual now as well as mischievous. Amusement lit his dark eyes and she nearly tripped on her train. Something she’d sworn she would not do.
The way he suddenly unnerved her with that one look was shocking.
For now, that boyish amusement had become something else entirely. It was fiery. It was. . . scandalous.
She flushed at that smile. Something she had never done before. And it struck her then how incredibly tall Rob was. As tall as her brother, with slightly broa
der shoulders. His midnight hair teased his temples, eschewing powder and, seemingly, pomade. It touched his hard cheekbones, which only seemed to emphasize the hard angle of his jaw.
The feel of his big hand with its powerful fingers about hers was compelling and sent the most delicious shivers along her arm. For never, in all her years, had she ever truly noticed Rob as more than a friend. But tonight, tonight, her eyes seemed to be opened to him and the change in his demeanor. Oh, he’d been a man for years now, but there was something else. There appeared a depth, a pain, an understanding of man’s vagaries that had not been there before. And yet, thankfully, his eyes could sparkle with the old mischief, made wicked by his acquired knowledge.
“Have I rendered you speechless, Lady Harry? I never thought such a thing possible.”
“Of course not,” she immediately defended. “Only, I have realized how little I have seen of you since your return from the Continent. And I cannot imagine you as a mouse, now that you mention it.”
A deep, rolling laugh boomed from him. Several heads turned in their direction. Including her mother, who smiled. For it was clear that she was witty if she could make a duke laugh so merrily.
“I regret that our friendship has dimmed to an acquaintance,” he said sincerely. “But I have had little time for calls or balls such as this.”
“You reserve your time for more mature affairs?” she asked.
His lids lowered slightly and his lips crooked again in his devil may care way. “Why Lady Harry, whatever are you insinuating?”
She blushed again. How did he make her do that? She was not given to it. “Nothing untoward.”
He tsked playfully. “It is true. I am interested in more mature affairs, as you say. Where I go, there are few debutantes.”
She gazed up at him, trying to imagine it. “It must be heavenly.”
“Do you view your peers so poorly?” he inquired, seemingly surprised.
“Not at all.” She nibbled the inside of her cheek. Did she dare be honest? Hadn’t she always been with him? Why should now be any different? “But we are encouraged to speak of little else but the weather, the races, and lace.”
He gave her a look of mock horror. “If you must know, I have suffered a good deal of such conversation.”
“I’m sure you’ve had a great deal of it,” she agreed, knowing he, like her brother, must often be surrounded by young ladies. “But imagine my own position! Ladies are not allowed to think until they are married and then only very carefully and with the permission of an intelligent husband.”
His brow furrowed. “It is a coil, I grant.”
“Why thank you, Your Grace.”
He let out a strange but delicious rumble of protest.
“Your Grace?” she queried.
“I cannot condone this,” he said abruptly, his voice deep and rough.
“Have I overstepped?” she asked, a wave of trepidation threatening her. “I thought since we were such good friends as children—”
“You must call me Blackstone, at the very least,” he cut in.
She smiled, understanding. It did seem odd to have to be so formal after all they’d done together. “Well, I cannot call you Rob.”
His gaze narrowed and something lit with in his eyes. “That would be. . .”
“Inappropriate.”
“Dangerous,” he countered.
“Dangerous,” she scoffed.
“Yes. Dangerous,” he replied, his eyes growing dark. “For only my family calls me Rob.”
She found herself disappointed, which made little to no sense. “And I’m not family.”
“Indeed, no.”
“Only your family?” she prompted suddenly.
“Why do you ask?”
The openness she’d always shared with him seemed to loosen her tongue and she asked before she could give consideration to her words. “Well, surely there are ladies. . . do they always call you Blackstone.”
“Lady Harriet.” He stifled a stunned laugh. Pausing, he grinned. “I cannot believe my ears. Well, I suppose I can. You always were a shocking minx.”
She gave him a cheeky smile. “And you adored it.”
“I did,” he confirmed readily, guiding her easily about the floor. “I can’t bear a sheep.”
She sighed. “Alas, I fear I shall be bahing for several months at least.”
“Months?” he queried.
“Once I am married, I can shed my wool, don’t you see?”
“You mean to find a husband this year?” he all but bellowed.
She blinked rapidly just as the music came to a close. Rather quiet now, he led her off the floor. But then she stopped him. “Why is that so appalling?”
Staring down at her, he said solemnly, “It is a very important decision, a future spouse.”
“Indeed, it is. But I am also eager for the independence such a thing will bring.”
“Independence,” he echoed.
“Yes. From the sheep.”
The look upon his face was nigh unreadable. But then he said, “I wish you happy hunting.”
She laughed, unable to stop herself. He had to have known she would marry soon. Didn’t all young ladies?
As he bowed, she watched his powerful form retreat back to the corner of the room and she thought, let the hunting begin, indeed.
“I’m sorry about that, old chap.”
Rob swallowed a good dose of brandy then turned to Harley who had snuck up on him quietly. “For what may I ask?”
Harley winced, but it couldn’t quite hide the amusement in his gaze. “I saw Mother ambush you.”
Rob held his glass up, admiring the cut of the crystal, as he acknowledged, “Well, I did ask you to dance with Mary.”
“You did but I know it is impossible to tell Mother no.”
A smile tilted Rob’s lips as he thought of Harley’s mother. “You know how I like her.”
Harley nodded. “You like the whole family, really. As we do you.”
“Indeed. Your sister seems to be determined to wed,” he blurted. As soon as the words were past his lips, he wished he could retract them for they were likely very out of place.
Harley’s eyes widened. “Does she? Given her mulish stubbornness, I find her throwing herself at marriage to be ill advised but I won’t stand in her way.”
“Someone should.”
Harley’s brows lifted, clearly taken aback by the intensity of Rob’s proclamation. “I beg your pardon.”
“All I say is, be extremely careful in her choice of husband.” He thought of her at the mercy of a husband. A bad husband. His grip tightened on his snifter. “She’s too wonderful a lady to be risked to some lout.”
Harley didn’t protest but studied him carefully. “Certainly, old man. Certainly. I’m sure you’ll do the same for Mary.”
Oh, he would. Whoever Mary married would have to pass considerable tests lest she find herself attached to a complete lecher like their father and older brother. The idea of a good young lady tortured by such a husband made his stomach turn.
Harley paused, his gaze traveling about the small, masculine room decorated with portraits of horses and hounds. As soon as he was clearly certain they were alone he said, “It’s been some time since we’ve seen you at Number 79.”
Rob ground his teeth. The comment was expected but not welcome. “I’ve had several affairs to attend to.”
“For the last year?” Harley asked, obviously not taken in.
“The death of my father has led to a great deal of business.”
“Of course,” Harley said carefully. “But surely you could use the company of friends.”
It was his friends that he could not bear to be around. For how could he hide the truth from them once in the safety of their ranks? Oh, he knew there were rumors of his financial troubles, but through considerable manipulation and his life upon the road, he’d kept most of it hidden.
That would be over very soon.
How was h
e going to look them all in the eye?
“Say you’ll come,” Harley urged.
He stared at Harley, at the man who had been by his side through so much, and knew immediately that there was no way around it. For what sane denial could he give? None. “Of course. I shall see you—”
“Come this week,” Harley broke in, determined. “Drake just arrived in town.”
Drake. The man who had really started it all. If it hadn’t been for that day so long ago now, they would not have created a mutual sanctuary and Rob did not know if he and the others could have remained such close friends given the tempestuousness of life.
At last, Rob nodded.
“Good.” Harley smiled knowingly. “Notes will go out.”
They had long ago established a method of ensuring a meeting. A single, black-edged note with the simple word, Here and a series of numbers which indicated a date and time scrolled on it would be sent out to the dukes. There was never an address.
But the rendezvous always took place at Number 79. A place they used for many things to hide its true nature.
Harley suddenly scowled. “Damnation.”
“What?” Rob asked, surprised by his sudden turn.
“My sister seems to be a success,” Harley growled as he spotted her through the tall doorway.
Rob’s own insides did the strangest thing at the mention of Lady Harriet’s success. He shoved it aside. “Is that such a terrible thing?”
“I loathe callers,” Harley drawled. “No doubt, I’ll wake up to a greenhouse in the salon tomorrow morning and a house full of waxed ponces.”
Rob laughed, but he did not feel mirth. They’d gone to considerable length to ensure that the morning room and the foyer were still adequately furnished to receive callers. The rest of the house was a veritable shell. He picked up most of the decent pieces in the East End in second hand shops. No doubt, the furniture of men who’d sold every last thing they had.
Harley’s eyes narrowed and his breath caught in his throat, as if truly seeing Rob for the first time for some months. “You look quite morbid.”
