How to Dance With a Duke (10 page)

Her arms crept up to pull him closer, to explore with her fingers the surprisingly soft black curls she so admired. She felt the warmth of him through the barrier of their clothes, felt the solidity of his chest pressed against her breasts.

But that was before the carriage jerked, bumping their foreheads together. Hard.

“Damn it,” Winterson swore as he reined in the frisky bays, who had pulled them back onto the path toward Rotten Row. With one hand she gripped the side of the carriage, and with the other Cecily firmly held on to her hat.

It was simply bad timing that they were seen by no less than three dragons of the
ton.
Including Juliet’s mother, Lady Shelby, upon whom Cecily could rely to relate the entire story to Violet before the end of the day.

Lovely.

“Hello there!” called the Marchioness Downes, her eyes alight with malicious glee. “Your Grace! Miss Hurston! Pray join us.”

Such behavior in a social-climbing cit’s wife would have barred the woman from further interaction with the Beau Monde. But since the Downes marquessate could trace its roots back to William the Conqueror, her rudeness was excused as eccentricity.

Winterson, or Lucas as she supposed she could think of him now, swore fluently under his breath. Cecily heartily agreed, though not aloud. She would rather visit the tooth extractor than chat with the group assembled around the Downes open carriage.

“Smile,” Lucas said in an undertone, in that close-toothed way one spoke when trying to appear not to be. “And try not to look so … kissed.”

“I don’t believe that is a bell we can unring, Your Grace,” she said with some asperity.

“I didn’t say I would like to, Cecily,” he said, turning to give her a smoldering look. “I just don’t want these tattlers minding our business instead of theirs.”

She blinked through a shiver as Lucas turned back to face the horses as they neared the other carriage.

Where, to her utter disappointment, she saw Amelia and Felicia watching them with barely concealed pique.

“Cecily,” Lady Shelby said sharply, once greetings had been exchanged. “What are you doing here?”
With the Duke of Winterson
, was implied at the end of her aunt’s question.

“Yes, Cecily,” Amelia echoed with a sweetness that could not conceal her annoyance, her eyes darting from Cecily to Lucas, then back again. “Tell us all why you’re here.”

A not-very-mature part of her enjoyed seeing Amelia’s jealous gaze.

Before she could respond to either question, however, Lucas replied for her. “I asked Miss Hurston to join me so that we could discuss her father’s latest expedition.”

Cecily bit back a sigh. Thwarting Amelia had been nice while it lasted.

But Lucas wasn’t finished. “I find it so refreshing to chat with a young lady who is both intelligent and lovely. Makes the conversations so much more satisfying.”

If his barb found its target, Amelia showed no sign of it. Instead she gave a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Miss Hurston is certainly intelligent,” she said, making it sound like a criticism rather than a compliment.

“But how did you come to be here with the duke, Cecily?” Felicia said sweetly. “I could have sworn I saw you with Mr. Vinson earlier.”

“Yes,” Amelia added. “I am sure that we did.”

Perhaps realizing that the two younger ladies scented a possible scandal, something that she did not wish to touch upon her own family, Lady Shelby intervened, though she did not seem particularly pleased to do so. “I daresay you wished to discuss the disappearance of your brother, didn’t you, Your Grace?”

Oh, because there is no possible way that he would wish to speak with me for my own sake, Cecily fumed inwardly. How on earth such a vile woman had birthed a genuinely good person like Juliet was beyond her powers of comprehension.

“Indeed,” Lucas agreed, with a slight bow. “Now, if you ladies would please excuse us, I must prevail upon Miss Hurston to continue our discussion.”

Their good-byes were said, resentful from the Downes carriage, relieved from Winterson’s, and Cecily let out a long sigh of relief.

“That,” Lucas said with a shake of his head, “was not unlike the first week at Eton when Monteith and I were forced to confront a trio of bullies. Only this time I was more frightened. What on earth have you done to cause such animosity from Miss Snowe and Lady Felicia? Or your aunt, for that matter?”

Cecily shrugged. “My aunt is perhaps easier to explain. She is the most status-conscious of her sisters, and she has long found it perturbing that Juliet, Madeline, and I were unable to repeat the social successes that she and her sisters managed when they first came to London. She is convinced that it is due to the fact that we would prefer to discuss poetry or philosophy rather than the latest
on-dit
or the cut of gowns this season.”

“And Miss Snowe and Lady Felicia?” he asked, his tone curious.

She took a deep breath, unsure whether to tell him about David or not. But she didn’t need to tell the whole story, she decided. “Amelia has disliked me since our first season when a certain gentleman showed a preference for me over her. He was quite interested in Egyptology and languages. Now I think he was less interested in me than in bolstering his acquaintance with my father, but at the time I was quite flattered.

“I think,” Cecily continued, “she holds me responsible for the fact that she is still unwed.”

“And what happened to this gentleman?” Lucas asked, turning to look at her, his gaze unreadable.

Cecily was surprised to find that she was able to think of David’s betrayal without the usual stab of hurt. “We were engaged, but circumstances forced me to cry off.”

“What sort of circumstances?”

“I found that I no longer wished to marry him.” An understatement, but the truth.

“You don’t strike me as the sort of lady who would change her mind on a whim,” Lucas said, his tone implying that he didn’t quite believe her tale as she’d just told it. Still, he didn’t press her, and Cecily was grateful for it. She disliked thinking about that whole sordid episode, much less speaking about it.

“At any rate,” she went on, “Amelia has failed to bring anyone up to scratch since then and she blames me for it. Though I fail to see how, because with the exception of David, we have never shown an interest in the same gentleman again. Indeed, I have steered clear of romantic entanglements altogether.”

Until now.
The tiny whisper in the back of her brain was enough to bring her up short. Deliberately, she turned the subject back to what they’d been discussing before the horses had bolted.

“And on the subject of entanglements,” she said, her voice calm, “I am quite determined to continue my pursuit of possible husbands from the bachelor ranks of the Egyptian Club.”

He made a noise of frustration.

“Your scheme,” Lucas said, lifting his whip to the brim of his hat to greet someone on the other side of the carriage, “is unsound in the extreme.”

Now she was the one to make a noise of disgust.

“I do not think it is wise,” he went on, “for you to deliberately seek the attentions of these men simply because they belong to the Egyptian Club. You have no way of knowing what their attitude will be toward your scholarly proclivities and you are just as likely to marry someone with a disgust of your mind as an appreciation for it.”

“I thank you for your concern,” she said haughtily, “but as I told you last night, the matter is not up for debate.”

“Miss Hurston,” he said. “Cecily. The men you have singled out for your attentions are not all as dull-witted as poor Vinson, you know.” His blue eyes pinned her like a butterfly on a board. “Have you considered what marriage to one of these men will mean? What it will be like after you get your coveted access to your father’s journals?”

His voice lowered, and he reached out a gloved hand to touch her lower lip with his thumb. “What it will be like in his bed?”

To her annoyance, she felt a blush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. Damn him for pressing her this way, she fumed, even as her heart beat faster from his touch. “I have considered it,” she said finally, her words clipped as she worked to control her voice. Retreating behind a mask of hauteur, she continued, “And I am prepared to do my duty.”

Winterson shook his head, and took her hand in his. “You deserve more than a lifetime of dutiful beddings, Cecily.”

Cecily was horrified to feel herself tear up at his words. But though she could not control her blushes, tears were another matter, and she ruthlessly suppressed the urge to bury her face in his strong shoulder.

“I’m afraid the intimate details of my married life, however hypothetical they may be, are not up for discussion,” she said, pulling her hand out of his grasp. “Nor,” she continued, “is any part of my plans as they relate to obtaining my father’s journals.”

Lucas cursed himself for frightening her with his frank talk. But the idea of this vibrant Amazon married to some dried-up scholar, or worse, a bacon-brained idiot like Vinson, who lacked the skills or appreciation to handle her, was unthinkable. And there was the matter of that kiss, but he could not think about that now, no matter how much certain of his organs wished to think about it and more. He needed to find a way to dissuade her from her scheme. Or better yet, offer her an alternative one.

“Come down from the boughs, my dear,” he said easily, knowing that she’d appreciate friendship over soft words just now. “I have no intention of managing your scheme. It is, of course, entirely up to you to choose a husband, be he a member of the Egyptian Club or not. But it occurs to me that we both have need of the same thing: your father’s diaries.”

He saw suspicion in her eyes, but at least she was looking at him again rather than staring off into the distance.

“I’m listening,” she prompted.

“It may have escaped your notice,” he said, giving her the little half smile that he knew would showcase his dimple. “But I am a gentleman.”

She raised one dark brow. “I have, perhaps, noted that fact.”

“And as a gentleman, I am in a better position than you are to assess the men on your list.”

“How so?” Her expression was still wary, but he could see he’d caught her interest.

“When you see men, gentlemen, in the rarefied setting of the ballroom, or Almack’s, or”—he gestured to the crowd of people seeing and being seen along Rotten Row—“the park, you are not seeing them in their natural element. As a lady, you are, in fact, shielded from those places.”

He watched with satisfaction as a little frown line appeared between her eyes.

“As a gentleman,” he went on, “I have knowledge of these fellows that you, as a lady, are not privy to.

“Did you know, for instance, that Vinson, whom you just allowed to take you up in his curricle, is in a considerable amount of debt? So much so that his father is within a hairbreadth of stopping his allowance and cutting him off altogether? And, since Vinson owes his membership at the Egyptian Club to his father, their estrangement would remove any incentive you might have to marry him.”

“That is hardly uncommon knowledge, sir.”

But the furrow between her brows told Lucas that his strategy was working.

“Then by all means,” he said, “let us continue to the uncommon knowledge. Lord Carrington, with whom you were so eager to dance last evening, has a reputation for enjoying the company of young girls.”

Cecily snorted. “That is hardly a great secret. Most men—”

“Very young girls,” he interrupted, hating to tell her, and yet desperate to keep her from allying herself with a man like Carrington. “Eleven, twelve, thirteen years old.”

The color drained from her face.

“How … where?”

“There are certain brothels that cater to such tastes,” Lucas said baldly, “And, unfortunately, his tastes are not so uncommon as one would wish.”

“But he is quite popular,” she said, her outrage beginning to build. “My stepmama is forever going on about what a great man he is.”

“That is because such salacious details are not discussed in polite company. But you may be sure that those men who do know are careful not to let their wives and daughters within an inch of him.”

Lucas watched the play of emotions cross her face as she came to grips with the knowledge that more secrets lurked beneath the surface of the
ton
than she had previously thought.

“You have convinced me that you are privy to some information that might help me to better assess potential husbands,” she said, finally. “But why would you do it?”

“Your knowledge of the people who accompanied your father and my brother on that last expedition is unsurpassed.”

“But I am hardly the only one who knows them, Your Grace. Any number of people could assist you in this.”

“I think you underestimate the admiration the members of his circle have for your knowledge of the field and the language of the Egyptians.”

Her head tilted as she stared at him.

“You must be mistaken,” she said, frowning. “His cronies are just as opposed to the idea of a lady Egyptologist as my father is.”

Lucas could not help but note that she continued to speak of her father in the present tense, though word in the
ton
had the man’s death only a matter of weeks, if not days, away. Then again, the gossip of the
ton
was not known for its accuracy.

“I have read my brother’s correspondence to my mother, and he was of the opinion that you were as knowledgeable, if not more so, as your father when it came to translating the ancient words inscribed on the artifacts he brought back with him from Egypt.”

In fact, his brother had suggested Lucas seek out her help if anything should happen to him. Knowing Will’s propensity to trust too quickly, he had at first exercised his own judgment and ignored his brother’s suggestion. Now, however, he wondered if he hadn’t misjudged both of them.

Cecily’s mouth curved into the ghost of a smile. “Will was always talking nonsense. Though he was kind enough to let me examine certain artifacts they brought back so that I could work on compiling an alphabet of sorts from the inscriptions.”