The Courtesan's Secret (22 page)

That seemed entirely reasonable to her.

Unfortunately, she hadn't anticipated the depth and breadth of Blakeley's response.

"Oh, this matters," he said in a soft snarl. "I am not for practice. I am not a game piece you move about the board in your efforts to win Dutton."

He knew about Dutton? Of course, she'd suspected that
he
suspected, but to have it so boldly thrown in her face, it was unbearable. Just how many people knew she had a
tendre
for Dutton?

"I never said—"

He took a step nearer and put one hand hard over her mouth, and with the other, he pulled her up so that she stood toe-to-toe with him.

"When I'm with you, you'll think of me. When I'm not with you, you'll think of me. You'll do this because I'll kiss you until the only thought left in your head is of me, my mouth, my hands, my name. But I'll not ruin you, Louisa, never that. You'll be safe from that, but not from
me
."

He was breathing into her face, his eyes glistening and hard in the soft light, the sounds of his brother's celebration coming to them from beyond the door, his weight a presence she could feel against the soft muslin of her dress. He didn't move. She didn't move. She'd never known such force, such energy was hidden behind Blakesley's cool and cynical exterior. She was entirely certain that she wasn't meant to know, that no one was meant to know.

She breathed softly and held his gaze, their eyes locked, their breath coming in tandem.

When he moved his hand from off her mouth, she didn't move. He didn't move. They stared and studied each other until she thought she'd die from the examination. Things simply could not stand as they were. She did not care to be examined, especially by Blakesley, whom, it was suddenly clear, saw too much.

With the most casual inflection imaginable, she said, "Of course you'll not ruin me, Blakes. Did you think I'd allow that? What will happen is that I will ruin you."

He gave a short bark of laughter before she pulled him down to her and her mouth captured his again. He responded instantly. It was a kiss of passion, or that was her nearest guess. Perfect.

IT was less than perfect, that was certain. Amelia was seated nowhere near any available dukes, which surely was no accident, yet seated directly in between the lords Ruan and Dutton, which also appeared maliciously intentional. Amelia didn't know what she could have done to offend the Duchess of Hyde, but Molly seemed to have taken particular pleasure in seating her next to the exact two men she could have no possible interest in.

Dutton, for all that she could see, was a pure waste of skin. Rakes, and he definitely was one, held no interest for her at all. Why, even if he'd managed to be a duke she would have been hard-pressed to talk herself into pursuing him. Thank goodness there was no need. Dutton was not a duke, but he was her dinner companion, which meant she could not politely ignore him, as was her usual practice.

Ruan, on the other hand, was one of the best uses of skin and bone and muscle that she had seen in many years, and because of that, he was most dangerous to her resolve. Ruan was not a duke, but what Ruan
was
created problems. He was worldly, experienced, and handsome in an unfashionably rugged fashion. Ruan, truth be told, was a little bit frightening. The fact that Ruan was merely being polite to her and showed no special interest in her at all helped matters some, but only some.

But the worst aspect of her place at table, between two of the ton's most famous men of unmarried status, was that Aunt Mary was seated on the other side of Ruan, which clearly put her too close to Amelia. Louisa, mysteriously absent now for more than a few minutes, could evade Mary to some degree to pursue her amorous interests, but as Louisa's amorous interests were rigidly defined within the person of the Marquis of Dutton and not Mr. George Grey or the Marquis of Penrith, she didn't suppose not having to deal with Mary meant a thing to Louisa.

It shouldn't have meant anything to Amelia. After all, she was after a duke, and the closest duke to her at this precise moment was the Duke of Edenham, seated approximately fifteen people down from her and
across
, so there was no possibility of making any headway with him, not that she was certain she wanted to. Edenham was just the tiniest bit frightening, given his personal history. If at all possible, she'd prefer Iveston, or even Calbourne.

Though, at this point, after two Seasons out, she didn't suppose she could be very choosy. It was something of a miracle that there were three dukes or almost dukes available at once and one

shouldn't, and she never did, look a gift horse in the mouth.

Though where the gift horse was, she couldn't quite determine.

At the moment, her problem was Aunt Mary, for even though she did not want to encourage an alliance with either Ruan or Dutton, she also did not want Aunt Mary to embarrass her. Mary was very close,
very
close, to doing so.

Aunt Mary, for as often and as deeply as she drank, was foxed. Completely foxed, as opposed to nearly foxed or almost foxed or on her way to being foxed, all of which were her usual states. Completely foxed was something of a novelty, and Mary could not have chosen a more inconvenient time to toy with her degrees of drunkenness.

Amelia had worked and planned and schemed, in the most ladylike ways possible, naturally, to achieve this invitation for more than two years, ever since she'd been made aware that Iveston's birthday was celebrated in this fashion, and she couldn't, she simply
couldn't
allow Mary to ruin everything now.

Penrith, observing from across the table, seemed distantly amused. George Grey had noted Mary's slumped form and slurred words and then proceeded to ignore everything but the doorway through which Louisa had passed minutes ago.

Which, truly, did strike Amelia as more than peculiar. Of what interest could Louisa have for him? Had he just not met her only this very day? And was he not a stranger of sorts to London and all of London Society? What had Louisa
done
to the man to arouse his rather intense interest in just a few minutes of conversation?

Whatever it was, she'd like to copy it to the exact detail and use it in her next brush with Iveston. Or Calbourne. Or, if matters grew truly desperate, Edenham.

She did so hope that matters did not grow desperate.

She also, rather forlornly, it must be added, wondered if matters were not already desperate.

"Matters are not so desperate," Ruan said softly, causing her to jolt out of her thoughts and stare at him rather more closely than was proper. How had he known what she was thinking? "The wine is likely stronger than she expected and has caught her by the heels."

Oh. He was speaking of Mary. Well, that was better, although not really.

It was at that particular moment, one could almost say, poetically ironic moment, that Mary signaled the footman to pull back her chair and in raising her hand, knocked her cap askew.

"Shoddy service, at best," Mary grumbled none too softly, apparently drawing the conclusion that a footman had knocked her cap. It would have been preferable, that was certainly true. "I'm not," Mary continued, trying to stand before the chair had been fully removed and banging her knees against the wood, which caused her to topple forward, which naturally necessitated that she brace her hands on the table. As they were eating soup at the time, it sloshed over the rim of Mary's bowl, as well as Lord Penrith's. Mr. Grey saved his soup by simply lifting his bowl mere seconds before Mary made contact with the table.

It was an impressive bit of timing and speed, which she supposed the Indians of the Americas were rather known for.

"I'd say she is," Dutton said in dry humor, finishing Mary's unfinished pronouncement. "Definitely and completely."

Ruan merely smiled and watched Amelia, which was not at all helpful.

"I'm not," Mary said again, even more forcefully and this time fully on her feet so that she could scan the table and see everyone. And everyone could see her.

Small wonder that Amelia had such trouble in snaring a duke with help of this sort.

"At
all
," Mary said, her voice rising in tune with her temper, "tolerant of this, your grace." Upon which, naturally, every duke in the room, including and most specifically the Duke of Hyde, stopped eating to stare at Mary. "Lady Louisa is gone missing. Lord Henry is gone missing. I insist that she be found. This is not at all regular, not regular at all."

And, of course it wasn't, but did making public statements about it help anyone at all?

Being sober, Amelia thought the answer obvious. Unfortunately, Mary was not sober. It was at times like these, when everyone at the large table, a table that sat sixty-four comfortably, stared at Amelia, obviously seeking signs of the same disposition or deportment in the girl that was so prominently displayed in the girl's chaperone, when Amelia felt the need of a good, strong drink.

Naturally, she said nothing of the sort, but merely kept a pleasant, proper, polite, slightly perplexed look on her face.

It was a brilliant bit of execution on her part and it was only spoiled by the fact that the Marquis of Ruan, still smiling, slid her drink closer to her.

SOPHIA, almost twenty-five seats down from Mary, Lady Jordan, took a sip of her drink and smiled behind the rim of her glass. Where would the world be without chaperones?

"I do think she has a point," Sophia said in the general direction of both Robert Blakesley and George Blakesley, the second and third sons of Hyde.

Sophia was seated, providentially, right next to Henry Blakesley, Hyde's fourth son, and as his seat was currently and unmistakably empty, it made such obvious sense for her to cast her eyes in that direction and look with concern at Lord Henry's brothers. That Edenham was sitting in the same general vicinity and grinned at her comment she promptly ignored. Edenham had no part in this evening's entertainment, not at present, anyway.

"Do you?" snarled the Earl of Westlin, who was one of Sophia's most entertaining enemies and, by spectacular good fortune, her daughter's new father-in-law. They were now related. It was wonderful, for now, as family, she could torment Westlin until the day he died. Such fun.

It was somewhat unfortunate that Westlin had been seated across from her at dinner, but that he was five seats down made it more than bearable. He could see her, hear her, but was dissuaded from speaking to her. Perfection itself.

"But of course I do," Sophia said sweetly, which caused Westlin to frown in what he surely hoped was dreadful intimidation. Sophia laughed. "We can't have young, vibrant, unmarried people wandering about, can we, Lord Westlin? Surely such behavior among Britain's finest would lead to ruination?"

"You hope," he snarled, again.

Really, he was so limited in his forms of disapproval. She would have to see if she could help him improve on that. Westlin was a never-ending source of fun, made all the more amusing as he could not see it at all. Well, then, so few people saw themselves with any clarity at all, which made them even more amusing as a rule.

"Of course I hope," she said. "I hope we find them and that they have not got themselves into any mischief, though in such a well-run house as this, I hardly need worry."

A house with five unmarried sons in it. Was any house of that sort well-run?

Upon which the two Blakesleys closest to her stood as one, to be followed only slightly less closely by the youngest of the Blakesley brood, one Josiah Blakesley, who happened to be a particular and not altogether well-intentioned friend of Markham's. It was Josiah and Markham's poor luck that they had been dragged back from a frolic in Paris just the week before by John and his three sons. It was hardly to be expected that Josiah would cherish a friendship with George Grey, who he naturally saw as something of a jailor, though Sophia was certain that would pass in time, not that it mattered in any regard. Men must be managed, that was all there was to it, and if they pulled against the restraints, then it was merely a question of providing them with the proper training.