The Devil In Disguise (4 page)

Northrop made his way to his wife’s side and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “Lady Northrop, have I told you how lovely you look tonight?”

“Only twice in the last hour,” she answered, her violet eyes filled with amusement.

The gaggle of young men acknowledged Northrop’s presence with brief nods before returning their full attention to Lady Lucinda, who stood transfixed by something behind them.

Confused, all of them turned, then flinched in unison upon seeing the duke.

“Gentlemen,” he said, giving each an intense look of warning before returning his gaze to Lady Lucinda.

Mumbling various and assorted excuses, the men hastily said their good-byes to the ladies before scattering to the four corners of the room.

Will stepped closer to the trio and waited for Northrop to make the introduction. He couldn’t take his eyes off Lady Lucinda. The low buzz and whirr of the room all but stopped for Will as he rocovered his poise.

“Your Grace, it’s been some time since we’ve had the pleasure of conversing,” Lady Northrop said.

It took a moment for Will’s addled brain to resume functioning. He looked at Lady Northrop, noticing too late the hint of confusion playing across her features.

Snap out of it, man
.

“Lady Northrop, it’s been far too long,” Will replied, even though he knew full well that, for Lady Northrop, it hadn’t been long enough. She’d never been unkind to him, but it had been clear from the beginning of Northrop’s courtship she’d been less than ecstatic over her husband’s friendship with him. He couldn’t blame her. Really, what upstanding young wife would look to encourage her husband in spending time with a reprobate?

He bowed over Lady Northrop’s hand, catching sight of Lady Lucinda’s curious look as he did so. She smiled at being caught and a dimple flashed at the corner of her mouth.
For the love of all that’s holy
, he thought with bemusement,
how was a man expected to concentrate with such a creature about?

He looked at Northrop, who’d been taking in the interaction with keen interest. Leveling a final warning look, his friend began the introduction. “Lady Lucinda, may I present to you His Grace, the Duke of Clairemont.”

For a moment Will felt time begin to slow again. He shook off the spell as best he could and forced his lips to move. “Lady Lucinda, it is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He accepted her offered hand and bowed, covertly taking in the length of her as he did so.

She curtsied low, the graceful movement placing her breasts directly in his line of sight.

Will fought the urge to linger and looked at her face, catching an arched eyebrow and, perhaps, the merest hint of a satisfied smile.

She rose slowly. “Your Grace, it is a great honor to meet the infamous Iron Will.”

It was his face—more specifically, his smile—that caused Lucinda’s heart to skip a beat for the third time that evening. A young boy caught doing something he should not, that smile said. Utterly charming and devoid of any lechery, unlike the myriad men before him, who’d failed her test.

Amelia had scolded her on a multitude of occasions for shamelessly using her physical attributes in an attempt to separate out the men looking for more than a pretty face from the men looking for … well, looking.

And, while the Duke of Clairemont was clearly admiring her for something other than her brain, Lucinda couldn’t quite muster the indignation to be offended.

Perhaps it was more than his smile. Perhaps it was his fierce stare, which she’d noticed almost immediately from across the crowded ballroom. She’d turned, and her heart had skipped a beat. The man had called to her with that piercing, focused stare; his eyes, as she could now clearly see, were a deep hazel.

She’d tried to ignore him, tried to pretend that her heart had not quickened the moment he’d walked into the room. She had to maintain her composure, converse with her companions with something that at least approximated intelligence.

But it was no use. She kept glancing about, trying to find him again despite her best intentions. She was utterly distracted, a complete ninny. No fewer than three gentlemen had asked if she was overheated.

And then she’d spotted him again, speaking with Lord Northrop in what appeared to be a serious conversation.

Suddenly, without warning, the duke stalked toward her. He moved like a force majeure. Was it his size that made him command such attention, or his demeanor—his gaze never leaving hers, a determined set to his brow that could not be mistaken for anything but purpose.

And then, right next to her, Amelia said with a sigh, “How odd that His Grace would choose to attend Lady Mansfield’s ball. Truly, there must be a full moon.”

Lucinda took a deep breath then hastily drank her lemonade. She wasn’t a mere miss with little or no experience with men. She was, in fact, six-and-twenty and, if one cared to ask any of the grande dames in attendance, painfully past ready for the shelf. No, the ton acknowledged that Lady Lucinda Grey had never, ever, been laid low by a man.

Which was why it was particularly frustrating for Lucinda when her heart missed a beat yet again.
Blast
, she thought to herself as the man in question stopped mere feet from her.

She couldn’t look away.

Or was it that she wouldn’t?

“Lady Lucinda, may I present to you His Grace, the Duke of Clairemont.”

Lucinda started at the sound of Lord Northrop’s voice, his words snapping the spell that held her.

The duke made a polite remark and then it was Lucinda’s turn to respond. “Your Grace, it is a great honor to meet the infamous Iron Will.”

She could hardly believe she’d dared use the man’s questionable sobriquet, a sentiment shared by all three of her companions, if their looks of astonishment were any indication.

But slowly, the duke’s surprised expression turned to delight, his full lips curving in an amused smile. “Lady Lucinda, I believe I like you already.”

A small laugh escaped Lucinda’s lips. She considered giving him a vaguely polite response, but the obvious enjoyment in his eyes made her reconsider. “You are something altogether different, Your Grace, aren’t you?”

He moved ever so slightly closer. “You’ve no idea, Lady Lucinda. No idea.”

Lucinda had to force herself to remain still, hold her ground, and not close the small space that separated her from the duke. What was it about this man that made her act differently? Feel differently?
Want
differently?

Staring into his bottomless eyes, full of mischief before, and now—well, only Lucifer himself could say, Lucinda wondered what made her want to find out. “Is that a challenge, Your Grace?” she asked with light curiosity, her tone matching his.

It was the duke’s turn to laugh. “I believe it is, Lady Lucinda. The question is, are you inclined to accept?”

Lucinda’s mouth went dry and her mind raced. Surely such questionable banter was beyond acceptable behavior, even for a lady of six-and-twenty.

This was Iron Will. A man with a rake’s reputation. A man polite society had deemed wild and unruly. Were it not for his title as the Duke of Clairemont, he might very well have banned from tonight’s ball.

To further the acquaintance would be impossible. Unthinkable. Madness.

She threw caution to the wind.

“Let the games begin,” she answered, her mouth curving into a wicked grin before she offered her hand to the duke.

“Indeed.”

He was careful to keep his distance, all too aware his failure in this endeavor would mean his death. Not that death itself was a concern. No, not when one lived an existence such as his. But dying would be so inconvenient and, to be quite honest, terribly dull when compared to spending the coin he’d been promised if he succeeded in capturing the wealthy English Woman.

The possibilities for purchases were endless. Whores. The best wine. An exquisite wig made of real human hair that would make the perfect addition to his exhaustive collection of disguises. More whores.

The ballroom was crowded but he adroitly slipped between chattering groups, avoiding collisions. But an inebriated pig of a man staggered, lurching into him and bumping his arm, nearly sending the tray of champagne he carried crashing to the floor.

“Imbécile,”
he muttered under his breath, cursing his need to masquerade as a servant. Still, the disguise had afforded him entry into the Mansfields’ palatial town house and provided access to the target. He’d been unprepared for the complication presented by the bear of a man conversing with her, however. He’d recognized the man on sight, a familiar foe who’d made appearances in his life unscathed up until this point.

The Duke of Clairemont could well prove a problem if Garenne did not adjust his plans accordingly.

He was a creature of habit with a nearly psychotic need for exactitude. The thought of altering his well-thought-out mission caused Garrene’s throat to constrict, the heat of the room doing little to ease him. Pain stabbed just behind his right eye, only once, but it was followed by the inexorable tightening of an invisible band at his temples. The warning was explicit. He needed to leave the ballroom. Now.

Shortening the time line is of no consequence
, he assured himself, impatiently stopping to allow a whale of a woman to pass by.
In fact, it will only mean I may return home that much sooner
.

His throat relaxed slowly as he absorbed the improved plan. The invisible iron band around his head eased and the pain slowly lessened.
Yes, I’ll take the woman tomorrow and be done with this filthy country forever
.

He snaked, nimble and unnoticed, through the crowd as he made his way to the kitchens to refill his tray of champagne glasses.

“May I have this dance?” Will asked, bowing before Lady Lucinda with every ounce of gentlemanly grace he could summon.

She slowly extended a gloved hand, her eyes fixed firmly on his.

“Lucinda, dear, I believe your dance card is completely full,” Lady Northrop began, the tension in her voice causing the entire party to turn.

“Amelia …” Northrop wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her close. “Let Lucinda be. Surely one dance will not overset the entire evening?”

“No, of course not,” Lady Northrop answered quickly. “One dance couldn’t possibly be of any consequence. I’ll hold back the tide of your suitors,” she said, looking directly at Lady Lucinda with an earnest glance, “but do hurry back.”

Lucinda released Will’s hand and patted Lady Northrop on the arm. “One dance, then, and I’m certain there will be no need for a queue on my behalf. However, I trust you will ask Lady Mansfield to clear the front hall if the need arises, won’t you?” she teased, squeezing Lady Northrop’s arm with affectionate reassurance.

Lady Northrop relaxed her grip on her husband’s arm and gave Lucinda a small private smile. “Of course.”

Will turned Lucinda toward the dance floor, surprised by his determination to have her to himself surprising him.

“Is there a reason we must make haste, Your Grace?” she asked.

He stepped onto the marble floor and gently pulled Lady Lucinda with him. “Only that I cannot resist the waltz,” he said, glancing at the musicians as they readied for the next dance.

She followed his gaze, taking note of their preparations before looking back at him. She arched an eyebrow. “Of course,” she answered.

Will settled his free hand at her waist, vividly aware the gently rounded slope of her bottom curved just beyond his fingertips. Without conscious intent, his grip firmed and his fingers moved lightly over the soft silk of her gown, testing the heat and supple warmth beneath.

A faint shiver rippled through the woman in his arms and Lady Lucinda eased away from his touch in one swift small step.

Her gaze met his and in the brief moment before her lowered lashes shielded her expression from him, Will thought he glimpsed the same heat and surprise that raced through his veins.

Had she too felt the attraction sparking between them? Did she want to explore the unknown feeling as much as he did?

If she’d only raise her lashes, he could search for answers.

“And you, Lady Lucinda, do you enjoy waltzing?” he asked, after a frustrating moment when she appeared enthralled by his cravat.

His ploy worked. Lucinda’s thick lashes swept up and she met his gaze. “It depends upon my partner, I suppose.”

Her poise was once more intact. But there was a glimmer of something, though Will could not be sure precisely what it was.

The music began and she followed him gracefully as he swung her into the steps. “Yes, indeed, a skilled partner is truly a necessity,” he murmured, rewarded by the barely perceptible tensing of her slim fingers against his palm as he urged her slightly closer.

Satisfied that she wasn’t immune to the strange spell he felt binding them together, Will easily led Lady Lucinda in the simple pattern of whirls and twirls.

Will knew the loftier ladies of the ton had termed the waltz the “forbidden dance” due to the proximity required of partners. Privately, he could only wonder at the naïvety of anyone who considered something of such a tame nature “forbidden.”

Though, he had to admit, he was finding it hard to focus on his duty with this particular woman in his arms.

Lady Lucinda was the perfect partner—all lightness and grace as the two revolved around the room. The delicate scent of her perfume teased his nostrils with each movement. Although they only touched where her hand lay on his and his hand rested at her waist, the supple flex and sway of her body was pure temptation. Her diamond earbobs caught the candlelight, glittering as the dance pattern repeated and he swung her in smooth turns.

He could have watched her all night. The swift turns and pure enjoyment of the dance heightened her color. Would she turn that same shade of pink in his bed, he wondered. His Groin tightened at the swift mental image of Lady Lucinda stripped of her evening wear and lying underneath him.

“Your Grace?”

He forced the picture from his head and looked down at Lady Lucinda. “Yes?”