Page 4 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)

CHAPTER 4

“ B y God, Ashthorne, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Gregory Forrest, the Earl of Drakeley, studied his friend from across the leather armchairs in White’s morning room. “Or perhaps you encountered something even more terrifying—a marriage-minded mama?”

Dorian barely glanced up from his contemplation of the club’s excellent brandy.

Morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catching the crystal decanter and casting prismatic shadows over the mahogany side table.

The familiar sounds of London’s most exclusive gentlemen’s club surrounded them—the rustle of newspapers, the clink of glasses, the hum of discreet conversations about politics and horses and women.

“Your concern is touching, Gregory, but it is entirely misplaced.”

“Is it?” Gregory leaned forward, his normally jovial expression sharpening with interest. “You disappeared rather abruptly from our game at the Golden Lion last night. Very unlike you to abandon a winning streak.”

“I had business elsewhere.”

“Ah.” A knowing grin spread across Gregory’s face. “The sort of business that takes place in certain establishments of negotiable virtue? Really, old boy, you might have invited me along.”

Dorian’s fingers tightened around his glass. “It wasn’t that kind of visit.”

The amusement in Gregory’s eyes dimmed. “You went to see her again, didn’t you?”

“Keep your voice down,” Dorian snapped, though there was no one within earshot.

The morning room was nearly empty at this hour, most of the ton’s gentlemen still abed after their night’s revelries.

“My apologies.” Gregory glanced around before continuing in a lower voice, “But you know it’s dangerous to be seen there too often. People will talk.”

“Let them talk.” Dorian tossed back the remainder of his brandy. “I know what I am doing.”

“Do you?” Gregory’s voice held genuine concern now. “Because from where I sit, you are taking an enormous risk. If certain parties were to discover?—”

“I said, I know what I am doing.” The words came out sharper than Dorian had intended. He softened his voice at his friend’s hurt expression. “Forgive me. I am not at my best this morning.”

“So I see.” Gregory signaled a hovering footman for fresh drinks. “Though I suspect there’s more to your mood than our mutual concern. You seem particularly distracted.”

Dorian’s thoughts drifted treacherously to flashing green eyes and copper hair. He pushed the image aside.

“What do you know about the Marquess of Colton?”

Gregory’s eyebrows rose at the non sequitur. “Thomas Keswick? The usual story. A young man inherits a title and proceeds to gamble away everything not entailed. Decent enough fellow when sober—which isn’t often.” He paused as the footman delivered their drinks. “Why do you ask?”

“Merely curious.” Dorian sipped his fresh brandy, savoring the burn. “His losses are becoming quite notorious.”

“True enough. Though his sister does her best to keep him in line.” Gregory’s expression turned thoughtful. “Now, she is an interesting creature. Lady Alice. I’ve seen her drag him out of more than one gaming hall.”

Dorian’s glass paused halfway to his lips. “Have you, indeed?”

“Oh yes. She’s quite determined when it comes to family duty.” Gregory studied his friend with growing interest. “But surely you know all of this? The ton’s been watching their drama unfold for months now.”

“I make it a point not to follow Society gossip.”

“Since when?” Gregory laughed. “You usually know everything worth knowing about everyone. It’s quite annoying, actually.” His eyes narrowed suddenly. “Wait a moment. Does this have something to do with your hasty departure last night?”

“You are imagining things.”

“Am I?” Gregory leaned back, a cat-like smile spreading across his face. “You know, I heard the most fascinating rumor this morning. Something about a lady of quality being seen entering Madame Rosa’s establishment?—”

“Whatever you think you?—”

“And now here you are, asking about Lord Colton and his sister.” Gregory’s grin widened. “Come now, Dorian. I thought we were friends.”

Dorian fixed him with a quelling stare that would have sent lesser men scrambling for cover.

“Drakeley, forget whatever gossip you’ve heard and whatever conclusions you are drawing.”

“Peace, friend.” Gregory’s smile didn’t fade, but his voice grew serious. “You already have one delicate situation to manage. Are you certain you want to complicate matters further?”

Images from the previous night flashed through Dorian’s mind—Alice’s defiant stance in that brothel room, the warmth of her in his arms as he’d guided her down the stairs, the way she’d defended her brother despite his failings. The phantom scent of jasmine teased his senses.

“There are no complications,” he said firmly, as much to himself as to Gregory. “I simply happened to encounter Lady Alice in an unfortunate situation and ensured her safe return home. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” Gregory raised an aristocratic eyebrow. “Then why are you gripping that glass as though it has personally offended you?”

Dorian deliberately relaxed his fingers, setting the brandy aside. “I think I’ll take a turn around the park. Care to join me?”

“Running away, old boy?” But Gregory rose as well, adjusting his perfectly tied cravat. “Very well. But don’t think this conversation is over. I haven’t seen you this rattled since Cambridge.”

“I am not rattled.”

“No?” Gregory fell into step beside him as they made their way through the club’s elegant halls. “Then I suppose you won’t mind that Lady Alice frequently rides in the park at this hour? With her friend, Lady Joanna?”

Dorian’s steps faltered almost imperceptibly. “I fail to see the relevance.”

“Of course you do.” Gregory’s laughter followed him out into the morning sunshine. “ Of course you do.”

Alice heard her brother before she saw him, his voice carrying through the dressing room door as she approached.

“Blast and botheration…”

That was followed by what sounded suspiciously like a cravat being yanked loose for the dozenth time.

“Perhaps, my lord, if we tried the waterfall style instead—” Jenkins’ patient tone suggested this wasn’t the first style he’d proposed.

“No, no.” Thomas’s voice held an edge of panic she’d never heard before. “The mathematical knot is more serious, isn’t it? Shows I am a man of substance.”

“Indeed, my lord.” Jenkins, bless him, maintained his perfect composure.

Alice smiled to herself before tapping gently on the door.

The mighty Marquess of Colton, the terror of London’s gaming halls, brought low by a simple cravat. All because of afternoon tea with the Westhavens—or rather, with Lady Evelyn Savoy.

“Enter,” Thomas called, still fussing with his neckwear.

“Are you ready yet?” Alice couldn’t quite keep the impatience out of her voice. “We cannot be late.”

“I am perfectly aware of—” Thomas turned, stopping short at her raised eyebrow. “What?”

“Your cravat is crooked.” She bit back a smile at his obvious distress.

“Impossible. I’ve been working on the bloody thing for—” He glanced back at the mirror. “Oh, blast it all.”

Alice’s lips twitched. “Jenkins, would you give us a moment?”

The valet bowed and retreated, no doubt grateful to escape the morning’s sartorial crisis.

“Here.” Alice stepped forward, deftly unknotting his efforts. “I know this isn’t how you typically spend your afternoons?—”

“Typically, I’d still be in bed at this ungodly hour.”

“It’s nearly noon.”

“As I said…” Thomas submitted to her ministrations, watching as she created a perfect Mathematical knot with irritating ease. “I don’t see why we can’t meet at a more civilized hour. Over dinner, perhaps. Or at a ball.”

“Because Lady Westhaven wishes to observe how you comport yourself in a domestic setting.” Alice stepped back to survey her work. “There. Now, try not to pull at it.”

Thomas resisted the urge to do exactly that. “I know how to behave in polite society, Sister dear.”

“Do you?” But her tone was gentle. “When was the last time you took tea with a young lady and her mama?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Well…”

“Exactly.” She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from his sleeve. “Just remember—let Lady Evelyn speak. Ask her about her interests. And for heaven’s sake, don’t mention racing or gaming or any of your usual pursuits.”

“You make me sound like a complete scoundrel.”

Her silence was answer enough.

“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose I deserved that. But I promise you, I’ll be the very model of propriety today.”

An hour later, Alice watched her brother struggle through the most painful social interaction she’d ever witnessed.

The silence in the Westhavens’ elegant drawing room stretched on as Thomas visibly searched for something—anything—appropriate to say.

Lady Evelyn sat across from him, the picture of modest beauty in spring green muslin. Her dark curls were arranged perfectly, her hands folded demurely in her lap. She hadn’t said more than “good afternoon” since their arrival, while Lady Westhaven’s hawk-like gaze hadn’t left Thomas once.

“The weather…” Thomas began, then faltered.

Alice winced inwardly. Her usually silver-tongued brother, notorious for his wit in gaming halls across London, had been reduced to discussing the weather .

“Indeed,” Lady Westhaven said when nothing further was forthcoming. “Most seasonal.”

Alice couldn’t bear it any longer. “I understand you enjoy reading, Lady Evelyn?”

The relief in Thomas’s expression was almost comical.

“Oh yes!” Some of Lady Evelyn’s reserve melted away. “I have just finished the most fascinating treatise on botanical illustration—” She stopped suddenly, color rising in her cheeks. “But perhaps that’s not of general interest.”

“No, please continue.” Something shifted on Thomas’s face, a genuine interest that Alice had never seen before. “Do you paint?”

“A little.” Lady Evelyn glanced at him through long lashes. “Though I am afraid I am not very accomplished.”

“I am sure that’s not true.” Then, to Alice’s utter astonishment, Thomas added, “I say, would you like to see the conservatory at Colton House? The spring bulbs are just coming into bloom, and you might find some subjects worth sketching.”

Alice stared at her brother, wondering if he’d been replaced by an imposter. The Thomas she knew couldn’t tell a rose from a radish.

But Lady Evelyn’s face lit up. “Oh! Do you really mean it? I have heard that the Colton Conservatory is quite extensive.”

“It is.”

Alice bit back a smile at Thomas’s confident tone—she was quite certain he hadn’t set foot in the conservatory since they were children.

“Perhaps… perhaps you might come to see it? With Lady Westhaven, of course,” Thomas added hastily when Lady Westhaven opened her mouth to object.

“That would be lovely.” Lady Evelyn’s smile transformed her entire face.

Alice watched her brother’s expression soften as he gazed at Lady Evelyn, and something in her chest tightened with unexpected emotion. Perhaps there was hope for him, after all.