A Duke to Die for: The Rogues' Dynasty (21 page)

Blake had no doubt she would have agreed if he had asked to come to her bedchamber later tonight, but as soon as he could respectfully do so, he took his leave from her.

He wanted a rendezvous with a desirable woman to take his mind off Henrietta, but Lady Houndslow wasn’t the woman to do it. An even bigger problem was that when he had looked at all the ladies in the ballroom, he didn’t see a single one that he wanted to take to his bed.

Had Henrietta ruined him for all other women?

Blake needed to get away from the sound of the music and revelry coming from inside the Great Hall, so he stepped off the portico into the darkness. At the bottom of the steps, something sharp scraped deep into the side of his head over his left temple, and he jerked back.

“Damnation,” he muttered and looked up. He saw that a piece of iron had rusted and fallen down from the covered archway on the landing. In the darkness, he hadn’t seen it. Grabbing hold of it, he yanked the bar down and threw it into the shrubs. It wouldn’t catch any other unsuspecting person.

Blake grimaced and put his hand to the wound. It felt wet and sticky. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the bleeding injury.

“You’re brooding, aren’t you?”

Blake spun around at the sound of Morgan’s voice. He slipped the soiled handkerchief into his pocket. “I’m in no mood for lectures, Cousin.”

“I don’t intend to give you any.”

“Good.”

“If you want, I’ll leave you to sulk in private.”

“Blast it,” Blake exclaimed. “I’m not sulking or brooding, and you don’t have to leave.”

“All right, what are you doing standing outside all by yourself, staring into the mist like you’ve lost your best friend, or should I say your lover?”

“I’m getting some fresh air. It’s damned hot in there.”

“You wouldn’t be so hot if you hadn’t stood in there like a lost pup and steamed over every man that Henrietta danced with.”

Damnation, Morgan saw too much. He always had. Blake hoped he hadn’t been that obvious to anyone else.

“I’m fine,” is all Blake felt compelled to say.

“So nothing is bothering you?”

Morgan wasn’t going to let it go, but Blake wasn’t going to acknowledge Morgan’s curiosity.

“Nothing,” Blake lied. He hated doing it, but there were just some things he couldn’t share with his cousin. What he was feeling for Henrietta was one of them. He was still trying to figure it out himself.

“Perhaps there is something to that curse she talked about when she first arrived. She’s gotten to you, hasn’t she? You haven’t been able to take your eyes off Henrietta all night.”

Blake swallowed his angry retort and, in a calm voice, said, “There is no curse, but since you’re here, why don’t you tell me what you’ve found out about Mrs. Simple and her balloons.”

“That’s a good, safe subject to change to,” Morgan remarked.

Blake remained silent.

“All right, my man can’t find one person in London who is interested in ballooning as a form of travel. Most of the men he talked to don’t even care for it as recreation. Mrs. Simple seems to be the only person in London, other than Gibby, who appreciates ballooning.”

“That is just as we suspected. What about Race—has he found out anything about Mrs. Simple’s past?”

“I see him walking toward us. Let’s ask him.”

“Did I miss getting the signal, or are you two trying to have a secret meeting without me?” Race asked as he joined them. “It’s a good thing I saw you coming out here. What’s going on that I was going to be left out of?”

“I thought Blake was brooding, so I followed him out here to see what was bothering him.”

“He was definitely brooding about Henrietta,” Race said.

Blake swore under his breath. Damn his cousins and their meddling.

“Apparently not,” Morgan answered. “The only thing he wants to talk about is Gibby, Mrs. Simple, and hot-air balloons.”

“Figures. I’d probably say that, too, if I were in his dancing shoes. But, speaking of the old dandy, it just so happens that I heard back today from the man who was making inquiries for me about Mrs. Simple.”

“What did he say?” Morgan asked.

“So far he hasn’t found anything sinister in her past. Seems she was married to a tradesman who was always inventing things and trying to sell them. Everyone he talked to who knew Mr. Simple respected him and his wife, too. The fellow died a couple of years ago. He left Mrs. Simple a small amount of money and two balloons. This idea of using a hot-air balloon like a coach was his idea, and she has taken up the venture since he died.”

“How noble,” Morgan said dryly.

“And touching,” Race added, “and all the more reason for Gib to want to help her. She has asked others to help finance this project. So far, my man hasn’t found anyone who has agreed to give her money.”

“So she really thinks she can make this business fly?” Blake asked.

Morgan and Race looked at each other and started laughing. Blake was puzzled for a moment until he realized what he had said, and then he laughed, too. Leave it to his cousins to make him laugh when it was the last thing he felt like doing.

“All right, enough making fun of me,” Blake said after their laughter died down. “How do we keep Gib from putting money into this scheme since we can’t prove Mrs. Simple has anything more sinister up her sleeve than just a dumb idea?”

“We’ll leave that to you to handle however you see fit,” Race said. “Sound good to you, Morgan?”

“Sounds very good to me.”

“Cowards,” Blake muttered good-naturedly.

“We just think you need something to think about other than Henrietta. You’re becoming a bore.”

Blake grinned. “And you two are becoming obnoxious fools.”

Blake spent a few more minutes outside with his cousins before going back inside the Great Hall. He glanced around the perimeter of the dance floor, searching for Henrietta or Constance, but didn’t see either of them. Walking farther into the room, he looked over to the dance floor and saw Henrietta.

His blood turned cold in his veins. She was dancing with Lord Waldo Rockcliffe. He was the last person Blake wanted her dancing with. They stood in a long line and held hands with their arms in the air, forming a canopy for other couples to dance under. All Blake could think was that he didn’t want that bufflehead, hobbledehoy touching her. Blake had to restrain himself from rushing over and pulling her out of his grasp.

It gave Blake the shivers to see Lord Waldo dancing with Henrietta and touching her hands, even though she wore gloves. He would just as soon see her with Rockcliffe himself or the fake Count Vigone.

Blake was conflicted. It was so unlike him to care this much about someone. Never before had he minded sharing a woman’s affections with another man.

As soon as Henrietta came off the dance floor, they were heading home. He had had all he could take for one night of her charming other men.

While Henrietta finished the dance that seemed to be going on forever, Blake picked up their wraps, called for his carriage, found Constance, and informed her they were leaving.

By the time Lord Waldo walked Henrietta over to him, Blake was calmer, but no less seething with jealousy.

Lord Waldo thanked her for the dance and then turned to Blake and said, “Your Grace, might I have permission to take Miss Tweed for a ride in Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon?”

Blake couldn’t believe the man actually had enough courage to ask, and from the way the poor devil was shaking, it took every ounce he had. It was on the tip of Blake’s tongue to say, ‘No way in hell, you bloody bastard. Get your mucky hands off her and keep them off,’ but instead, he stopped himself and studied the trembling sap with the pale brown eyes and pallid skin.

Henrietta was probably safer with Lord Waldo than Lord Snellingly, Count Vigone, or anyone else. Surely, she couldn’t be interested in this man as a husband.

“Very well,” Blake said. “A short ride, if Miss Tweed agrees.”

And consider yourself one damned lucky man!

Henrietta looked at Lord Waldo and said, “That would be lovely.” She turned to Constance and asked, “Will we be finished with all we have to do by half past three?”

Constance smiled at her and said, “We’ll make sure that we are, my dear.”

“Good, it’s settled. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Henrietta said to Lord Waldo.

Lord Waldo said his good-byes and walked away with lightness in his step that set Blake’s teeth on edge. Did that fool really think he had caught Henrietta’s fancy? There was no way in hell Blake would believe that. She was too intelligent, too passionate, and much too strong to be attracted to him.

Henrietta had something up her sleeve. He was sure of it.

A few minutes later, they were in the carriage and on their way to take Constance home. Blake listened quietly as Constance and Henrietta talked about the different gentlemen she had danced with throughout the evening. His ears perked up when Constance asked specifically about Lord Waldo Rockcliffe.

“I accepted his invitation to ride in the park simply because he was the first person to ask me,” Henrietta said, “just as Lord Snellingly was the first gentleman to ask me to dance this evening.”

Blake smiled, feeling quite smug about her answer, until a terrifying thought entered his mind. What if Henrietta decided to marry the first man who asked her?

“Did you find him attractive?” Constance asked.

“Hmm. Yes.”

Attractive? Lord Waldo? Really?

Blake cut his eyes around to Henrietta. She was in the darkest part of the carriage so he couldn’t see her face very well.

“But not more so than all the other gentlemen I danced with. He has a nervous, boyish charm about him that’s quite engaging.”

Engaging? Lord Waldo? Would she marry him, if he was
the first to ask her?

That thought caused Blake to sit up a little straighter.

“Since it’s my job to guide you, Henrietta, I will say that, as the younger brother of a duke, Lord Waldo would be a splendid match for you. You and your children would always live well. But, truthfully, he seems much too immature for you. You are very, shall we say, confident, and he is lacking in that area. I feel that, over time, you might find him too weak for you.”

Hear, hear, Constance. I know she will.

“There is something to be said for a husband who is malleable, is there not?” Henrietta asked.

Constance looked over at Blake. He had a feeling they were thinking the same thing. Was Lord Waldo exactly the kind of husband Henrietta was looking for—someone she could mold to her own wishes and ideas?

“You are right,” Constance said. “Your answer proves my point. You are much too clever for a gentleman such as Lord Waldo, my dear. But look, we’ve arrived at my house. We will continue this discussion at a later time. I think you will see my point once you’ve had an afternoon ride in the park with him.”

They said their good nights, and Blake helped Constance down from the carriage and walked her to her door. Before he climbed back inside the cab, he told his driver to take the long way home and not to stop at the town house until he was given the signal to do so.

Blake sat down beside Henrietta, rather than on the seat opposite her. He needed to be close to her. He had watched men hold her hand all evening. No doubt all of them squeezed her fingers affectionately, innocently let their fingers glide down her arms, or took other liberties when they danced with her. Blake knew all the tricks a man would try when he thought other eyes weren’t watching.

Blake intended to touch her now and erase the memory of all the other men from her thoughts.

The light in the carriage was damn poor. He could see very little of her face, but he could smell the soft womanly scent of her, and he felt her feminine warmth. He stared at her in the darkness and all his built-up apprehension from the events of the evening washed out of him.

He was alone with Henrietta, and that is exactly what he had wanted all evening, to be totally alone with this beautiful, tempting woman.

Her hair was arranged beautifully on top of her head with a delicate pink ribbon woven through her golden curls. The diamonds and pearls that dripped from her ears sparkled and glimmered in the dim light from the lantern outside the carriage. He knew that a single strand of pearls graced her neck, though he couldn’t see them for the fur around the collar of her cape.

The footman had kept the cab warm with a bucket of hot coals, and the gentle rocking of the carriage as it rolled along the streets was soothing. There was a dull ache in his shoulder and the side of his head where he’d scraped it earlier, but it wasn’t enough pain to keep him from wanting to pull Henrietta into his arms and kiss her. He was hungry for the drugging taste of her again.

The only reason Blake could think that he wanted her so badly was because she should be off-limits to him. She was his ward. Forbidden fruit. But such tempting fruit.

“How many men did you dance with tonight?” he asked as casually as possible, considering how tightly he was strung.