Page 8 of The Duke of Sin (Rakes and Roses #1)

CHAPTER 8

W hile milling in the billiards room after the seven-hour hunt that day, Edward went to the wrack of sticks and plucked one and the other off the hooks, testing each for balance and weight.

His final selection was a cue of polished mahogany and he carried it back to the large table covered with green baize while Felton waited. He felt again and steadily ignored a heated gaze boring into the side of his neck, knowing Rutledge was furious with him.

Felton leaned on his cue and looked over his shoulder. “Methinks you might have poked a savage bear.”

“He’ll get over it,” Edward said while lining up his shot.

“I do not think he will easily for a shot whistling past his ear, not anytime soon,” Felton laughed. “And I think he knows it was you.”

“He cannot prove it,” Edward said as he catapulted the white ball into the mix of the balls. “And if he does accuse, it is his word against mine.”

“I don’t know,” Felton said while taking his shot. “I think you are walking a very fine line.”

Rising from his place, Edward rounded the table to find another shot. “I hope to push him off the edge soon because his self-interest is appalling to me.”

Taking up a glass of sherry on a table nearby, Felton said, “I don’t think a warning shot will persuade him to run to Rundell, Bridge, and Rundell for a ring.”

“With the state of his finances, I expect the only thing he can afford is the ring off his velvet drapery,” Edward muttered after a misplaced shot. “But this is a matter of honor instead of finance.”

Felton’s shot failed to sink a red ball into a pocket and Edward tried to line up his next shot but found the angle awkward. Slowly, he circled the table and tried to find another angle, but where he stopped placed him right in line with Rutledge.

The man was glaring death and brimstone towards him and Edward knew that if the ground opened up and swallowed him, it would be the best night of his life.

Instead, Edward lined up his shot and while keeping his eyes on the lord, hit his mark into the pocket with a resounding clack . He hoped Rutledge got the message.

Two evenings later, Edward watched the entrance to the Moyet’s ballroom like a man starved of water looked for rain.

For the last two nights, he’d thought of little else but Alice Winslow and that scintillating kiss. He would not—could not—even admit to himself the times he had taken himself into hand, with that kiss in mind.

He remembered her soft body pressed against his, the feel of her curves beneath his hand, and the taste of her lips on his; all of it had capitulated him to some of the most intense releases he had ever had.

Now, he needed to see Alice and tell her about the situation with Rutledge, perhaps in a quiet corner or during a waltz on the floor. While flicking a pocket watch open to check the time, he wandered over to the champagne table and took a glass.

How do I tell her I have failed? Do I tell her that part or do I say I am making ground?

The doors above the short stairs opened and the butler announced,

“Presenting, Mrs Agatha Thorpe, Miss Eliza Thorpe, Miss Alice Winslow and Miss Penelope Winslow.”

With the glass to his lips, Edward’s eyes were fixed on Alice and his gaze roamed over her with slow deliberation; God’s bones, she was gorgeous. Her ivory gown clung to her exquisite bosom and slender waist, flaring into full skirts while her golden hair was arranged in cascading ringlets; she looked like a princess.

In contrast, her cousin wore a gown that appeared to be a size too small, and her breasts filled the top of the garment more than they should. It fell about her slender frame, her silver slippered shoes peeking out from beneath the hem.

Clearly she seeks attention. She will not get it from me.

He waited while they descended the stairs and the aunt made a turn around the room with her daughter on her arm, leaving Alice and Penelope to sit at the sidelines.

Doubling back to the refreshment table, he picked up two filled flutes and carried them over to where they were sitting and talking between themselves.

“Ladies,” he greeted.

Alice looked up, her cheeks going faintly pink, “Your Grace.”

She made to stand but he shook his head, deterring her from making the unnecessary curtsy. Frankly, he didn’t need it nor want it. Handing off both glasses, he began, “How are you two this evening?”

“Very well, Your Grace,” Penelope said. “I hope you are the same.”

“Eh, middling,” he replied. “I do regret to tell you, Benedict might be late tonight as apparently, one does need to write an ethics paper in order to pass a class.”

“How is he in his academics?” Alice asked. “Are they worrying him?”

“No,” Edward said. “He is a smart lad, but he is also very much of a procrastinator and I hate to see my past surging in him now.”

Her lips twitched, “I fail to see you as an unstudious pupil.”

“I would stay up to midnight roughhousing with my fellow men in the halls and stay up for six hours to write a paper needed that day,” Edward snorted. “But I was one-and-twenty, so you may give me the allowance of being a reckless lad who had a taste of too much freedom.”

“And what was that freedom like?” Alice asked.

He extended his hand, “If you would like to make a turn with me around the room, I will tell you.”

Before agreeing, Alice looked at Penelope who shook her head accommodatingly. “Go,” she told Alice, “I will be fine.”

The twenty-piece orchestra played a soft tune to keep the warm ambiance, preserving the air that followed the last few dances. The room was glittering from the golden light fanning from the crystal drop chandeliers, and the scones at the hidden nooks and crannies, and reflected off the strategically placed mirrors all around them.

“How long have you been in Town?” Edward asked.

“Not long enough as I needed to be,” she replied vaguely.

“I take it you haven’t read the scandal papers from the last few years then?” he pressed.

“I prefer not to fill my head with biases of people I do not know in case I do meet them, and I am already soured with hate,” Alice murmured while looking keenly around them.

It was redundant though; she had already felt the disapproving looks peppering the back of her neck and banally wondered how long it would take for Edward to catch on.

“I don’t know if that is the comfort I want it to be, alas,” he shrugged.

“It makes no difference. A few years ago, well, seven to be exact, the papers were all agog with a certain lord. They said he was wicked and unprincipled as the devil, a raging wolf in lord’s clothing. His reputation was so beastly that he could ruin a young lady with but a rakish glance.”

Ignoring the glares directed her way, Alice asked, “Would the fellow we are talking about currently be clad in navy blue trousers, a matching jacket, and a silver waistcoat?”

Looking down pointedly at his clothes, Edward replied, “ Hypothetically , yes.”

There were no suppositions about this, but Alice was willing to play his game.

“And what did this devil’s child do?” she asked politely, trying to look as innocent as an angel.

He scoffed. “It would be easier to ask what he did not do,” Edward said gravely. “To those around him, he gave off a look of joie de verve wherever he went, a man of pleasure enjoying the bounties his bloodline gave him. A roaming rake ruled by the flightiest fantasy and fleeting desires.

“There was no act, licentious, debaucherous or scandalous that escaped him, and soon the moniker the Wolf of Valhaven appeared on the scandal sheets.”

In the past years, society had taken him to be an utter rake and wastrel, and if Edward was honest with himself, some of that was true, but most of the time his mind was not engaged in carnal pleasures. Affairs of the state were of the foremost importance.

Most people assumed that the title of Duke meant untamed luxury and pleasure at one’s beck and call, but it was a station to be a servant of the people and pick up the baton where the Prince Regent dropped it. It was not a license to take the taxes and spend it on silks and satins, exotic animals, and country houses.

Running a country took a great deal of time, so when he could, he allowed himself pleasure, a great deal of it and he didn’t restrict it—but that did not diminish the past he had lived. If he traveled down the dark hallways of memory, he would be lost to it.

“Your Grace?” Alice said quietly.

Snapping to attention, he asked, “Hm?”

“You trailed off,” she gently coaxed. “Was there more you wanted to add about your past?”

“Not without scarring your sensibilities,” Edward replied. He eyed the dance floor, contemplating asking the lady to dance. Truly, dancing was one of the few things that allowed him to think of something besides his work, and he worked most of the day. “Would you dance with me?”

Her lips parted softly at the unexpected request. “Are you sure? Everyone is looking at us,” she said quietly.

“Let them look,” he said, extending his hand.

She cast a nervous glance to her sister, before nodding, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Thank you, yes.”

Edward led her onto the floor as the strains of the waltz restarted and while the tremble in her hand gave away her nervousness, he made sure to keep her at an appropriate distance from him—she had his brother’s attention, after all—even though he did not want to.

The petite wallflower looking up at him with trepidation discombobulated him, to say the least.

“Do you like to dance, Miss Alice Winslow?”

She nodded. “I do, yes, when I’m asked.”

The dance began, and they glided their way about the room with him leading and her expertly following. The ball was a crush, but even with the mass of guests, Edward could no longer miss the curious stares that were being thrown in their direction.

“How many times have you danced?”

“Three.”

“That—” he spun them, “—is a travesty.”

“It is the way of our world, I suppose,” Alice replied with another turn, eyes dimming. “The first year I attended a ball, and it was known I came from Gentry, I saw a lady look at me, turn away, and pointedly say, people ought to know their place in this world and abide by it. A marriage between any lord of note and a woman of their kind is quite unthinkable by any standard .”

Although he tempered his rage until his words sounded almost amused, Edward still felt it simmer in his chest. “The dear lady must be blind to the truth that there are untrustworthy ladies in the ton.”

Her brows inched up. “Is that the reason you have not married? That the women, er, pardon me, ladies , are not honest or faithful?”

Edward felt shock blast him from dual fronts; the first was that, by his own words, he had painted himself into a corner that he had masterfully evaded for years, and the second, that she was so keen that she had picked up on it.

It took him two turns to admit, “No, Miss Winslow, that is an entirely different matter.”

“Which I am not privy to,” she gave him a tiny smile.

“Correct,” he said and was struck by his reluctance.

Usually, he considered himself easygoing and sociable, but his secrets were going to remain a secret. No one would pry them out of him, not even the sole woman who had managed to do the impossible: charm him .

“I won’t pry,” she said.

Oddly, Edward felt like he wanted her to ask. He wanted to see that same determination he had seen from her that night at the club—or did it take a mask to allow her to be her real self?

Think of it man, she’s already had a hard time of it with the seasons before, she must act demure so as to not attract any more negative attention. Still, though, I wonder what I can do to see that headstrong side of her.

“How—” She cleared her throat. “How far are you on making gains with... a certain lord?”

A spark of irritation mixed with frustration birthed in his chest knowing he had run into a stone wall with Rutledge. However, it was yet early days, and he still had some cards up his sleeve ready to be dropped on the playing board.

“I have a few stratagems in mind, but sadly, the first one is not making as much headway as I’d hoped,” Edward said. “But never fear, he will do the honorable gesture by your sister.”

Trapping a corner of her bottom lips between her teeth, Alice went quiet and Edward was afraid that she might be considering doing something as hair-brained as tracking Rutledge down again. This time, she might not be so fortunate in getting out unscathed.

“Leave the job to me, Alice,” he dropped his pitch when uttering her name. By all accounts, it was taboo to speak a woman’s name so familiarly, but this time, Edward wanted— needed —her to trust him.

Her eyes flickered up and Edward felt refreshed by how fresh and wholesomely pretty she was without cosmetics; so many women would not dare leave the house without the over-abundance of rouge and powders.

“Trust me.”

With the crescendo approaching, Edward spun them in dizzying turns and at the end, when the music faded, swept her off to the refreshment tables for a drink. Surrounded by notable lords with their charming wives, Edward spotted a few who whispered behind their fans and looked at them suspiciously.

As she watched, Edward dipped a glass into a miniature champagne lake, then held the glass to her. Taking it, Alice said, “Thank you, Your Grace.” She spoke a bit louder, “And thank you for dancing with me. With his lordship not attending, I feared it would be a dreadful evening.”

He gave her a tight smile, “It is something Benedict would have wanted from me.”

She looked over her shoulder at her sister and Aunt before saying, “Please excuse me. I need to return to my family, but please, enjoy the wonderful evening.”

Watching her go, the smooth sway of her hips, and the shimmer of the pins in her hair, Edward wondered if he should have told her the truth about Rutledge and perhaps the two of them could have decided on a plan.

Scowling, he filled a glass for himself and threw back half of his drink.

This is nothing more or nothing less than the first round in a boxing match. It’s the opening salvo and I still have more moves to make. I’ll get Rutledge to fold… one way or another.