Page 13 of Duke of Wickedness (Regency Gods #4)

W hen Ariadne left Bacchus House, she felt good about her decision. Vaguely disappointed that, following their kiss, the duke had sent her on her way with little more than a vague promise that they would meet again soon, but good.

When she went to bed, she felt good. She wasn’t even terribly bothered by the dreams that left her waking several times, squirming and sweaty in her bed.

When she woke up, she felt strangely energized, despite her late night. She felt good.

And then, she looked in the mirror and saw that there was the faintest, tiniest bruise against her throat.

A bruise that looked a great deal like the mouth of a certain duke.

She felt as though she was in a trance as she lifted her fingers to the mark, watching her reflection mirror her movements.

It was a small mark, not even particularly noticeable if she hadn’t already been looking at the place where he had skimmed his nose, then pressed his lips, where he had sucked lightly against her pulse?—

That would, she supposed, account for the bruise.

She touched it again, transfixed. It didn’t hurt. It vanished completely when she covered it with her fingertip.

She moved her hand. There and gone. There and gone. There and?—

It hit her like a wave.

What the hell was she doing?

She watched her own face in the mirror go from dreamy and absent to panicked in a flash.

This was—this was insane . She’d spent years—actual years —learning how to be the proper Society miss so that she could find a good husband and stop being such a burden on her siblings. She had a plan. It was a good plan.

And then she’d met the Duke of Wilds and…

“And you lost your bloody mind,” she told her reflection quietly.

Her reflection did not suddenly start looking any less like a lunatic, so, to avoid her own judgmental stare, Ariadne began pacing.

It didn’t make her feel better, in truth.

Neither did the muttering, but that didn’t stop her from doing it.

“This is ridiculous,” she told herself. “You are being ridiculous. You are making very, very ridiculous decisions.”

Talking to herself wasn’t helping; no matter how much she said the words that she was supposed to say, no matter how much she reminded herself that she had a plan, that she needed to be smarter than this, that she had to remain focused on her future, her mind kept trying to insist on other things.

Things like Don’t you deserve a chance to see what he has to offer before you settle down to a life of respectability?

And Can something that feels so amazing truly be so bad?

And How much risk is it, really?

“A lot of risk!” she scolded herself. “The most enormous amount of risk!”

“Um, Ariadne?” Ariadne jerked around to see Helen, a confused look on her face, standing in the doorway. “Are you all right?”

Ariadne put on a smile and thanked God that it was Helen, who had only known her for a handful of years, and not Xander, who would have immediately called her out on her behavior.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “I was just…re-evaluating a conversation I had with a young lady the other night. You know how these Society conversations can be so…barbed.”

It was something of a dirty trick; Ariadne knew that Helen had been treated wretchedly by the Society prigs, who had criticized her for everything from her accent to her figure.

It was an effective trick, however, as Helen’s face immediately creased in sympathy.

“Don’t pay those jackals any mind, Ariadne Lightholder,” she commanded. “Especially don’t pay them any mind right this minute, as you are still in your nightclothes and visiting hours have started. And you, my dear, have a visitor.”

Ariadne glanced down at herself in alarm, almost surprised to find that, yes, she was still wearing her lightweight spring nightdress.

“My goodness,” she said. “Right. I’ll—I will be right there.”

“I will keep your guest distracted,” Helen said, looking delighted at the prospect.

Ariadne rushed through her toilette, absolutely horrified at the idea of what Helen might say to the Duke of Wilds.

This meant that, when she went downstairs with the simplest hairstyle that she could get away with wearing, dressed in the frock that was the quickest to put on, Ariadne was extremely surprised to see Helen seated calmly side by side with George Stunton, Lord Hershire.

“Oh,” Ariadne said, her quick steps drawing her up short. “I—good morning, my lord.”

If the viscount noticed anything of her surprise, it wasn’t evident in his face. Helen, for her part, looked rather stunned, as though something about the exchange had left her reconsidering many of the choices of her life.

Ariadne would have bet the entirety of her dowry that this had not been because the viscount had said anything particularly intriguing.

As if determined to live up to her assumption, he got to his feet, gave her a bland, polite smile, then executed a polite bow.

“Good morning, Lady Ariadne,” he said cheerfully. “I hope I find you well on this fine day.”

It was raining. Rivulets snaked down the windowpanes of the front parlor.

But there was a script, and Ariadne knew how to stick to it.

“I am, indeed, my lord,” she said. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. You caught me at a distracted moment.”

The viscount gave her a kind, dismissive gesture.

“No apology necessary at all, my lady,” he said. “I myself was not blessed with sisters, but I did grow up close to my female cousins, so I know that ladies can get distracted at their primping. It is, to me at least, merely a sign of your fine feminine sensibilities.”

There was a quiet clink as one of the hairpins that Ariadne had shoved into her coiffure gave up the game. It was frankly brilliant, as far as comedic timing went.

The viscount didn’t laugh.

Ariadne didn’t dare.

Helen looked as though, mentally, she was on another continent.

And suddenly, because there was something deeply, intensely wrong with Ariadne, she had a flash of the Duke of Wilds’ crooked smile. He would have seen the humor in it.

“I appreciate your understanding,” she said kindly.

“One must have understanding in a marriage,” he said. “If you will forgive me for making such blunt reference to a potential relationship between us, of course. I do not mean to make any assumptions.”

“Of course,” Ariadne murmured.

She was sailing off to join Helen on that far-off continent. Had the viscount actually grown more tiresome, or did he merely seem that way because her body was still buzzing with the energy of the Duke of Wilds’ kisses?

“But I must reiterate,” the viscount droned on, “how much I admire you. I find you to be replete with the best virtues of the fairer sex, and I cannot overstate how important that is to me. You are the kind of woman who would do credit to any man, my lady. The very best kind of lady that there is, in my humble opinion.”

“You are too kind,” she murmured.

There were worse personal sins than being a tad uninteresting, weren’t there?

Some men gambled away fortunes! Some men kept up scores of mistresses…

and, well, she did have reason to suspect that the viscount might fall into that category, but honestly, the idea that he might spend time dithering at some other woman bothered Ariadne less than perhaps it ought to have done. Still. Some men were violent!

There were worse flaws. That was all she could say about him.

But that…wasn’t very much to recommend a man, now was it?

“Lady Ariadne?”

Besides, even if the viscount proposed, and even if she married him—which was a great deal of if s to begin with—eventually they would have children.

Then they could talk about the children.

That was doubtless half the reason why people even had children, once one looked past the whole issue of succession matter.

She could do a lot worse. A lot worse.

“I’m sorry, Lady Ariadne…but are you all right?”

Ariadne blinked and realized that she hadn’t the faintest idea how many times the viscount had called her name.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, replacing the Society smile. “Please forgive me. I am feeling a touch unwell this morning. It’s made me a bit absent.”

The viscount looked almost as though she had said she was already halfway into her grave.

“Oh, my poor lady!” he exclaimed. “Here I have been, going on and on, and you are feeling unwell!” He got to his feet and bowed hastily, then again for good measure.

“I will bid you adieu, of course. But do please drop me a note when you are feeling better; I shall fret for your well-being otherwise. And I would hope, most sincerely, to promenade with you once you are feeling no longer plagued.”

This was quite astonishingly dramatic. It was the only astonishing thing the viscount had ever done, perhaps.

“I…shall,” she said, because what else was there to say?

He beamed.

“Marvelous. Simply marvelous, my lady.” He bowed again, then turned to a bemused Helen and did the same. “Your Grace. I thank you most earnestly for your hospitality.”

“Uh-huh,” Helen said.

The viscount left; Ariadne slumped back in her seat, suddenly exhausted.

“Well,” Helen said. “That was strange.”

“No,” Ariadne said immediately. “It wasn’t.”

Helen gave her a speaking look. “Well, I meant him, but now I mean you.”

Ariadne scrambled for a distraction. “Well, he is a bit… ”

“Boring?” Helen supplied sweetly.

“Conventional,” Ariadne suggested diplomatically.

Helen twisted her face into something that Ariadne thought was meant to be a smile.

“There are worse things,” she said, not sounding as though she believed it.

It was not terribly comforting for Ariadne to hear her own arguments parroted back to her in such a tone.

“I am going to leave,” Ariadne said, then stood to do precisely that. This was not the kind of conversation where she could hope to come out victorious. The best she could do was beat a hasty retreat.

“Because you’re feeling so unwell,” Helen said, dripping with false sympathy.