Page 23 of Scoundrel Take Me Away (Dukes in Disguise #3)
Chapter Ten
For the next week, Lucy did not see hide nor hair of the Duke of Thornecliff.
The morning after their eventful outing to Sharpe’s, she awakened full of energy despite only having had a few hours of sleep.
She’d passed the day running races in the garden with Kitty, her head full of the way Thornecliff had held the little girl and listened to her so attentively.
It wasn’t until after she’d spent suppertime dodging questions about what she and Thornecliff had gotten up to the night before that she realized they’d parted without making any plans for their next excursion.
Understandably—she’d still been half lost in a daze of pleasure, and he’d been…she didn’t even know. He’d been quiet, in a way that seemed unlike him.
Determined to be a gentleman, she supposed, although that didn’t sound much like him either.
Or perhaps she wasn’t coming to know him as well as she’d thought.
Gabriel.
All the next day, she waited at home, expecting any moment to hear Mr. Goring announce “His Grace, the Duke of Thornecliff” was calling. Or at least a note, delivered on a silver salver, inviting her along on another evening tour of London’s darker corners.
But he didn’t come. And he didn’t send word.
Ten days later, Lucy had accepted that he wasn’t going to.
Well, perhaps “accepted” was the wrong word. Lucy was fuming with a potent blend of embarrassment, regret, and pure feminine pique.
Perhaps he was one of those men who only cared for the chase. She’d let him bring her to a shattering climax in the foyer of a gaming hell, and suddenly he was no longer interested in her. It happened all the time.
But that didn’t mean Lucy had to like it.
Lucy knew she ought to let it go. And maybe she could have, with a lot of resentment and secret hurt feelings, if it hadn’t been for the scandal sheets.
Because if Lucy had lost track of Thornecliff, the scandalmongers definitely had not. Every morning brought a fresh account of his dissolute doings, the parties and routs he’d attended with his entourage of admirers, the late nights at gaming hells and boxing rings and taverns.
All the places he’d promised to take Lucy.
Restless and reckless, she would’ve given anything to lay one of her breadcrumb trails for The Gentle Rogue, in the short chapter of Midnight Rider she finally managed to turn in.
She longed to see him, almost wanted to apologize as though she’d betrayed him by succumbing to Gabriel— Thornecliff’s —tawdry seduction. Except it was herself she’d betrayed.
And with Sir Colin Semple poking around, she was afraid to do anything that might give him a clue as to where he could hunt down his quarry.
What she’d accepted was that if Thornecliff wouldn’t come to her, she would damn well go to him. She would yank him out of his den of debauchery, and she would remind him of the promise he’d made.
Regardless of the fact that he’d only promised to squire her about Town to give him a chance to seduce her…and now he had. At least enough to prove that Lucy wanted him, though he hadn’t taken his own pleasure of her, and surely that was only half a seduction, at best.
Had it been that lackluster? Had he been…bored by her? Too bored to even bother finishing the seduction?
Well, too bad! He had made a promise! And if Lucy’s tried and true method of orchestrating a meeting with The Gentle Rogue was no longer safe, she needed more than ever to visit places in London where she might discover clues as to his identity. She needed to warn him about Sir Colin.
Yes. That was the only reason she was so set on seeing Thornecliff.
Lucy was consumed with what she’d say to Thornecliff when she found him, and she welcomed those thoughts as they did a creditable job of blocking out the memories of everything that had happened between them in the anteroom of Sharpe’s.
And the deeply buried fear that, having had her in his arms once, Thornecliff was done with her.
That he’d decided she wasn’t worth tupping , as the awful Lord Chicheley would have said.
Molly had helped to dress Lucy for an evening of vengeance in a daring gown of wine-red satin trimmed with gold accents.
A cloth of gold shawl would provide little in the way of warmth, but it did drape lovingly over her shoulders and trail becomingly almost to the floor, where her gold slippers peeped out from beneath the gathered hem of her claret-colored skirts.
Fastening a dazzling garnet necklace round Lucy’s throat, Molly bit her lip. “I wish I could go with you tonight.”
“Bess needs you more than I do,” Lucy said. “She’s come to quite rely upon you in the last few years. I’ll be absolutely fine.”
“At least take Charlie with you!”
Lucy restrained a sigh. She’d hoped to avoid this sort of thing, since Bess was already abed after retiring to her rooms once supper was done, and Nathaniel was away for a couple of days to check on some repair work being undertaken at the foundling home he and Bess supported.
“Surely Charlie has better things to do than follow me around all evening,” Lucy protested, but Molly had a mulish look on her pretty face.
“There’s naught more important than your safety,” Molly said stoutly. “How would I look your family in the eye if I let you traipse out of the house with no one to see after you?”
It chafed at Lucy’s sense of independence, but she forced herself to stop and consider that she didn’t know exactly where she’d need to venture to ferret out Thornecliff’s latest lair.
There were parts of London even Lucy wouldn’t be comfortable exploring after dark on her own. It might not be the worst idea to bring along a strapping young footman.
Especially one whom Lucy had always been able to cajole into doing whatever she wished.
Of course, Lucy reflected resignedly as Charlie barred the door of the carriage with an outraged expression, that was back when he was fifteen.
Charlie had gone from a young, impressionable wounded sailor in His Majesty’s Navy to a burly twenty-year-old underbutler.
“You told me I should’ve enlisted your aid when I wanted to sneak out at night, that you’d do all you could to help me. How is this different?” Lucy demanded, curling her fingers around the edge of the carriage door and assessing Charlie for any weaknesses.
“What’s different is no one was ever going to know about your midnight rides,” Charlie insisted staunchly. “But this place is very, very public. I promise you, I am helping you by not letting you go into that…that…”
Words seemed to fail him. “Hotel?” Lucy suggested.
Color darkened Charlie’s lean brown cheeks but he stood firm. “A public dining room of a hotel .”
“Goodness. You make it sound like a brothel.”
Charlie crossed his arms over his chest. “It might as well be! No lady would dare be seen there. Your brother would have my head! Let’s go to White’s instead. Gentlemen love those clubs of theirs, don’t they? And it’s just round the corner, we could be there in a trice.”
“Thornecliff is no gentleman,” Lucy pointed out.
“He would be bored to tears at a respectable club like White’s.
No, if we are to discover him, we can’t search respectable places.
We’ve already been to Sharpe’s, Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, and that tavern down by the docks.
You won’t take me to The Nemesis, though I think it’s by far the best lead as it’s a known haunt of his. This place is all that’s left.”
This place being The Grand, London’s first European-style hotel. Recently opened and reputed to be very fine inside, luxuriously appointed and meticulously staffed, The Grand was extremely fashionable and in demand with the younger, racier members of the Ton.
Lucy had overheard a group of rowdy, already-inebriated gentlemen at Sharpe’s making plans to adjourn to The Grand for a late supper.
It would be considered quite risqué for the unmarried sister of a duke to appear in The Grand’s dining room, but Lucy could well imagine Thornecliff there.
“It’s ridiculous,” she burst out. “I stayed three months at The Ritz in Paris before I found a townhouse to let. No one batted an eye.”
“In London, lots of eyes would be batted,” Charlie said, brow lowered. “I can’t let you do it. Sharpe’s was bad enough, but as you’d already been there…”
He bit his lip and Lucy felt a stab of guilt. Charlie was so uncomfortable with everything they’d done this evening. And if she wanted to succeed, things would only be getting more uncomfortable for him.
Resigning herself to going home early and sneaking out again alone to continue her search, Lucy cast a regretful glance up at the distinguished facade of The Grand Hotel.
Just then, a group of elaborately dressed people spilled out of the front door.
The young bloods of the fast set were in full evening dress, as though on their way to a ball, while their female companions were attired like the highest of high flyers: gowns cut low, with scandalously tight bodices and hemlines gathered and raised enough to show a daring flash of ankle as they tripped down the stairs, laughing gaily.
This was so exactly Thornecliff’s sort of place. And she was here now. Surely Lucy could contrive to take a quick peek into the dining room. Just to see if he was there.
Thinking quickly, she subsided back against the seat and gave Charlie a rueful smile. “Oh fine, you win. We’ll try White’s. Only, they’ll never let me in there. Gentlemen only.”
Eagerness replaced the discomfort in Charlie’s eyes. “I can ask the butler to let me deliver a message to him—they let runners and footmen in for errands of that sort. If Thornecliff is there, they’ll take me to him, and I’ll get him to come out and speak to you.”
“Oh Charlie, that’s a wonderful idea! I’ll wait here for you.” Lucy clasped her hands together, hoping she wasn’t overdoing it. But Charlie was too relieved to have a job to do that didn’t involve allowing Lucy to enter The Grand Hotel; he hurried off without more discussion, a spring in his step.