Page 19 of Duke of Wickedness (Regency Gods #4)

T here was little that Ariadne could do in terms of repairing her appearance, given that they were in the dark corner of a dark theater, but given the aforementioned darkness, she supposed it didn’t matter that much.

She maintained that position as she and David decided to skip the rest of the performance and head for the exit. The aftermath of her pleasure had left her feeling soft and sleepy, and she regretted every minute that still stood between her and the comfort of her bed.

If part of her regretted that she would return to that bed alone… Well, she pushed that thought aside. Whatever was happening with the duke, this wasn’t that.

“Let’s get you home, little bird,” David said, all softness and sweetness, as though she needed care after he had already taken care of her—albeit in a very different way.

Though she could not deny that she liked his solicitousness, even if she didn’t need it.

She let herself lean heavily on his arm, just for this one moment. It felt so nice, just to let someone else hold her up, just for a little while.

And then something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, and she straightened in a flash. She turned, trying to figure out what had tugged at her mind…

“What is it?” David asked, wrapping his arm more firmly around her waist. This was hardly the most scandalous thing happening at this theater, not by a significant margin, but still. It suddenly seemed unspeakably foolish that she had come out here without some sort of disguise.

“I…I’m not sure,” she murmured as she scanned the crowd.

And then she saw it—or, rather, her .

It wasn’t that the woman was particularly noticeable, though she was pretty enough. But her height was not remarkable, and her hair was the same light brown that was shared by half the crowd.

And yet there was…something familiar about her.

Panic set in as Ariadne racked her brain. How did she know this woman? Was she a member of the ton ? Had Ariadne thrown her entire reputation—hard-won by years of diligently perfect behavior—away with this one, indulgent night?

But the woman didn’t look scandalized, nor did she have the avaricious look of someone who was looking forward to being the bearer of new gossip. Instead, she looked pleased. She gave Ariadne a grin and a nod.

And then she pulled up her hood and disappeared into the crowd.

“What is it?” David asked again, a thread of anxiety in his voice.

It had to be nothing. Ariadne had to believe that it was nothing.

She smiled up at him. She leaned on his arm again, let the solidity of him bolster her.

It was nothing. It was .

“Just distracted by all the sights,” she lied. “Will you take me home now?”

They both knew she had no skill at lying. He searched her face for an answer, but whatever he found seemed to satisfy him.

“Very well, my sweet little bird,” he said softly. “Let’s get you home.”

She ducked her face against his shoulder, letting herself take her comfort where she could. If disaster were to come, it would wait for tomorrow.

David stared at the amber liquid in his glass. He had been at his club for more than an hour now, but he had barely made a dent in his drink.

He’d come here to distract himself, but he found that his usual distractions didn’t appeal.

“Drinking already? You do realize it’s only half noon, don’t you?”

David tried to paste on his typical carefree smile at the sound of Percy’s voice, but it felt brittle.

“Ah, well, you know me,” he said. “What is time but man’s constraint…” He waved a hand as if to say et cetera . “Liquor is eternal, however.”

Percy sat down across from him, which was not what David had signed up for when he’d come to unsuccessfully drink away his sorrows.

“You only wax foolishly poetic when you’re not actually drunk,” Percy observed. “You developed that move when the constables tried to stop us in that unsavory neighborhood, back in university.”

David rolled his eyes and set his drink on a nearby side table.

“I hate being friends with you,” he complained.

Percy stole his drink. David felt this was fair—he’d done the same to Percy dozens of times—but for the purposes of appearances, he kept a scowl on his face.

“Do you know what’s interesting?” Percy asked, clearly enjoying himself as he took a swig of the drink and then made a face—he’d never liked port. It was, as far as David was concerned, proof that he had a guardian angel somewhere that Percy enjoyed such instant retribution.

“I assume you’re going to tell me whether I want you to or not,” David drawled.

“It is that you do not hate me at all,” Percy said, looking intently at his friend. “And that you only say so when you are trying to distract me from something.”

Goddamn. That was also bloody accurate.

“That is not accurate,” David said. Unlike some ladies—ladies about whom David was not thinking, especially not in front of Percy—he knew how to lie properly.

There was a difference, however, between lying to your average person and lying to the man who likely knew him better than anybody else in London.

“It’s fascinating,” Percy mused, not even bothering to hide his grin. “Because I feel that the last time you tried to hide something from me like this, it was because you were trying to set me up with my wife.”

David had never and would never admit to doing any such thing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said—just as he always did.

“See, that’s also what you said when you just so happened to invite me to a house party, one where Catherine was also in attendance.”

“Coincidences exist, Percival.” Percival was not actually Percy’s full name, but it was what David called him when he was trying to annoy his fr?—

Damn. Maybe he was predictable.

Percy leaned forward, an intent look crossing his features.

“Really, David,” he said. “You’ve… you haven’t seemed quite yourself recently. Is everything good?”

Part of David wanted nothing more than to unburden himself to his friend. How good would it feel to tell the truth, to tell Percy that there was a woman who had wormed herself into David’s brain, that he could not stop thinking about her, that she had driven him absolutely mad with wanting.

But Percy was the person who knew David better than anyone else, and so Percy knew that David was not the kind of man that one wished to see involved with his little sister.

David knew too much about how Percy and Catherine had come to be together—although, thank Christ, not the details; he would never be able to look Catherine in the eye, otherwise—to believe that Percy had any of the usual archaic views about ladies’ purity and value .

But David, for all that he was always, always transparent about his intentions, had left a trail of broken hearts behind him.

There would always be people who, for all their protestations otherwise, conflated physical intimacy with love, and no matter how much David took pains to explain himself as kindly as he could…

Well, that wasn’t that much of a condolence when one’s heart—not to mention one’s pride—was feeling bruised and battered.

And Ariadne…

Well, Ariadne was bold and courageous and clever and a thousand other marvelous things. She had a natural inclination for sensuality that couldn’t be taught or learned.

But she also hid those things. And it was not David’s place to reveal her.

And her cleverness and curiosity weren’t the same as being immune to pain. If David were her brother—a thought that he only let glance against him before it flittered blissfully away—he wouldn’t feel good about her potential for getting hurt, not when it came to a man like him.

So, David didn’t have a choice but to lie.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

Percy rolled his eyes. “Just tell me it isn’t another actress,” he said. “It always gets so messy when it’s an actress. This shouldn’t surprise you. Their whole job is to make things into public spectacles.”

In this, at least, David could be honest.

“It’s not an actress,” he said.

The idea was almost laughable. Prim and proper Society darling Ariadne Lightholder was about as far from a scandalous actress as one could get.

Indeed, an affair with an actress was—while not technically proper—something that was broadly accepted among gentlemen of the ton .

David wasn’t even married, so a liaison would barely be a footnote in the gossip columns.

David might not believe that sex ruined a lady, but the rest of the ton did. So, if Ariadne’s deal with him was discovered, she would be ruined, at least in the eyes of Society. And that would be the scandal to end all scandals.

Even he would not be immune from the repercussions, though he would suffer far less than Ariadne.

Percy gave him an intense glare, and David struggled not to fidget. It turned out that he did not like lying to his friend. How fascinating. He was learning something new about himself.

“David,” Percy said.

“Percy,” David returned, trying to deflect.

“David.” This time, more exasperation drenched Percy’s tone.

“You have gotten less fun since you got married, did you know that?” David ventured.

“I can’t torment you about things, because you’re too busy, happy with your beautiful wife and wonderful life.

It’s boring. Could you have some sort of misfortune so that I have something to gossip about? Thanks ever so much.”

Percy shook his head, but it didn’t hide his laughter.

“You should have thought of that before you matchmade me like you’re some sort of mother hen,” he said mildly.

“I didn’t mat?—”

“Of course,” Percy interrupted in that same infuriatingly mild tone. “You didn’t do anything.”

Even as discomfited and all around not himself as he was feeling, David couldn’t help but enjoy himself, just a little.

For all that he had teased his friend, getting married to Catherine had made Percy a little looser, a little happier, and a whole lot less self-important than he had been before he had met his duchess.

For a few moments, they sat in companionable silence, and David was reminded of how very much he didn’t hate Percy, actually.

Then his friend said, “But surely there is something ,” and David took back every thought he’d had about the wonders of friendship.

David leaned his head back against the plush leather chair, which had the unfortunate consequence of making him think about Ariadne’s head tipped back, her throat moving as she clenched with pleasure.

“There is…something,” he admitted, because talking to Percy was the best distraction he had yet found for his body’s certainty that any thought of Ariadne—any at all—should leave him hopelessly, almost painfully aroused.

“Ha!” Percy exclaimed, far more pleased with himself than this scant confession merited. “Tell me everything.”

“I’m sorry,” David said. “But was it you calling me a…what was it? A matchmaking mother hen?”

“I’m not trying to matchmake you; I’m trying to mock you for being shameless,” Percy said—rather shamelessly himself. “Also, as you observed, I am boring. Blissfully happy with my wonderful, wonderful life?—”

“Get a grip, man,” David groused.

“—but somewhat lacking in gossip.” Percy paused, his smile fading. “And at least a little bit concerned, for your sake.”

Ha. As if David was the one who deserved concern. He had lived his life in the open. The entire ton knew what he was. Percy knew, too. David had never merited this kind of care.

“It’s nothing that merits concern ,” David said dismissively, ignoring the twinge in his stomach, as that didn’t even make any sense anyway. “There’s just…something. It won’t last.”

He needed to remember that. It was the strangest thing. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d needed a reminder.

“But is it fun while it does?” Percy asked.

“Yes,” David said, though he didn’t think that this told the whole story, not at all. It was the story that needed to be told, however, and he would maintain it until his dying breath. “It’s a great deal of fun while it lasts.”