Page 2 of Duke of Wickedness (Regency Gods #4)

“ I f you will forgive me for making personal observations, you are a very proper and polite young lady, Lady Ariadne.”

Ariadne, accordingly, gave a very proper and polite smile to George Stunton, Viscount Hershire. She sipped the ratafia that he had fetched her after they had danced together earlier. It was too sweet, but, then again, ratafia always was.

Besides, Ariadne had long since learned that having a drink in her hand was a useful prop in Society ballrooms. It allowed her to pause in conversation in a socially acceptable way and provided her with an excuse to not be dancing without suggesting that she was standing aside because she had not been able to secure herself a dance partner.

It was all part of her strategy. And the Season was all about strategy.

She gave Lord Hershire a winsome but demure smile.

“I shall find a way to abide the compliment, my lord,” she said, just teasing enough that she couldn’t be called dull, not so teasing that she would be considered sarcastic. “Thank you.”

“Well said, my lady,” the viscount said with more of a chuckle than her words warranted. “Are you enjoying the ratafia?”

“Oh, yes,” Ariadne said, taking another sip, not even wincing at the sickly sweetness. “Thank you so much for getting it for me.”

The viscount puffed his chest, clearly pleased.

And, as boring as this conversation was, Ariadne felt a flicker of pleasure, too. Her plan was working .

Ariadne had spent her first Season struggling to find her place amongst the frantic pace, the strange balance between the unspoken competition and the professed camaraderie, and—God help her—the long, long, long nights.

Ariadne had always been a night owl, but even she had been exhausted by night after night when she’d been expected to dance until dawn.

It wasn’t natural . Humans were meant to see the sun .

The viscount coughed a touch awkwardly. “I do not wish to seem, ah, indelicate, Lady Ariadne, but there is something I wish to say to you.”

“Oh?” Ariadne kept her tone intentionally light, making sure the sound was noncommittal. She didn’t think the viscount was trying to trick her; he didn’t seem the type. But still. Best to be cautious.

She had learned this lesson when her first Season had brought her nothing but misery. No proposals. Not even a serious suitor.

So, she had spent the second Season watching. Listening. Planning.

What she had learned was this: she didn’t need to find her place within Society. If she tried that, she would be searching for decades. Instead, she had to become what Society demanded of its unmarried young women.

She would find an acceptable husband and go from there. Have some children, perhaps. Dedicate herself to a charity.

She didn’t expect this to lead her to an exciting life, necessarily. It seemed unlikely that it would offer her some sort of passionate love affair, either.

But she didn’t need those things, for all that her siblings’ clear happiness made it clear that love in one’s marriage was a nice thing to have. Plenty of people, however, had perfectly decent lives without passionate ardor complicating things.

She had love in her life, after all. She had her siblings, their spouses, her nieces, and her brand-new baby nephew.

It wasn’t romance, but it was love.

And it was enough.

The viscount was flushed, a little uncomfortable. He shifted on his feet.

“I know this is not a genteel topic,” he said, not quite meeting her eye. “But I am seeking a bride, and thus feel that I need to be frank.”

Ariadne didn’t let her expression betray anything.

“I approve of your propriety immensely,” he said. “You come from a good family, so I expect nothing less, of course,” he added. “The Lightholders are an old and venerable line.”

“Thank you for your kind words, my lord,” she murmured, not at all certain where this was going.

Some ladies, she knew, might be upset by the implication that a man was pursuing her for her family, but Ariadne found the frankness refreshing. It wasn’t as though she didn’t know she had family connections. Any man who claimed he wasn’t interested in her family—or her dowry—was likely a liar.

“I seek a courtship with a woman who is beyond reproach,” he went on. “I know I am an imperfect man, so perhaps this seems an unjust request. But I was raised to believe that a wife and mother is the moral heart of a family, one who must be removed from the…unsavory tendencies of men.”

Ariadne just managed to stop herself from quirking an eyebrow. Her elder brother had spent years as an utterly unapologetic rake, so she was not entirely ignorant of the kind of things that men got up to with women who were not their wives.

She wished, moreover, that she knew less about the kinds of things that men got up to with women who were their wives. If she never again walked in on someone only to have them hastily stifle their giggles, it would be too soon.

Still, she was surprised that Lord Hershire was mentioning it. He looked surprised that he was mentioning it.

“Of course,” she said, when it was clear that he was waiting for an answer. “I strive to maintain propriety in all things.”

Indulging this conversation at all was a deviation from that goal, Ariadne supposed, but the viscount looked pleased, so she decided that she’d answered correctly.

“You are most gracious, Lady Ariadne,” he said with a relieved smile. “Thank you for accepting this man’s clumsy explanation. I apologize for being so…inelegant.”

“No apology necessary,” Ariadne said, meaning it.

She actually wasn’t offended by the viscount’s discussion; instead, she was reassured by it.

If the viscount was imperfect—and this conversation made that readily apparent—then Ariadne didn’t need to be perfect herself.

She could merely try her best—and the viscount would never know if she stumbled.

It was reassuring. Her mask was valuable, but maintaining it was hard. It was nice to know that, even if she slipped, she would have some leeway. The viscount was a touch clumsy—harmless, but clumsy. So he would never know if she erred.

As much as she tried to feel reassured, though, there was a tiny, irrepressible voice in her mind that wondered whether a man’s desires ought not be something that his wife should…know, if not satisfy.

Before she could succumb to the temptation to say as much, however, the viscount let out a nervous chuckle.

“I apologize, nevertheless, my lady,” he said. “You are an innocent young lady; this conversation is no doubt shocking to you. I merely wish to be honest about my expectations since…since I hope we shall continue to see one another.”

“Of course,” Ariadne said politely.

“Oh, Ari, my love, there you are.”

Catherine’s cheerful voice grabbed Ariadne’s attention. She turned, Society smile still fixed in place. Catherine gave her a concerned look, just for a split second, before pasting her own respectable look on her face.

Ariadne felt a rush of affection for her sister.

Catherine was the model of propriety upon which Ariadne had based her Society mask; her sister might have given up some of her proper mien since falling in love and getting married, but Catherine still knew how to perform when the situation called for it.

“Ah, Your Grace,” Lord Hershire said, ducking his head politely. “You must forgive me for monopolizing your sister. She is just such a charming conversationalist that I could not resist.”

Catherine shot a small, nearly imperceptible glance at Ariadne, who gave her sister the tiniest nod in response. The viscount was harmless. Ariadne was just fine.

After receiving Ariadne’s approval, Catherine smiled kindly at the man. “I quite agree with you, my lord. Would you forgive me, in turn, if I steal her back?”

“Of course,” the viscount said affably. He bowed over Ariadne’s hand. It was a touch too obsequious, that bow, but not egregiously so.

If Ariadne wrote off everyone who was made nervous by the Lightholder name, she would never find anyone to talk to. She gave him as sincere a smile as she could manage as he drifted into the ballroom’s bustle.

Catherine looped her arm through her younger sister’s.

“A potential suitor?” she asked lightly as she and Ariadne moved through the throngs of well-dressed members of the ton .

Ariadne recognized the careful lack of judgment in her sister’s voice and bit back a chuckle.

“Yes, possibly,” she told her sister. “He seems amiable enough.”

This was true, even if it implied that Ariadne was slightly more interested in the viscount than she actually was. Unobjectionable might have been a better word than amiable .

But Catherine, bless her, had transformed from a woman contented with anticipating spinsterhood to one who was blissfully happy in her marriage.

Her desires for her sister had likewise shifted.

No longer did Catherine hope for a merely good match for Ariadne.

She wanted Ariadne to be as happy as she was.

And while Ariadne wouldn’t say no to love and joy and all that nonsense, she didn’t see it as a particularly likely outcome, either.

The one time she had said as much to Helen, her sister by marriage, however, Helen had looked at her as though Ariadne had suggested she resign herself to marriage with a murderer.

A murderer who killed dogs. Or kittens. Or sweet, fluffy little bunny rabbits.

“But Ari,” she’d gasped. “Don’t you want to fall in love ?”

Ariadne had learned a valuable lesson that day: people who were in love needed managing from the rest of the world, as that love had made them—and she said this with affection—idiots.

Kind, well-meaning idiots, but still.

Indeed, Catherine looked as though the word tasted disgusting as she echoed, “Amiable. Right.”