Page 35 of Duke of Disguise (Ladies of Worth #4)
Avers recognised the dark pleasure in Dartois’ eyes at the situation he had conjured up. How the Marquis had found out about his connection with Miss Curshaw—that is, Her Grace the Duchess of Gravesend—he wasn’t sure. Yet it felt as though Avers’ appearance here tonight had not surprised him. In fact, it felt as though Dartois had been ready and waiting with the Duchess as his trump card.
“The Duke has skill indeed,” the Marquis said. “Not only to catch you, Your Grace, but to keep you.”
Yes, Dartois knew about Avers’ relationship with Miss Curshaw and he was purposefully needling him.
Then again, most of London had known when Avers had left. That was part of his reason for leaving. That and the pain. Pain which, over the months, had healed, but the shock of being confronted by the Duchess had brought the memories of that suffering back to mind.
And Dartois was like a cat with a bird. Repeatedly dragging the conversation back to places where he could pin it down and inflict the most damage on his English adversary.
“My husband has been friends with Dartois for some time—but you have yet to tell me why we are so fortunate as to have you back in London with us,” said the Duchess. “I cannot fathom why you would choose to leave Paris. It is so beautiful and full of such Society. I long to go.”
Now the initial shock was wearing off, Avers found the discomfort easier to manage. In fact, he was seeing in the Duchess of Gravesend things he had been blind to before. The falseness to her laugh which never met her eyes. The over-flattery she used when speaking to others that carried with it a note of insincerity. And the way she had greeted Emilie—Avers’ indignation had yet to disappear completely. Had the Duchess always been like this?
“Have you enjoyed your trip, Lord Avers?”
Drawn back to the present, he rested his hooded gaze upon Her Grace, realising how cool his feelings towards this woman had become. “It provided a much-needed respite.”
“London was proving to be too much for you? Sometimes one must escape one’s own life, n’est pas?” Dartois taunted.
“London is a large city,” Emilie cut in. “I could understand wanting to get away.”
The Duchess scoffed.
Ignoring Her Grace’s impolite response, Avers turned to look at Emilie and saw in her eyes an understanding of the situation. She was trying to turn the conversation.
Then, Dartois’ hand came up to her elbow and Avers saw his fingers tighten around her in warning.
“And sometimes,” Avers said, drawing the attention back to himself, “that respite provides much needed perspective. With perspective, one can see things for what they are, rather than what one had assumed or desired them to be. Where beauty has beguiled, the truth can shine through, and suddenly something so very appealing is seen for what it is. I find London is not at all what I remembered or yearned for. No, my feelings are quite changed.” He kept his gaze on the Duchess, resting it on her until a faint colour appeared in her cheeks.
“I am here on business,” said Dartois, reclaiming power over the conversation.
“Business—is that what you call it?” Avers asked. He would not allow this man to continue to have the upper hand. There was no need for pretence anymore.
“Ah.” Dartois chuckled and leaned into the Duchess. “He is speaking of my friend the Comte de Vergelles. The poor man was recently apprehended on false charges of possessing stolen papers of some kind. The man’s innocent, but I’m afraid Lord Avers never liked him. Jealous of what another man possessed. It seems there is a pattern of behaviour here, n’est pas?” The Marquis flashed him a wicked smile. “And now he implies I have something to do with this fantastical plot. What an imagination he has! I am beginning to think he does not like me.”
“How awful,” the Duchess exclaimed, glancing between the two gentlemen, as if unsure how to react, before turning her blue-eyed gaze wide upon Avers. “Surely not, my Lord?”
“I’m afraid Lord Dartois has me at a disadvantage,” Avers replied, plucking at the cuff of his jacket to appear uncaring. “I was involved in no such dealings in Paris. He must be thinking of someone else.”
“Ah,” Dartois said, playing along. “Perhaps I am mistaking you for someone else, just as you are mistaking me for a common criminal. It is best, therefore, that we accept we were not what we first believed and part ways amicably.”
“How mysteriously you talk,” the Duchess exclaimed, fanning herself in an agitated manner, clearly unable to follow the conversation and finding her lack of a role within it unacceptable.
“Pardon, Your Grace. We men do not know how to behave when there are beautiful women present. Allow me to take you in for supper. Lord Avers—” He held out a hand, staring challengingly at him. “No hard feelings?”
Avers debated whether to take the offered hand. Was this some kind of game he could not follow? Reluctantly he shook it and Dartois leant in to him, saying in a low voice, “Bon chance in your future endeavours, my Lord. You were a wholly unworthy opponent.”
Avers pursed his lips to hold back the unhelpful words that begged to be let loose, and drew back, glad to regain his hand.
“Now you will excuse us,” Dartois said, offering an arm to each of the ladies. “We are expected at our host’s table.”
Avers watched Emilie take the man’s arm and the trio walked away from him through the crowds. He stared after them, his mind trying to work out what to do next, and then he caught sight of Emilie looking briefly over her shoulder.
On one side of Dartois walked Avers’ past and on the other walked his future. When his eyes caught Emilie’s and they locked for a moment, his resolve strengthened. He’d found her. Now he had to save her.