The Duke and the Lady in Red (30 page)

She had sought to take advantage of him, only to find herself falling madly in love with him.

H
arry was overwhelmed by the night, the ­people, the games of chance, the astounding luck he seemed to have with them. Everyone was so kind, but it was all too much. He had met two young ladies who looked exactly alike. He couldn't remember their first names now, only their last: Swindler. Their father was an inspector with Scotland Yard, and for a moment he'd worried about Rose, but then he'd seen her strolling with her duke, and he'd known nothing would happen to her.

Still, he'd told the two ladies that he would like a moment with her, so they'd been kind enough to escort him to the ballroom. Only a few ­couples were dancing in the magnificent room with the gorgeous crystal chandeliers and the orchestra playing in the balcony.

Rose and her duke were on the dance floor waltzing. Harry knew the dance because Rose had once circled a room with him, shown him the steps when he was still able to walk without the cane, before he was so easily thrown off balance. Now he simply enjoyed watching the grace of her movements, the joy reflected on her face as the duke held her close. She was happy, and Rose deserved that so much.

And that made him happy. Happier than he'd ever been.

“Mr. Longmore.”

His name was a soft, slow purr. Turning slightly, he saw the most beautiful woman he'd ever set eyes on. Her hair was woven from moonbeams, her eyes were sparkling sapphires. She was tall, but composed of curves. He felt the heat warm his face because he noticed the dips and swells. The duke wouldn't grow warm like this. The duke would merely look until he was content. No, his friend would take her to the shadows and hold her, kiss her. Harry wanted to do the same. He was embarrassed, ashamed that he would have such a thought. She would no doubt scream if he got too close.

She smiled, joy wreathing her face as she met and held his gaze. “I've been searching some time for you.”

“Have you?” he croaked, wondering what had happened to his voice to make it go so deep, so rough.

“Indeed I have. I'm Aphrodite.”

He wasn't surprised she was named for a goddess. He envisioned her in a diaphanous gown, the wind swirling around only her as though the rest of the world didn't require gentle breezes. She was worthy of poetry, and words began flittering through his mind.

“Will you dance with me?” she asked.

The poetic words, all thought stopped. He wanted what she asked for more than he wanted to breathe, but no choice remained except to shake his head with regret. “I'm sorry, but I can't. I might lose my balance.” And the wonderful night would be ruined as everyone witnessed his clumsiness at its worse. He would no longer be able to pretend he wasn't a great oaf.

“I'm extremely skilled at ensuring men don't lose their balance.” She moved in, placed one delicate hand lightly on his shoulder, another on his arm, on his hideous arm, but she appeared not at all revolted. “We don't have to follow the music. We can just sway if you like.”

He liked it very much, liked her nearness. She smelled of oranges.

“Are you a friend of the duke?” he asked.

“Sometimes. But tonight I'm your friend.”

Harry was relatively certain it was because the duke had asked her to be. The duke had answered a good many of Harry's questions regarding women, but each discovery led to another question until he felt as though he were being swallowed in a vortex where a thousand queries swirled, waiting for him to pluck out the next. The duke had assured him that if he lived to be a hundred, he'd never uncover all the answers.

“Women are a mystery, my friend, which only serves to make us want them all the more,” the duke had said.

At long last, while swaying extremely slowly with this woman incredibly near, her breasts brushing against his chest, her long, slender legs in danger of becoming entangled with his, Harry finally understood what the duke had been striving to teach him. That no one question, no one answer applied to every woman. Each woman was unique, each provided a very different experience. He knew so little about Aphrodite, but he discovered he wanted to know everything, but already he knew that a lifetime wouldn't provide all the answers.

But there were certainly adventures to be had in trying to uncover them.

D
ancing with Avendale was different from when she'd danced with him the first night when they'd met. She was as aware of him, but she wasn't frightened that he would discover her secrets, that he had the power to ruin all her plans. Before he'd been an enigma, a curiosity, a possible means to an end. She had wanted to use him.

Now she wished there had never been any deception between them, no bargains struck. She wished that she had trusted him sooner, that they had come to where they were through mutual wants. On the other hand, she was pragmatic enough to realize that she would never be more than an ornament in his life.

While those closest to him might have been bold enough to cast societal rules aside and marry those not of their class, Avendale would want nothing to do with her if he understood the full extent of her deceptions and swindles. Oh, he might still want her plump breasts and sweet thighs, he might still yearn to skim his hands over every inch of her flesh, he might still desire her body cradled beneath his, but he wouldn't want her for a wife. He would tire of her eventually.

And she would tire of the life he provided. Not that she didn't appreciate all the comforts, but her daily routine would offer no challenges—­just pleasing him, doing whatever he wanted, even if what he desired was exactly what she wished to bestow. She would grow bored without her plotting and conniving.

When the time came for them to part all she would have were the memories. The wonderful, glorious, marvelous memories. The way his eyes never strayed from hers as they waltzed. The slight smile that promised another sort of waltz later in the night, in his bed, where the music would be a crescendo of their moans, sighs, and cries.

Oh, she was going to miss him. While she knew it could be years before that came to pass, she could not help but believe that their parting was going to come much too soon.

He circled her around the floor, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Harry in a beauty's arms. Dancing—­at least as much as he was able. Her heart tightened, swelled at the pleasure written on his face, and yet she worried that the woman might ask more of him than he could deliver.

“Who is that woman dancing with Harry?” she asked.

Avendale didn't even bother to look to the side, so she knew he must have been aware of their presence. For how long? she wondered.

“Her name is Aphrodite.”

“Truly?”

He shrugged. “Probably not. Just as you are not Mrs. Sharpe. ­People change their names for all sorts of reasons, so I wouldn't judge her too harshly if I were you.”

“I'm not judging her, but I do want to ensure she doesn't take advantage of Harry.”

“Oh, I suspect he wouldn't mind if she did.”

“Is she the sort who would?”

“With the proper incentive.”

“Which you no doubt provided. Is she one of the charities you've given to over the years?” She despised the jealousy that rifled through her voice.

He gave her an understanding smile and that irritated her even more. “She is one of the women with whom I grew bored, even though she is remarkably talented and quite free with her affections.”

In his voice, his tone, she heard no lingering desire for this Aphrodite. He might as well be explaining how a gentleman put on his trousers. Still, she had come to understand his relationship with her brother well enough to know the incentive behind the woman's appearance. “You brought her here to entertain Harry.”

“He's a man, Rose. We talked about a good many things late at night in my library. He's curious about women. It seemed a sin for his curiosity not to be sated.” He pinned her with a daring stare. “You said you trusted me.”

“I do. I'm just not certain if I can trust her.”

“She has a heart of gold.”

As she glanced over, she saw that Harry had stopped dancing, that he and the woman were leaving the ballroom, arm in arm. “What if she hurts him?”

“What if the building crumbles in on top of us?”

She jerked her gaze back to Avendale. He gave her a gentle smile, one she'd never seen, one that captured her heart, squeezed it. “You can't always protect him, sweetheart. Let him be a man tonight, enjoy the pleasures found in the company of a willing woman.”

“It hurts so to grow up.”

“I know. I spent years of my life trying not to. But for all its pain, there are rewards aplenty.”

Reaching up, she cupped his jaw, feathered her fingers through his hair. Sometimes she wished she hadn't grown up at such a young age, been forced to run off and survive by any means possible, but then if she hadn't, she might have never met him. There would have always been something missing in her life. She would have felt its absence without truly understanding what it was. This man had taught her what it was to share a goal with someone, to work together, to have a common bond. “Where my brother is concerned, you think of so many things that he might want or need that never occurred to me.”

“He's your baby brother. You would protect him with your dying breath. For me, he's a reminder of youth, how fleeting it is, often filled with unfortunate choices and yet some of them provide us with the best memories. And he's someone with whom I can share all the wicked things I've done through the years. He's replaced Lovingdon as my partner in debauchery.”

“You've proven my point,” she said. “Do you know how much it would please him to know that you hold him in such esteem? It would make him feel ever so manly, ever so accepted.”

“Perhaps you can tell him later. Meanwhile, let's finish the dance, then find a darkened corner. I'm in want of another kiss.”

And she fell just a little bit further in love with him.

I
t was half past one when Rose found Harry sitting in the gentlemen's parlor with Merrick, Sally, and Joseph. And Aphrodite. She sat beside him on the sofa, holding his good hand, stroking it with her long, slender fingers, while her smile radiated warmth and gentleness. When Harry looked at her, Rose could see that he, too, had fallen a little bit in love.

“Is it time to go?” Harry asked.

It might have sounded like an inquiry to the others, but she heard the weariness in his voice, knew that he was ready to leave—­no matter how desperately he might wish to stay. She also knew that he had no desire to hurt anyone's feelings, that he didn't want their leaving to be on him. So she took on the responsibility. “I'm afraid it is,” she said kindly. “It's quite late, my feet hurt, and I'm dreadfully tired.”

He turned his attention to Aphrodite. “I have to leave now.”

She cupped his face, kissed his cheek. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

Rising with grace and elegance, she began to walk away. Avendale stopped her and exchanged hushed words that Rose couldn't decipher.

Sally got out of her chair and gave Harry a hug where he was sitting. “Thanks, duck, for the fun evening. We miss having you with us, but what adventures you've been on.”

“They've been the best, Sally, but I've missed you, too.”

“We'll come see you for dinner tomorrow,” Merrick said as he clapped him on the shoulder.

Harry nodded, although his movements seemed more laborious and slow. “Yes, all right. That would be grand.”

Joseph stood and helped Harry to his feet. He merely gave Harry a sharp bob of his head, which Harry returned before walking over to Rose. “I'm ready.”

Avendale was waiting for them at the door that led into the main gambling salon. When they arrived, Rose saw the gauntlet of ­people—­footmen, croupiers, musicians, commoners, and nobles—­queued up across the gaming room until they reached the entrance.

“They'd like to say good night,” Avendale said.

And so they did. The gentlemen shook his hand, the women kissed him on the cheek or gave him a hug. Kind words flowed.

“Lovely to meet you.”

“Thank you for joining us.”

“Pleasure.”

“Take care.”

Rose thought she would never, ever be able to thank Avendale enough for the gift of this evening. No matter what she promised him, no matter what he asked, it would never be enough.

They were quiet in the coach as they traveled home. Rose was absorbing the night. She suspected Harry was doing the same. Gerald was waiting in the foyer when they arrived.

“Master Harry, I take it you had an entertaining evening.”

“I did.” He looked at Rose. “I would like a drink, though.”

“Didn't you have enough at the club?”

He nodded. “But I want one more with you, with you and the duke.”

“My library or yours?” Avendale asked.

“Mine.”

They walked down the hallway to Harry's smaller library. Gerald saw to it that a small fire was burning in the hearth.

“Ring for me when you're ready for bed, sir,” Gerald said.

“I will,” Harry promised. “Thank you, Gerald, for everything.”

“It is my utmost pleasure, sir.” Back straight and stiff, he strode from the room.

“Here, Harry,” Rose said, tugging on his jacket. “Let's get you comfortable while Avendale pours the drinks.” She helped him out of his jacket, unbuttoned his waistcoat, loosened his neck cloth. “Go ahead and take a chair.”

“A gentleman—­”

“I know what a gentleman does, but you're my brother, and I can see how weary you are. Sit.”

He didn't argue further, but dropped into the large plush chair. Avendale brought over their drinks and guided Rose to the settee. She watched as her brother slowly drank his scotch, seemed to savor it.