Page 3 of Duke of Wickedness (Regency Gods #4)

Ariadne laughed. She didn’t often deploy her Society mask against her siblings—they knew her too well to be fooled by it very frequently, for one, and for another, Ariadne didn’t wish to have such a barrier between herself and the people she loved best—but sometimes it was warranted.

“You needn’t look so pained, Kitty,” she admonished. “I am not rushing off to the altar tomorrow. I shall do my due diligence—and that’s if the courtship goes anywhere.”

Ariadne was fairly certain, given the viscount’s comments, that it would, but that wasn’t her point at the moment.

“I shall ask about his reputation, get to know him—you do realize that not all of us go off to a house party and immediately attach ourselves to one of the people there,” she added teasingly.

Catherine shot her little sister a look at this not-so-veiled reference to how she and Percy had come to know one another.

“I wouldn’t say it was immediate,” she sniffed, making Ariadne laugh even harder.

“No?”

Ariadne tugged Catherine ahead; they were only a few paces from Percy by this point, approaching where he stood with his friend, David Nightingale, Duke of Wilds. This was rather perfect, actually, as the Duke of Wilds had been the host of that fated house party.

“Percy,” she called before Catherine could say anything—or use that stealthy mental communication that Ariadne’s married siblings had all seemed to develop with their spouses. “How long did it take you to fall in love with Catherine after you met her?”

Percy, who always looked as though he was poised to dash off somewhere, turned at the sound of Ariadne’s voice—but it wasn’t until he saw his wife that that chaotic energy inside him seemed to subside, a soul-deep peace taking its place.

“How long did it take me to love her, or how long did it take me to admit it?” he asked, entirely unbothered by the admission of his feelings.

“That question actually makes my point far better than any answer could,” Ariadne told him sweetly, shooting Catherine a knowing smile. Her sister rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“Ariadne is trying to convince me of the merits of a slow courtship,” Catherine explained to her husband and his friends. “I, apparently, have not shown myself to be particular to that method.”

“We were perfectly reasonable about it,” Percy said to his wife reassuringly.

“No, you weren’t.” This came from both Ariadne and the Duke of Wilds, who looked at one another in amused surprise upon finding themselves so effortlessly in agreement.

Ariadne smiled politely at the duke. She had seen him around Town, here and there, in the time since she had attended that fated house party with Catherine, and the nearly two years had not diminished his handsomeness.

Not that she would have expected otherwise, even if she hadn’t crossed paths with the man every so often.

The Duke of Wilds was nearly as famed for his beauty as he was for his rakish hedonism. He had never been anything but polite to Ariadne, likely due to her connection with Percy, but his looks belied his reputation as a man who could get women to do anything he desired.

The Duke of Wilds was pretty—there were no two ways about it. He reminded Ariadne of nothing more than portraits of Lucifer in the fall, beautiful and heartbreaking—and dangerously tempting.

Ariadne might not be the most pious woman in England, but she had been to her fair share of sermons. She knew better than to fall for that kind of alluring beauty.

Not that the duke was trying to tempt her , of course.

“I simply cannot have both of you teaming up against me,” Percy said, looking faintly appalled. “There’s no hope for David, of course, but Ariadne, please. Have pity on a man.”

Ariadne tapped her chin as though she was considering this. Percy, unused to the trials and tribulations of having a younger sibling, looked genuinely concerned.

Despite Percy’s lack of faith, it was the duke who rescued his friend from this teasing.

“And who, pray tell,” he drawled, “is pursuing courtship, slow or otherwise?”

“Oh,” Catherine said doubtfully. “I’m not sure that we ought to discuss it here…”

Indeed, Ariadne didn’t necessarily wish to discuss this here and now, but she supposed she had told Catherine she would learn what she could about Lord Hershire.

God, keeping her word was a trial.

Besides, having a man’s point of view might be helpful, given how the viscount’s words about wives being the moral heart and protection from men’s unsavory tendencies were still ringing in her ears.

So she did what the Society mask demanded: she adopted a look of gentle curiosity, one that said she was an engaged member of the ton but that she was not a gossip.

“Do you know Lord Hershire?” she asked with honed mildness.

The duke audibly scoffed. “Ah, yes,” he said. “George Stunton.”

Ariadne hadn’t found the man to be delightful, necessarily, but the duke’s dismissive attitude seemed a bit much for the viscount, who, if a touch clumsy, had seemed overall harmless.

She was surprised enough to let her mask slip, just the tiniest bit.

“Really? He seemed proper enough.”

Even with the slip, her comment was innocuous. She was therefore surprised again when the duke rolled his eyes.

“Oh, I’m sure he did,” the Duke of Wilds said with a little laugh.

Ariadne wasn’t going to push further; if the duke wanted to be irritating and mysterious, he was welcome to it. She had a plan. And getting lured into mischief by beautiful, rakish dukes was not part of the plan.

Catherine, however, looked worried.

“Is this the kind of person we ought to keep away from Ari?” she asked fretfully.

The duke grew more serious at the query. “I wouldn’t say so, no,” he admitted slowly. “Hershire isn’t a villain, just a bit of a hypocrite, by my estimation. A bit ‘rules for thee but not for me’ as it were.”

This made sense based on what Ariadne had gathered about the viscount, but while they were on the topic…

“Elaborate,” she said. Her tone was too keen, too demanding; she’d lost the mask. She blinked it back into place.

But the duke was already giving her a look that was uncomfortably interested . Not in any salacious way—or, at least, not particularly salacious for him. Ariadne suspected that the duke would still look a little flirtatious if he was speaking to a rock.

But his look was worse than flirtation. It was keen. Like he saw through her.

Well, fine. The mask was a tool for finding herself a husband, and the Duke of Wilds was certainly not a candidate for that .

“The thing about men like Hershire,” the duke began.

“David,” Percy said warningly. Catherine shushed him.

“I want to hear this,” she said.

The duke darted his eyes over to his friend, then paused, apparently considering his words.

“The thing about men like Hershire,” he repeated, “is that they appear proper, not because they are , but because they wish to…keep things separate.”

“What things?” Ariadne pressed.

“Well,” the duke said.

“No!” Catherine, the traitor, interjected. “I take it back. We are not going to be hearing this in the middle of a ballroom.”

“We could leave,” Ariadne suggested. She was happy to have an excuse to be finished for the evening.

“We are not going to be hearing about this anywhere,” Catherine clarified.

Ariadne gave her sister a look . Catherine was not deterred. Really, Ariadne should have known better than to even try.

“How about this?” the duke interjected smoothly. “I will see Hershire tonight at…an event that we are both scheduled to attend.”

What event? The words were halfway to Ariadne’s lips before Percy interjected again.

“ David ,” he repeated warningly.

“Yes, Christ, Percy, give it a rest,” the duke retorted. “I shan’t sully your innocent ears.”

“It’s not my ?—”

“But,” the duke went on, interrupting his friend, “I can, ah, encourage Hershire to be more forthright with you, Lady Ariadne.”

This wasn’t exactly the information that Ariadne had wanted—and she doubted that Hershire would be honest with her following any sort of encouragement . But she supposed it was a nice enough offer.

“I appreciate that,” she said, giving him a polite smile.

“Of course, my lady,” he said. The words were right, but there was something in the way that the duke’s mouth quirked up at the side that made Ariadne worry that she might blush.

Well, that would not do at all. She was not going to let herself feel any— anything because of the Duke of Wilds. That would be even more foolish than sitting around, waiting, and hoping that the perfect match would simply fall into her lap. It would not be the move of a strategic young lady.

“Right,” Percy said briskly. “Well, that’s enough of that. I am going to dance with my wife now?—”

Catherine let out a small, quickly stifled giggle, and, despite herself, Ariadne found herself exchanging an amused glance with the Duke of Wilds. She quickly looked back at her sister, only to see Percy giving them both an extremely suspicious look.

“Go away, David,” he said. “Find someone else to corrupt.”

The duke smirked at his friend, but there was an edge to it. “I don’t corrupt anyone who isn’t seeking it,” he said with a mildness that Ariadne recognized from her own experience in acting just right. The duke very clearly did not feel as mild as he wanted Percy to believe.

And maybe Percy recognized this, because his expression dropped its sternness, adopting instead a hint of chagrin.

“Of course,” he said. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

The duke gave his friend a nod, the tension disappearing from both men in a flash.

“I actually think I will head home,” Ariadne said. “I’ve a half dozen other engagements this week alone.”

Catherine stepped briefly out of Percy’s arms to buss her sister’s cheek affectionately. “I shall see you soon?”

“Of course,” she said. “Goodnight.” She squeezed Catherine’s hand, then bobbed a curtsey to the duke.

She didn’t know what possessed her, but as she headed toward the exit, she chanced a glance backward.

The Duke of Wilds was still watching her. And, as she met his gaze, he gave her a most irritating, most irregular wink.