Page 3 of Unraveled By the Duke
“May I fetch you a fresh glass, Colonel Savage?” she asked in a demure voice.
Herbert grinned. “Why yes, you may, Lady Celia. Kindly observe closely next time and have a glass on hand before I finishthe previous one, eh? Oh, and find me a pork pie. Something substantial to eat that isn’t this French muck.”
She inclined her head and left in search of a servant.
A servant I shall be deliberately blind to no matter how many of them I see. I shall be away for as long as possible.
“I will help you, Celia!” Aurelia called out, hurrying after her.
They lost themselves in the crowd, arm in arm. Celia did not mention Herbert Savage, and neither did Aurelia. Both knew what the other was thinking.
Celia walked past three footmen bearing trays of wine glasses, wandering aimlessly until a voice from behind stopped them both.
“Aurelia! Over here, my dear friend!”
It was Miss Lavinia Dunnings, daughter of the Viscount Alvey.
“Lavinia! Oh, how beautiful you look. Is that a new gown?”
Celia turned to see her sister greeting Lavinia. She noted the use of first names by both women. They were acquaintances, friends even, to show such familiarity.
Lavinia looked darkly beautiful and clung to the arm of… a certain tall and savagely handsome man. Celia flushed as his eyes met hers.
“It is, Holcombe’s of Oxford Street. And I guess you took my recommendation and commissioned one of Mrs. Holcombe’s creations yourself,” Lavinia observed.
Aurelia did a twirl to show off her bejeweled, glittering dress, smiling happily.
Celia stood quietly, unable to look away from Lavinia’s companion for very long. He seemed bored, and his eyes roamed around the room. But every few seconds, she felt his icy gaze on her like a physical touch. Each time it happened, a shiver would run through her that made her knees tremble and the hair on the nape of her neck stand up.
“I am Celia Frid, daughter of the Earl of Scovell,” she heard herself say.
A voice at the back of her mind shrieked at her, demanding to know what madness had possessed her.
Why should I not speak to him? I have no desire to speak to Lavinia, and he looks as bored as anything.
He looked at her, lips curved in the shadow of a smile. A cruel smile, or perhaps the beginnings of a snarl. There was somethingabout him that was primitive and frightening. But also alluring and intensely exciting.
What would it be like to be kissed by those lips? The very idea made her face redden.
“Are you too warm?” he asked. “You seem quite flushed.”
“It is warm. So many people and candles,” Celia stammered. “I think I need some fresh air.”
“I am the Duke of Cheverton,” he introduced himself.
Celia knew the title. She had heard the gossip and rumors about this man. A rake and a gambler who had almost bankrupted his family. A cruel man, glacially cold and uncaring about anyone but himself.
She felt a thrill of fear, mixed with attraction and intrigue. This was not a man with whom she should be associating. Not a safe man to be caught in conversation with. Not a respectable man.
“Has the cat got your tongue, as they say?” he asked with a supercilious smile.
“I have not heard that expression,” Celia admitted.
“It refers to someone who does not speak.”
“Oh, you were equally quiet, I think.”
“It was not I who initiated the conversation,” the Duke pointed out.
