Page 32 of Duke of Wickedness (Regency Gods #4)

T he unsettled nature of things between her and David might have driven Ariadne to Bedlam if not for Phoebe, who proved amenable to offering distractions whenever Ariadne needed them.

“You are a dear, do you know that?” Ariadne asked as she and Phoebe strolled, arm in arm, for the third time that week. “I have been bothering you endlessly, and yet you haven’t uttered so much as a word of complaint.”

“Oh, please,” Phoebe scoffed. “Do you know how hard it is to find a good friend around here? Someone who won’t faint dead away if I accidentally let one of my more scandalous opinions slip? You, darling, are worth your weight in gold.”

“You know, that’s what people are usually after when they befriend a Lightholder,” Ariadne teased.

Phoebe’s eyes went wide with alarm for one second only before she made a sour face.

“Don’t tease me like that,” she ordered, though her laughter belied her sternness.

“I shall tease you plenty,” Ariadne said. “After all, as you just noted, we are dear friends. That, I have heard said, is a hallmark of friendship.”

Phoebe squeezed Ariadne’s arm. “I am so glad that you were also lonely and friendless without me,” she said, so cheerfully that Ariadne had to pause her steps in order to gasp with laughter.

It was when she was in this unflattering posture—her hands pressed to her ribs, half bent at the waist—that she saw David.

She stopped laughing and started choking on her own air.

“What has gotten into you?” Phoebe asked. Then, “Oh. Oh, it’s him .”

“Yes, thank you, Phoebe ,” Ariadne managed as she pushed herself upright and began patting at her hair. Why was she patting at her hair?

“You look fine,” Phoebe told her. “Well, with the patting, you look a little insane, but?—”

“Phoebe!”

“He’s coming over here,” Phoebe narrated, as if Ariadne couldn’t see this for herself. “He really is handsome. Do you want me to leave?”

“Do not leave, but do stop talking, I beg you .”

“Understood,” Phoebe said, pasting herself to Ariadne’s side and adopting an expression that Ariadne thought was supposed to be nonchalant, but absolutely, definitely did not convey that.

“Lady Ariadne,” David said, approaching and giving them a polite bow. “How good to see you.”

“Your Grace,” she said, just as polite. “Might I introduce my friend, Miss Phoebe Turner? Miss Turner, this is His Grace, the Duke of Wilds.”

“Miss Turner,” David said, all charm and poise.

Even Phoebe, self-proclaimed bluestocking, she who had compared interest in men to silent fishing, blushed.

Ariadne pinched her.

“Very nice to meet you, Your Grace,” she said. “How do you know our Ariadne?”

This, evidently, was revenge for the pinch.

David’s glance at Phoebe grew assessing. Ariadne wasn’t particularly worried, something that surprised her for a moment until she realized that, of course, she ought not be surprised. She trusted them, trusted them both.

“Lady Ariadne’s sister is married to my friend, the Duke of Seaton,” he said smoothly. “And we have, of course, encountered one another socially.”

“Like at the theater,” Phoebe said knowingly.

“I changed my mind,” Ariadne told her flatly. “Go away.”

“Going away!” Phoebe said with perfect cheer. She gave David a very wobbly curtsey. “ So nice to meet you, Your Grace. I’m going to go look at—” She glanced around. “Trees!”

She skipped off.

“Trees?” David asked, a smile playing about his lips.

“She is unpredictable,” Ariadne said, smiling as Phoebe did, indeed, go over to peer at some trees as though they were perfectly fascinating. “And, as she not-so-subtly hinted, she did see us at the theater that night.”

David’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly. “Are you concerned?”

It wasn’t exactly a fierce show of protectiveness, but Ariadne felt her foolish heart warm anyway.

“No,” she said honestly. “I trust her.”

Something flickered in his expression, but she couldn’t quite read it. Then he turned back to look at her, his charmer’s look fixed in place. He looked handsome, of course, but there was something…inauthentic about it. He looked different when he was being sincere with her.

“You look lovely, Ariadne,” he said, low and silky and not at all himself.

She glanced down at her dress. “Oh, thank you… It’s actually one of my sister’s gowns.”

She cringed as soon as she said it. It was true, actually—Catherine was hideously fashionable, and though Ariadne had more than enough money for her down dresses, she liked borrowing from Catherine. It made her feel closer to her sister.

She supposed she could at least be grateful that she hadn’t admitted that .

Saying she was wearing Catherine’s castoffs made her sound like she was doing that wretched false humility thing that was so popular among ladies of the ton , but at least she hadn’t confessed to the thing that made her sound truly pathetic.

Instead, she could focus on the other embarrassing aspects of this awkward scene.

“Well, it suits you,” he said, and God help her, this was painful.

She’d had a million conversations like this.

A million at least . They had all been fine…

or at least she had managed to suffer them all easily until recently.

But this—this was worse than any of those, not only because she had recently found her patience for pleasant nonsense to be staggeringly diminished but because this was David .

She’d never spoken like this with David, not even at the beginning.

What had changed?

Ariadne was prepared to attribute this to some curse in the stars because, as she was standing there, suffering, Lord Hershire appeared.

The polite, faintly fawning expression he had worn when courting her was gone, replaced by a distinct sneer. Ariadne hoped he would just pass her by—and it was a hard day when she was hoping for the cut direct—but he stopped.

Of course he did.

“Lady Ariadne,” he said snidely. It would have been impressive, really, how much disdain he managed to put in her name alone, if she weren’t focused on what an awful, awful time she was having.

In the distance, Phoebe had given up pretending to look at trees. Once this nightmare was over, Ariadne decided that she and her friend would be discussing this at length over ices. And possibly cakes.

“Good day, Lord Hershire,” she said mildly.

He did not leave. It really had been too much to hope for.

“I suppose it all makes sense now,” he sniffed, daring a none-too-subtle glance over at David. “Your respectability is not as certain as it seems, if this is the kind of company you keep.”

David’s eyebrows rose, and it actually made Ariadne relax to see it. It was the first genuine reaction she’d seen from him yet today.

The viscount was not finished, it seemed.

“This is the problem with young ladies today,” he said with the air of someone unburdening himself of a long-held grievance.

“You all present one face to the public, but inside you are…” He let out a derisive snort.

“Well, I am too much of a gentleman to say such a thing in front of a young lady, even a young lady such as yourself.”

Ariadne’s instinct had been to let this whole mess go. There was little to be gained from perpetuating this idiotic confrontation, and she had enough experience with foolish, prideful men to know that humoring them was usually the quickest route to escape.

But the viscount did not at all seem like he was going to stop this anytime soon. And Ariadne…

Well, Ariadne was simply tired of letting men like the viscount trample all over her. And she was tired of needing rescuing. So, when she saw David get an intense look in his eye, as if he was about to object, she decided to rescue herself, instead.

“If you really believe that everyone shows their true selves in public, my lord,” she said, her voice like lemon sugar—sickeningly sweet with the tiniest bite beneath, “then you really must not have any close friends or family of your own. Otherwise, you would know that most of us save our true selves for those who earn it.”

The viscount blinked at her. She gave him her sweetest smile.

“Of course, it would be hard to gather intimates when you insist on pretending that you are something you aren’t,” she went on pityingly.

“But perhaps if you have… What did you call them?” She tapped her chin.

“ Proclivities that you would prefer not to show to decent folk… That really must be very hard. My sympathies, sir. Might I suggest speaking to a priest? They are compelled to keep your counsel, and this may bring you peace.”

The viscount blinked. And blinked. And blinked.

Ariadne kept smiling.

And then the viscount just walked away. Without a word. He just turned on his heel and walked away.

Ariadne had recently taken a less stringent view of what constituted propriety in public, but even she felt that jumping up and down and cheering would be a bridge too far. Still, it was a near thing. She managed to contain herself with an excited little shake of her shoulders.

She grinned at David, forgetting the awkwardness of a few moments before, and found him giving her an approving look.

No, not just approving. Proud.

“Very nicely done, little bird,” he murmured.

She couldn’t have held back her beaming smile if she tried. His approval felt amazing .

The butterflies in her stomach dropped dead at the frisson of fear that came after that realization.

She couldn’t let herself feel this way about this approval.

This thing between them… She had to remember that it was coming to its natural end.

In a month, possibly less, she and David would pass one another in the park and remember when.

Their time together would be nothing more than a memory.

Letting herself think of this as anything more… It was dangerous.

“Thank you,” she said, and the awkwardness came back in full force. “I…I should be getting back to my friend.”

“Right,” he said, taking a step back. “Of course. I will…see you another time, then.”

“Of course,” she agreed. It was painful. Excruciating.

Curtseying did not make it better.

As soon as David was looking in another direction, Ariadne made a horrified face at Phoebe, who sent her back sympathy in return. She forced herself to keep moving, forced herself not to look back at David, no matter how much she might have wanted to.

Things with David might have been destined for disaster, but at least Ariadne had made a friend out of all of it.

At least she would have Phoebe’s shoulder to cry on when everything went to pieces.