Page 24 of Duke of Wickedness
Well. That had been…
All at once, she erupted into a fit of giggles. Goodness gracious. How had she neverknownthat she could do such things to herself? How had she gotten to one and twenty years old without knowing that she could find suchfeelingsfrom her own touch?
As quickly as they had overtaken her, the laughter faded as a question occurred to her.
If the duke could lead her to this kind of pleasure with just a few suggestive words, muttered in one quiet moment in the hallway of a dinner party, what could he offer her if she took him up on his offer?
This had been marvelous, but was theremore?
“Blast,” she said quietly into the darkness of her room.
Was this why men were so obsessed with physical intimacy? Ariadne didn’t want to go so far as to say something outrageous likemen might have a point, but…
But this had beenintriguing.
And she was starving to know more.
Because what if? What if she learned something phenomenal? What if she learned something that made her feel—feel likethis?
She was on her feet before she’d even made the conscious decision to get out of bed. It might be the middle of the night, but she needed to knowright now.
Maybe physical intimacy made one have absurd ideas. That reallywouldexplain a lot about men, actually.
Yet, like generations of forefathers before her, apparently, Ariadne didn’t pause to second-guess what was no doubt a very foolish decision.
Instead, she dressed quietly, slipped from her room, and bribed the coachman to take her to the Duke of Wilds’ house.
Unlike the previous time she’d snuck out to Bacchus House after dark, the house was quiet—and illuminated by a few errant flickering lights here and there, indicating that this time, at least, the windows were not covered. Most of the lights were upstairs, too, indicating that the household was not yet abed, but was no longer entertaining.
No party tonight, then. Good. That would make it easier for her to get an audience with the duke.
And would save her from seeing anything that made her look as though she was some naïve little girl, seeking answers from the dark, dangerous duke.
She was not, after all, the hapless heroine in some fairy story, destined to meet a dark end. This washerdecision.
Thinking of Helen’s story about first getting to know Xander—while resolutelynotletting herself think of any details—Ariadne eschewed the front entrance and slipped around back, to where servants and deliveries would be received. She rapped politely at the door, waited, then knocked just a little bit more insistently.
The ensuing wait was long enough that she was torn between knocking again—which would have been the height of rudeness, especially given the hour—and giving up, which really did not feel like an acceptable outcome. Just when she began to tip in the direction of doubt, however, the door opened, revealing a butler who seemed, it had to be said, enormously baffled.
“Good evening?” he said, more question than statement.
This was not encouraging, but Ariadne squared her shoulders and gave the man what she hoped was the right level of smile—apologetic for the hour, confident lest he be tempted to send him away, with just atouchof aristocratic poise. It was the kind of smile she would have used if she were at a ball, cornered into making a faintly unflattering observation about a mutual acquaintance.
“Good evening,” she said breezily. “Is His Grace in?”
The butler’s look of confusion deepened, but it vanished quickly; clearly, he was a little more awake than he had been moments ago, and that meant his training was kicking in.
“He is,” he said, then hesitated. “But miss—my lady.” He peered around her into the darkness. “You do realize… That is, it is rather late in the evening.”
It was the height of lunacy—this whole conversation smacked of the farcical—but Ariadne actually looked over her shoulder, too, as if she might find anything other than darkness.
“Yes,” she said, scrambling to regather her confidence. “I do realize. Even so. I would like to speak with His Grace.”
The butler paused again, and Ariadne had a sudden flash of wondering if perhaps she hadn’t read this entire thing incorrectly. What if—ohGod, what if—the reason this butler was acting so confounded was a ploy to cover up for the fact that the dukewas already with a woman?
Oh goodness. Oh, hell, ofcoursehe was already with a woman. What did she think? Did she really think that he would sit around waiting for some curious virgin to come knocking at his door? Did she really think herself so intriguing? No, he was likely in there with some experienced, confident, buxom courtesan. No,twobuxom courtesans? Or even—goodness, how many were too many? And there was more proof, really—she didn’t even know how many women were too many women!
“Ah, I—um. Unless he has—ah. Company?”
