Page 68 of The Duke of Seduction
Beck hadn’t wanted to name them, but neither had he wanted to shield their identities. He’d no idea what would come of it, but he was glad everyone was discussing the misdeeds of two of Society’s worst gossips.
He’d heard the following exchange between two middle-aged women shortly after arriving:
“It’s about time someone took them down several notches. I daresay their social calendars will be rather sparse, and really, that’s as it should have been for some time.”
“But everyone’s been so afraid of them and their ilk. I suspect others like them may find themselves similarly cut.”
“Then perhaps they’ll adjust their behavior.”
“One can only hope.”
Indeed.
Still, he didn’t feel truly satisfied. None of this helped him learn the identity of the man who’d pursued Helen.
But perhaps his dissatisfaction was also due to a second source. He’d heard another snippet of conversation this evening:
“Sir Martin called on her this afternoon. It seems a betrothal is in the offing.”
“The Duke of Seduction manages success again!”
He didn’t feel very successful. He felt hollow as he watched Lavinia dance with Sir Martin.
She was beautiful, even when she spent half her time squinting across the ballroom. He hoped to God, Sir Martin would allow her to wear her spectacles after they wed.
After they wed?
Hell, he couldn’t think of her the way he did if she was married to another man. And he sure as hell couldn’t look at her on another man’s arm for another moment.
Spinning on his heel, he left the ballroom and went in search of Sutton’s library. It was at the back of the house on the ground floor through a sitting room, which made it quite far removed from the festivities upstairs. That suited him spectacularly.
Even better, Sutton had a fully stocked sideboard. Beck helped himself to a tumbler of whiskey, which he downed in short order.
What the hell was he doing? Why hadn’t he just left instead of coming in here? He’d no reason to stay. He didn’t have to pretend to court Lavinia any longer, and frankly, being in her orbit and knowing she was on the verge of marrying someone else was enough to take him back to the age of sixteen when Priscilla had been beyond his reach.
Setting the glass back on the sideboard, he turned to go. The door to the library, which really looked as though Sutton used it as an office, opened.
Suddenly, he had his answer as to why he’d not only remained, but why he’d come here.
Lavinia stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “I knew I’d find you in the library.” She looked toward the bookshelves. “Any good books on geology?”
“I didn’t look.” He couldn’t keep himself from looking at her, however. He devoured her from the top of her cinnamon-colored hair to the toe of her persimmon-colored slipper. Christ, was he hungry again? Yes. For her.
She came toward him, her eyes relaxing the closer she got. “I read what you wrote in the paper.”
He should have realized she would know he’d written it. “How do you know I’m the author?”
She cocked her head to the side and gave him a dubious stare. “I doubt I have to answer that. I’ve read your poems dozens of times. I know your writing. And so do others.”
He inwardly winced. He’d been afraid of that, but what did it matter? It wasn’t as if anyone knew he was the Duke of Seduction. He shrugged. “I don’t particularly care. It needed to be done.”
She stepped in front of him and took his hand. He felt the heat of her through their gloves and wished he could toss the garments away. Her gaze found his. “Why?”
“They hurt my sister. Years ago. They told her she’d be better off dead.” He didn’t know why he told her. The words simply tumbled from his mouth.
Her forehead creased, and she touched his face, her white cotton-clad fingertips grazing his cheekbone and jaw. He closed his eyes briefly, relishing her caress.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Standing on her toes, she brushed her lips against his.
