Page 2 of The Duchess in His Bed
And so she watched as he whispered in the ear of one lady, making her laugh, while his words to another caused her to dip her head and blush profusely, a shy smile curling her lips upward. To various other women he nodded or grinned—the grin given slowly and seductively as though the one to whom it was given was the only soul in the room for whom he had a care. He placed his hand over one lady’s, stopping her from moving a stack of wooden disks into the pile at the center of the table. Then, with a devastating wink that no doubt took the lady’s breath, he tossed one of the chips onto the mound.
Then he carried on striding through his dominion—
No, notthrough. Toward. Toward her.
Her heart kicked frantically against her ribs; within her gloves her palms dampened. She wasn’t yet ready to step out of the shadows into the golden glow of the gaslit chandeliers above. She wasn’t yet prepared to meet, to speak with this man who might prove to be her salvation—if only her courage would not desert her.
It was more than his good looks that unsettled her. It was the way he moved as though each movement was calculated to bring attention to him while giving the impression he wanted none at all. The manner in which he observed so keenly, so thoroughly, as though he could decipher all mysteries, make them blossom before him. Choosing him could turn out to be a colossal mistake because she had secrets to hold close. If she were wise, she would turn on her heel and flee. But if she’d never fled the circumstances of her marriage, she certainly wasn’t going to run off now, simply because his thorough gazing of her was disconcerting in the extreme. No man had ever looked at her as though she were a confection to be nibbled and enjoyed.
He stepped from the light into the gray and leaned one shoulder negligently against the wall papered in curlicues of dark burgundy and light rose. The shadows prevented her from discerning the exact shade of his eyes, but not his keen interest in her, not the slight tilting up of one corner of his mouth. “You’re new here.”
His diction was more polished and refined than she’d expected, not fully aristocratic, but close. She wondered if his father had seen him educated. Not that it mattered as his schooling wasn’t a deterrent to her purpose, although her nerves were certainly vying for that role. Somewhere within the recesses of her soul, she found the wherewithal to shore up her confidence and force it into her words. “You can’t possibly know that. I’m masked.”
“I can identify the ladies who visit, mask or no. It is not only a face by which one might be recognized.” Slowly his gaze roamed over her, not in an insulting or lascivious way, but with an appreciation that had her skin prickling as though it longed to be nearer to him. Then his eyes were back on hers. “What is your name, darling?”
She didn’t want to remember how she had once longed to be someone’s darling, to have endearments, not apologies, whispered in her ear. “Lena.”
A shortened version of her name, a name no one would recognize her by should they hear it. A name she never used.
He cocked his head to the side, gave her another thorough going-over, shook his head. “I don’t think so. Too simple a name for far too complex a woman, I wager. Helena, perhaps, Helena of Troy. Or something fancier.”
Licking her lips, she glanced around nervously, noting she’d snagged the attention of a few ladies, those not masked known to her, which meant she was known to them and probably to a few of the masked ones as well. She didn’t want to consider the embarrassment and shame she would bear if her presence were discovered. “I don’t wish others to hear my name spoken.”
“It will be our secret,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive, causing unexpected warmth to sluice through her, along with a desire to trust him completely, with everything, but she wasn’t quite as foolish as all that.
“Selena,” she whispered back, thinking no word on her tongue was nearly as sensual as any syllable on his.
“Selena,” he repeated, his voice going even lower, a velvety caress that nearly had her leaning toward him, toward those lips that created such mesmerizing resonances. “I’m Aiden.”
“Yes, I know.” Did she have to sound so breathless of a sudden? “The owner. It’s quite a spectacular place.”
“How would you know? You haven’t left this spot since claiming it after coming through the door.”
Oh Lord, the man was too observant by half. Choosing him could turn out to be an error in judgment. Without another word, before she claimed another breath, she should take her leave, but his gaze held her hostage as though she were a butterfly beneath glass. “I can see the entirety of this room.”
“Ah, but this room is only a small portion of what I offer.” He held out his hand, ungloved, large, rough-hewn. It would swallow her breast. Where had that thought come from? Yet at that particular moment, she could envision those long, slender fingers doing little else than kneading what no man had ever touched. “Come, my lady. Allow me the honor of giving you a tour.”
She almost corrected him. She wasn’tmy lady, butYour Grace. However, the less he knew of her, the better. In addition, considering the way he studied her, she wasn’t entirely certain if he was addressing her with an honorific or claiming her ashis lady. A silly thought. An even sillier one was that she wouldn’t mind if the latter were the case, but it was imperative that he not have a care for her and she not have one for him, that tonight’s little adventure leave behind no fond memories to be mulled over in the days and years to come.
Swallowing hard, she placed her gloved hand in his, surprised how the warmth of his burned through the silk. He tucked it within the crook of his elbow and began leading her out of the shadows.
“I’m looking forward to introducing you to the pleasures of sin.”
Aiden Trewlove escorted the lady into the dim light where he could get a better look at her. In contrast to his, her hair was the shade of wheat with the barest hint of red, as though she’d eaten strawberries as a child and the fruit had become part of her. But it was her eyes that drew him in, the blue of the hottest flames dancing upon a hearth, and he had the unsettling thought that with her he could get burned.
Not likely. He was not one to become overly involved with a lady. Having watched as one had nearly destroyed his brother when they were younger, randy, and wild, Aiden had made a vow to never allow any woman to capture his heart. He would enjoy them, ensure they enjoyed time spent with him, but he’d walk away if he ever felt a spark that threatened more than a casual encounter, more than a frolic between the sheets.
He’d noticed this one the moment she entered his establishment, although he made note of everyone who came and went. It wasn’t unusual for a woman, upon first arriving at his club, to be a bit shy, to hover in a corner, to be hesitant about going forward and embracing what he offered. But this one had been neither shy nor hovering nor hesitant. She’d been watching. Not the dice games or the cards or the roulette wheel. Not the well-dressed men walking through offering champagne, brandy, and port. Not the young bucks leaning over a lady’s shoulder whispering tips on how to play and compliments into her ear. No, none of that had caught her attention or sparked her curiosity. She’d been watching him.
He’d felt the caress of her gaze like a physical force traveling the length of him, and the urge to preen had hit him strong. But he was not one for preening. She either liked what she saw or she didn’t. Based on the fact that her hand was now nestled in the crook of his elbow, he assumed she liked.
He was desperate to see her without the mask that covered three-quarters of her face, leaving only her mouth and chin visible. Her chin reminded him of the bottom half of a heart, but more delicate, finely etched by fate’s gentle hand. The gods had taken care in creating this one.
She had luscious lips, a rosy pink, not red. His mind started to wander to other areas of her that might be pink, and he abruptly brought it back to the task at hand. Too soon to travel there. Besides, he didn’t need to be walking about the place, looking as though he’d stuffed a tent pole in his trousers. He was introducing these ladies to sin, not decadence. “Do you have an interest in these games?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve not played them.”
“So you only have an interest in that which you know? Where’s your sense of adventure, darling?”
