Page 19 of As the Earl Likes
“This is my first one,” he said, his gaze moving briefly over Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt. The bodice of her gown dipped rather low, and Sheff wondered if one of her nipples might make an appearance. He’d seen them before, though it had been three or so years.
Her hand fluttered near her breast, and she gave him a suggestive look. “Shall I show you upstairs?”
After what Jo had told him about Gerard’s soirees, Sheff wasn’t sure how to take Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt’s invitation. She could just be offering to escort him to the heart of the soiree, or she could be trying to entice him into a dark corner to engage in something wicked.
“I’d very much like to pay my respects to Lord Gerard,” Sheff said. And to find Rowland Harker.
“Then you must attend him in the drawing room,” she said with a laugh. Clasping Sheff’s arm, she pulled him toward the stairs.
They passed several couples conversing and one doing more than that. He was talking while she was massaging the front of his breeches. Were there no dark corners in which to conduct such acts? Sheff was by no means a prude, but even he didn’t indulge in public exhibition. Perhaps that was a special aspect of Gerard’s soirees.
They passed more people at the top of the stairs as they made their way to the drawing room at the front of the house. The buzz of conversation was louder here, as was the music. A quartet played in the corner while the room was stuffed with people talking, laughing, dancing, and paying court to their host. At least, Sheff assumed it was Lord Gerard seated between the front windows, his chair sitting atop a small dais. He lounged with one leg curled over an arm of the chair and was flanked by a man and a woman. The man was speaking with someone else while the woman appeared to be feeding Gerard from a tray.
Sheff felt certain he’d walked into a party that even Dionysus would have found hedonistic. He scanned the very crowded room in search of Jo’s father. He wasn’t entirely sure that he knew what Harker looked like.
Turning to Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt, he asked, “Have you seen Mr. Rowland Harker this evening? I am hoping to speak with him.”
Her eyes rounded. “Are you? I did not know you enjoyed that sort of diversion.”
What on earth was she talking about? “I wish to speak with him on a private matter.”
“I’m sure you do,” she said with a suggestive look followed by a gleeful laugh. “Here I thought you were entirely dedicated to the pleasure of women.”
Sheff began to understand. “I am seeking Harker purely for a conversation.”
“I see.” Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt slid her hand farther up Sheff’s arm. “That bodes well for me, then, doesn’t it?”
Though Sheff didn’t wish to be rude, he also didn’t want to flirt with the widow, lest she think he was interested. And he was not. “I really must speak with Harker.”
“There he is,” she said, gesturing toward a corner where a group of men and women were clustered in a seating area. “In the bright orange waistcoat on the settee.”
“Ho, there, is that Lord Shefford gracing us with his presence?” a voice boomed over the drawing room, halting both music and conversation.
Sheff froze as heads turned toward him. He was rarely uncomfortable, but at this moment, he felt distinctly uneasy as the focal point of what was surely a pleasure party.
“Welcome, Shefford!” The voice belonged to the host, Lord Gerard. In his fifties with a balding pate but egregiously long, gray sideburns, Gerard was dressed in a flowing gown with an open collar that made him look as if he were perhaps trying to personify Dionysus.
Sheff detached himself from Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt and made his way to Gerard’s throne, for that was what it appeared to be. “Good evening, Lord Gerard. I do hope you don’t mind my being here.”
“Not at all. I would have invited you long before now, but your father is a frequent guest, and it seemed strange to extend you an invitation. However, your father isn’t here tonight.” Gerard smiled, his lips parting to reveal a rather crooked upper row of teeth. “At least not yet.”
God, Sheff did not want to run into his father here. He needed to conduct his business with Jo’s father and leave as quickly as possible. “I’ve come in search of Rowland Harker. I see him there in the corner. If I can just speak with him a moment, I’ll be on my way.”
Gerard pouted. “Don’t rush off. There is much to entice you here.” He gestured about the room. Thankfully, people had gone back to their conversations and other activities instead of gaping at Sheff.
“I’ll consider that,” Sheff said, growing anxious. In truth, this was the type of event that would entice him, but knowing his father was often a guest ensured that Sheff wanted to be anywhere else.
“Have a glass of wine at least.” Gerard snapped his fingers, and a footman with a tray appeared.
There were several varieties of wine available. Sheff selected a golden-colored one, which he assumed to be a Madeira. Lifting the glass from the tray, he motioned it toward his host. “Thank you for your kind hospitality, Gerard.”
“Do take full advantage, Shefford,” Gerard said with a throaty laugh before accepting a nut of some kind from the woman feeding him. He sucked the nut and her fingertips into his mouth.
Sheff turned and hastened toward Harker’s corner, taking a fortifying drink of wine on his way.
The group of people with Harker were dressed normally—mostly. A few of the men were missing certain items, such as their coat or cravat. And the women were all dressed in a revealing fashion, as Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt had been. One of them sat pressed against Harker on a settee, her hand splayed across his thigh.
It was not difficult to see, at least physically, why Harker was surrounded by admirers. He possessed a generous smile, expressive eyes, and lustrous dark blond hair, which was somewhat of a rarity for a man in his fifties. He wore a bright orange silk waistcoat, and his cravat was a dark ivory. He was not wearing a coat, nor did he need one to mask a thick middle, for he was still quite trim.
