Page 87 of Dukes All Night Long

Bellamy House, Mayfair

Midnight

Dearest Lady Kingsley,

In celebration of the Twelfth Night, you are invited to an exclusive evening of intrigue and indulgence. Only the spirited will dare to join the revelry. The night is long, and dawn may find you changed. Do say you’ll attend.

Yours in mischief,

Lady Ella Bellamy

T he correspondence had arrived a few days after Christmas.

It was a rather cryptic description, but not one Lady Arabella Kingsley would shy away from.

Although Arabella typically left for her country home on the first day of the year, she extended her stay in London so that she might attend what promised to be quite the party.

Lady Bellamy’s events were notorious. No one in their right mind would refuse.

Now, as her carriage came to a thudding halt in front of Lady Bellamy’s townhome, she smiled to herself.

A wealthy widow came and went as she pleased, took whomever she chose to bed without guilt, and most certainly enjoyed a good party.

Especially one that promised sensual and forbidden adventure.

What awaited her on this dark night? She could hardly wait to find out.

Knowing that only the most fashionable among the ton were invited to Lady Bellamy’s affairs, she’d dressed carefully in an off-the-shoulder ball gown made from rich midnight-blue silk.

Her maid had swept her dark hair into a smooth, high chignon, with a few strategically placed curls to frame her round face and large brown eyes.

A pair of blue gloves covered her slender hands.

She briefly fingered the diamond choker nestled in the hollow of her long, slender neck.

It had been a gift from her late husband, God rest his soul.

He’d been too sickly to pleasure her in bed, but he’d tried to make up for it with lavish presents.

At only six and twenty, she felt as if she’d lived many lifetimes already.

Although her heart had once been shattered into a thousand pieces, she landed on her feet as only a cat could.

After the man she loved disappeared the night before he had promised to propose, she’d been forced to marry a man sixty years her senior.

The choice had been simple. Marry well or face destitution and ruin, not only for herself but for her mother and younger sister.

Her father’s death had left them with debts that far exceeded their ability to survive. Unless she married into money.

Two years after her marriage to Lord Kingsley, during which time she’d nursed the sickly, elderly man with compassion and friendship, he’d died peacefully while holding her hand. For her trouble? He’d left her his fortune.

Leaving her lonely but very rich. But it had all been worth it.

Her mother and sister were well taken care of.

She’d been able to provide a handsome dowry for her little sister, ensuring a successful union.

Arabella had dear friends, copious social events to keep her entertained, a library filled with books on every subject imaginable, and a loyal staff who looked after her as if she were the queen herself. All was well.

Except for the occasional thought of Lucian Rothmere, the Duke of Rothmere.

The man who had left her drained of tears.

She’d wept for days, but eventually, there were no more tears left, leaving her hardened but not completely bitter.

She knew how lucky she had been to marry Lord Kingsley.

He’d saved her when she desperately needed saving.

After his death, she had no need for a man, other than the occasional young lover she enjoyed without attachment.

Now, her carriage came to a screeching halt outside Lady Bellamy’s townhome.

A footman helped her from the coach onto the cobblestone road obscured in a swirling mist. She drew in an excited breath as she took in the white facade of the building nestled in the heart of Mayfair.

Tonight, it was all lit up with flickering torches, but inside was dark, the windows covered with heavy drapes.

She shivered with delight. How delicious it would be.

Footmen in immaculate black-and-gold livery stood at attention, their expressions carefully neutral.

One of them escorted her inside to the entrance hall and took her cloak from her.

She’d called on Lady Bellamy several times before, but the decadence of the furnishings always took her breath away.

The marble floors, veined in gold, were covered with thick Persian rugs of deep sapphire and crimson.

An ornate chandelier hung from a soaring ceiling.

Portraits of long-departed noblemen and -women decorated the walls.

Standing before the wide staircase stood Lady Bellamy, stunning in an emerald-green gown that matched her eyes and contrasted beautifully with her golden hair. One gloved hand rested on the polished banister, while the other held a glass of red wine.

Her face lit up at the sight of Arabella. “Lady Kingsley, how good of you to come.”

“I would not have missed it for anything in the world.” Arabella nodded respectfully. “Thank you for including me.”

“The pleasure’s mine. You were the first on my list.” Lady Bellamy brushed Arabella’s wrist. “You look ravishing. I do hope you’ll enjoy yourself and that you’ve brought your usual wit. You may need it tonight.”

“How intriguing.”

“I do my best to make it so.” Lady Bellamy’s eyes danced with mischief. “Life is short, is it not? We must make the most of every moment.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Lady Bellamy nodded toward a footman, who hustled over to present Arabella with a small, white envelope.

“Read it once you’re inside the salon,” Lady Bellamy said. “And let the games begin.”

“I shall look forward to seeing what you have planned for us.” They exchanged genuine smiles, before Arabella was led into the grand salon by the same footman who had escorted her inside.

The party pulsed with energy. Servants weaved through the guests carrying trays of champagne and sugared fruits.

In the corner of the room, a musician played Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata , first movement, on a grand piano.

Between that and the ethereal light shed from flickering sconces, the room held an air of mystery and intrigue.

A footman offered her a glass of champagne which she graciously accepted.

There were roughly two dozen guests, all dressed in the highest, most modern fashions, mingling about the salon, speaking in hushed voices.

She instinctively drifted toward the roaring fireplace to get the best view of the other guests.

Careful not to spill her champagne, she opened her envelope. And gasped.

You are to partner with the esteemed Lord Lucian Rothmere, Lord of Rothmere. When instructed, you will find your way to the Blue Room, where you will begin a game of wits.

Lord Rothmere. No, it could not be. She had not set eyes upon him for five years. Not since the night she expected him to call upon her mother and ask for Arabella’s hand in marriage. The minutes had ticked by like hours, the hours like days. He had not come. Instead, he’d sent a note.

Dearest Arabella,

I am sorry. I cannot marry you. It is for your sake that I am leaving England and shall not return.

Yours,

Lucian

Even all these years later, his rejection still devastated her.

The initial wound had sliced through her like a dull knife, leaving her in breathless, blinding agony.

Apparently, time did not heal all wounds.

It hadn’t done anything of the sort for her.

Yes, it had faded enough that she could function and go on with her life, but it had never gone away.

The pain that came from loving a man who left didn’t simply fade.

Instead, it became a quiet ache that had settled into her bones and become a part of her.

It was not just the memory of him that lingered but also thoughts of what could have been. Children and a happy home. Growing old with the man she’d loved more than anything in the world.

The dreams were the worst. During her slumber, he’d come back to her a hundred times. Oh, how she’d rejoiced in those false moments, only to wake up and lose him all over again.

It would have been easier if he’d died. At least then it would not have been his choice to leave her.

And he was here? Tonight? Her gaze darted about. She would go. She would feign a sudden, debilitating headache. But it was too late. He was there. Not six feet away. Staring at her with glittering eyes. His jaw locked tight.

He headed toward her.

She drank in the sight of him, despite her wishes to flee.

He looked even more handsome than the last time she saw him.

Damn him. Tall and lean, with the same thick, dark, wavy hair he wore brushed back from his forehead.

Dark brows and lashes framing stormy gray eyes.

He moved with the strength that had come from his love affair with boxing and fencing.

His grace was simply God-given. How she hated him.

What should she do? She was trapped. Their eyes locked. She could not look away. And then he was upon her. Bowing, slowly and deliberately, not a careless dip of the chin.

“Lady Kingsley.” He took her gloved hand, hesitating only briefly, eyes still peering into hers, before pressing his lips against her knuckles.

“Your Grace.” She lifted her chin, arranging her mouth into a smirk, willing her eyes to harden like polished stones.

Lucian did not waver. His gaze remained on her as if it were nothing to see her again. As if they were simply old friends seeing each other for the first time in years. “It is good to see you. You look…well.”

“Thank you.” Her tone remained clipped and cold. “I cannot stay.”