Page 68 of The Duke of Desire
“She became a bit dizzy.”
Bothwick chuckled. “I’ve seen that happen during a waltz a time or two. She was quite fortunate to have you as her hero.”
West didn’t want to make small talk. He wanted a damn drink. “I don’t suppose you know where I can obtain a glass of whiskey.”
“Of course. Allow me to show you.” He gestured for West to accompany him toward a side entrance. After passing through a short corridor, Bothwick opened a door into a room set with tables. More than a dozen gentlemen sat about the room, and a pair of footmen appeared to be delivering drinks. “Shall we sit?”
West took a chair at a nearby table while Bothwick spoke with one of the footmen. He sat down next to West and leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his protruding belly. “Whiskey is on the way, Your Grace.”
“Thank you.” West didn’t particularly want company, but he didn’t wish to be rude. He’d drink his whiskey and take his leave after all.
“The woman you were dancing with…” Bothwick began. “She seemed very familiar to me. Who is she?”
“Her name is Miss Breckenridge. I doubt you would know her.” Because she wasn’t from their class. His muscles tightened again, his body rebelling against the confines of stupid Society. It had never troubled him until now.
Bothwick stroked his chin briefly. “No, I can’t say that I do. Strange, because I was almost certain I did.”
West barely listened to him as the footman approached the table with their whiskey. He set both glasses on the table and asked if there’d be anything else. West shook his head, and Bothwick declined.
Bothwick sipped his whiskey, then smacked his glass down on the table. “Yes, yes. She is the very image of a woman from my district. I would’ve wagered a goodly sum that it was her, but Breckenridge was not her name.” He chuckled. “And I doubt very much that she would be here looking like that.” He looked down at his whiskey with amusement as if he were enjoying some private joke.
Something about his demeanor make West’s neck prickle. “What do you mean she wouldn’t be here looking like that? What should she look like?”
Bothwick raised his head. “She was very fast, got herself into trouble. I can’t imagine she would’ve made her way to a Society event in Bath looking as if she were on the Marriage Mart.”
West had picked up his whiskey, and his grip grew so tight that he feared he might break the glass. The man couldn’t be speaking of Ivy, could he? He’d said her name wasn’t Breckenridge. Still, West couldn’t ignore the sense of unease rifling through him. He decided to learn what he could from the man, suspecting that he was something less than a gentleman. “I’ve known girls like that.”
Bothwick laughed again. “I would think you do. I’d wager you’ve had plenty of silly young chits pursue you.” He sipped his whiskey again and set it down as he leaned closer, his voice pitching low. “Your reputation is legendary. Any stories you’d care to share?”
With his prediction that this man was gutter swine proven true, West continued the ruse. He leaned just slightly to his left, pushing his side into the arm of the chair. “I’d rather hear about this girl you mentioned. Especially if she looked like my dance partner, who is, as you could see, quite beautiful.”
“Indeed, that’s precisely why I thought it was the same girl. Mary—that was her name—was incomparable.” The way he said the word incomparable and the knowing gleam in his eye spurred West’s worst suspicion: Bothwick was the son of a bitch who’d ruined her.
He’d called her Mary. That was perhaps the most damning evidence of all.
“But as you say, she can’t possibly be the same person.” West forced himself to speak in pleasant tones. He wanted to throttle the man until the snake couldn’t breathe.
Bothwick shook his head. “No, I don’t see how she can be.”
West couldn’t seem to stop himself from urging this man to reveal everything he knew. Everything he’ddone. “She was fast, you say? I suppose you had firsthand knowledge of this.” He pushed his mouth into a wicked smirk.
Bothwick’s lips spread into an insolent grin. “I shouldn’t speak of it, but it’s not as if I’d be insulting alady.” He took another drink of whiskey, and West prayed he’d choke on it. “She fell desperately in love with me—or so she said. She learned I was heir to a viscountcy and set her sights well above her station. When she offered herself to me in the hope that I would marry her, I simply couldn’t refuse. I did try, mind you, but she was quite tenacious. I’m afraid she wore me down.” He set his glass on the table once more.
West was certain the filthy pig was lying. “So of course you succumbed.”
“What could I do?” He widened his eyes and shrugged before breaking into laughter once more. He thought they were sharing a joke. The only thing West wanted to share was his fist with Bothwick’s jaw.
He nearly called the man out right then and there, but what good would that do aside from dredging up Ivy’s past? A past she’d no doubt worked hard to forget.
West threw back the rest of his whiskey and stood. He got up so quickly that he knocked the table. Bothwick’s whiskey glass spilled, and the rest of the amber liquid cascaded over Bothwick’s trousers.
Satisfied with that small assault, West bid the man good evening and took his leave rather hastily. If he didn’t, he was going to beat the man into an unrecognizable pulp.
As he made his way out of the Assembly Rooms, he thought about his plan to see Ivy tomorrow. He still wanted to, but now the meeting would be something altogether different. He just had to think through what that would be.
