Page 9 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)

CHAPTER 9

“ D earest Evelyn… No, no, too informal. My beloved Lady Evelyn.”

Alice heard rapid footsteps in Thomas’s dressing room as she approached. She caught snatches of muttered phrases, followed by frustrated sighs.

“If you fiddle with your cravat one more time…” Jenkins’ long-suffering voice carried through the door. “I shall be forced to resign.”

“What? Oh, sorry old fellow…” Thomas’s voice held an edge of panic she’d never heard before. “But this has to be perfect. Evelyn deserves perfect.”

Alice knocked and entered the dressing room, only to pause at the sight before her.

Her rakish brother stood before the mirror in his most conservative evening clothes—a dark blue coat, a pristine white shirt, and a perfectly tied cravat. Not a hair looked out of place.

He looked nothing like the careless lord who’d haunted London’s gaming halls.

Jenkins caught her eye in the mirror as he brushed some invisible lint from Thomas’s shoulders. “Lady Evelyn has already demonstrated remarkable appreciation for your unique charms, my lord. One might suggest allowing those natural qualities to shine through.”

“My natural qualities?” Thomas’s bitter laugh made Alice’s heart ache. “You mean my talent for losing money at gambling tables and making a spectacle of myself?”

“I was thinking more of your gift for making the young lady smile,” Jenkins replied gently. “Even when discussing something as tedious as flower cultivation.”

Alice watched her brother’s expression soften.

“She does smile rather beautifully, doesn’t she? Especially when she talks about her flower illustrations. Did you know that she’s cataloging every rose variety in their garden? The way her eyes light up when she describes the different petal formations?—”

He caught himself, flushing.

“Well, don’t you look distinguished.” Alice stepped forward, letting her smile turn teasing. “Almost respectable, even.”

“Almost?” He struck a wounded pose. “I’ll have you know that I am the very model of propriety these days. Haven’t touched a card in weeks.”

“A fact you remind me of daily,” she said dryly. Then, her expression softened at the uncertainty in his eyes. “You really do look wonderful, Thomas. Lady Evelyn will be quite taken with you.”

“Do you think she’ll say yes?” The vulnerability in his voice reminded her of when they were children. “I mean, I know Lady Westhaven has approved of the match—thanks to you—but what if Evelyn only agreed to the courtship out of duty? What if she’s secretly hoping for someone more…” He gestured vaguely. “Someone worthier?”

“Oh, Thomas.” Alice crossed the room to straighten his cravat—a gesture she’d performed countless times. “I have seen the way she looks at you, even when you were pretending to know the difference between a peony and a petunia.”

“That was a perfectly reasonable mistake. They both start with a P .”

“My point is,” she continued, ignoring this botanical defense, “she sees you . The real you. And she smiles every time you enter a room.”

He caught her hands, his eyes suspiciously bright. “When did you become so wise?”

“Someone had to be.” She squeezed his fingers. “Are you ready?”

She watched him pat his pocket where their grandmother’s ring was tucked—the one piece of family jewelry he hadn’t gambled away. Her throat tightened at the gesture.

“I think I am.” He offered her his arm. “Though if I make a complete cake of myself, you have my permission to pretend that we’re not related.”

“Nonsense.” She took his arm. “What are sisters for if not to witness their brothers’ public humiliation?”

As they descended the stairs, Alice marveled at the change in her brother. The notorious Lord Colton was truly reformed by love.

“Just promise me one thing,” he said as they reached their waiting carriage.

“What’s that?”

“Promise me you’ll find this kind of happiness too.”

Her thoughts drifted unbidden to piercing blue eyes and a dangerous smile, but before Thomas could question her a footman approached to open the door for them.

Alice pushed thoughts of the Duke aside.

Tonight was about Thomas’s happiness, not her complicated feelings.

“You are making a mistake.” Gregory lounged in one of the chairs in Dorian’s library, watching his friend sort through correspondence. “Attending the Westhaven ball tonight is asking for trouble.”

Dorian set aside another of Sarah’s increasingly urgent notes. “Since when do you advocate avoiding trouble?”

“Since Treyfield started asking questions about Lawrence’s last days.” Gregory’s voice lost its usual levity. “He was at his club yesterday, boasting about how his management of Lawrence’s ship is more sophisticated and how it ‘rescued’ the Treyfield shipping ventures.”

Dorian’s hand stilled on the papers. “Arrogant bastard.”

“Which is exactly why you should be focusing on protecting Sarah, not mooning over Lady?—”

“I am not mooning over anyone.” Dorian strode to the brandy decanter and then poured himself a glass with perhaps more force than necessary. “And Sarah is safe. I have moved her twice this week alone.”

“Yet, you are still planning to attend this ball rather than escort her to the country house yourself.”

“The ball provides the perfect cover. Everyone will be there, including Treyfield. If he’s watching me dance and drink champagne, he can’t be hunting for Sarah.”

“And the fact that a certain lady will also be in attendance has nothing to do with your decision?”

Dorian tightened his grip on his glass. “Your point?”

“My point is that you are juggling too many obligations. Sarah needs protection. Treyfield needs watching. And Lady Alice…” Gregory hesitated. “She deserves more attention than you can offer right now.”

“She has none of my attention.”

“No?” Gregory raised an eyebrow. “Then you weren’t the one who nearly called Weatherby out for his behavior at Burlington’s?”

“That was different.”

“Was it?” Gregory stood up, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Because from where I stand, you are falling for her. And that makes her a target.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I am not the one prowling my study like a caged tiger.” Gregory moved to the door. “Just be careful tonight.”

After Gregory left, Dorian found himself at the window, watching London’s fashionable crowd stream past his townhouse. Somewhere out there, Sarah was waiting for him to fulfill his promise to Lawrence. Somewhere else, Treyfield was plotting his next move.

And in a few hours, Alice would be attending her brother’s engagement ball, no doubt looking devastatingly beautiful.

A knock interrupted his brooding.

“Your Grace? Your evening clothes are laid out.”

“Thank you, Phillips.” He turned away from the window. “Has there been any word from Mrs. Harrison?”

“The housekeeper at the country estate confirms that everything is ready, Your Grace. The lady in question can be moved at a moment’s notice.”

At least that was settled. Now, he just had to survive this ball without doing anything foolish.

Like kissing Alice senseless the moment he saw her.

“Will you be requiring anything else, Your Grace?”

Dorian caught his reflection in the mirror—the perfect image of a bored aristocrat preparing for yet another social obligation. Only his eyes betrayed the tension coiling beneath the surface.

“No. That will be all.”

As he dressed for the evening, he tried to focus on strategy. He would arrive fashionably late, make his presence known to Treyfield, and perhaps share a dance with the bride-to-be to show support for the match.

He would absolutely not spend the entire evening watching Alice, or wondering how she’d feel in his arms during a waltz, or?—

“Damn it all.” He yanked his cravat loose and started over.

By the time his carriage joined the queue outside the Westhaven mansion, Dorian had almost convinced himself that this was purely tactical.

Let Treyfield see him playing the carefree rake. Let Society gossip about his attendance at yet another ball.

But then he caught a glimpse of copper hair through a carriage window ahead, and his carefully constructed rationalizations crumbled.

The carriage rocked as it came to a halt, and Dorian stepped down, boots landing firmly on the cobblestones. He adjusted his gloves with deliberate care, ignoring the hum of anticipation tightening his chest.

“Well, well.” Gregory’s voice came from the carriage behind him. “Fancy meeting you here. I see that you failed to heed my warnings.”

Dorian didn’t bother turning. “Not a word.”

His friend’s laughter followed him up the steps. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Though I do hope you are prepared for what promises to be a rather interesting evening.”

Glancing toward Alice’s carriage Dorian had a sinking feeling that ‘interesting’ didn’t begin to cover it.