How to Dance With a Duke (13 page)

That
he
was that sort of agitation just now was heady enough to make him lose his breath.

“I repeat,” she said, firmly breaking into his thoughts—eager to get the last few minutes of madness behind them, no doubt. “I would not have approached Peterborough.”

At his snort of laughter, she amended her statement.

“All right, perhaps I would have. But the man just announced that my father donated not only his writings pertaining to his last trip, but also the publication rights! It’s unthinkable.”

She frowned, her outrage lending a stark beauty that put him in mind of Saint Joan of Arc heading into battle. “My father may well have been a founding member of the club, and he definitely has donated artifacts to the club in the past, but he has always, always overseen the publication of his writings.”

“Could it be,” he asked, “that your father somehow knew that his health was in jeopardy and granted the journals and their publication rights to the club because he knew he would be unable to see to them himself?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, her lips pursed. “Aside from the fact that he wrote them in code, which no one in the club has the least notion of translating, my father has always been notoriously secretive about his excavation methods. He has even gone so far as to have each member of his expedition sign an agreement not to disclose his methods to anyone not part of the process.”

“That does not sound like the sort of man who would wish to delegate the preparation of his papers for publication,” Lucas agreed, idly rubbing his chin in thought.

“He wouldn’t have. It’s that simple.”

“What about the artifacts?” he asked. “Were they delivered to your father’s home, or did the club remove them to their own premises right from the docks?”

“Oh, the artifacts have always been taken directly to the club on Papa’s return. With the competition between the club and the British Museum for such things, Papa was always intent on ensuring that the club received all of his finds.”

“For a fee, of course.”

“Of course.” She nodded. “He might have been determined to see the club best the museum, but he did need funds to continue his travels. It isn’t widely known, however, given the
ton
’s attitude toward gentlemen who earn their fortunes rather than inherit them.”

“Would the Egyptian Club not pay for his trips on their behalf?”

“Oh, no. They pay a small sum, of course, but nowhere near enough to cover the trip and the cost of the various people one must employ over the course of the journey. He also gained much of his travel money through sales of his travel memoirs. That is another reason I cannot fathom him giving away their rights to someone else.”

The ormolu clock on the mantel chimed the hour, reminding them that they’d been closeted in this room for nearly a quarter of an hour.

“We’d best get you back into the musicale,” he said firmly. “Both our disappearances cannot have gone unnoticed.”

“But what will we do about the club?”

“I will call upon you tomorrow afternoon. I believe it’s time we start questioning the men who accompanied your father and my brother on this expedition.”

Cecily nodded. “We should start with Neddy Entwhistle.”

“And who is this Entwhistle? A member of the club?”

Her eyes turned mischievous. “You’ll see tomorrow,” she said, pushing past him to the door. “Neddy is…” She peeked over her shoulder at him. “Let’s just say I think you’ll find Neddy to be quite … unusual.”

He watched her slip from the room, ruthlessly suppressing a desire to trail after her. It would do neither of them any good to encourage gossip. Besides that, he reflected, pacing the room to burn off some of the nervous energy their encounter had conjured, his Amazon would likely cut up rough if she thought—

Lucas came to an abrupt halt.

“When the devil did she become
my
Amazon?” he demanded of the empty room.

With a muffled curse, he ran a finger beneath his suddenly suffocating cravat.

“Damn it,” he said again. It was all well and good to engage in a bit of flirtation. But possessiveness meant something else entirely. Something dangerous.

Not caring if enough time had passed between their exits from the room or not, he stalked into the hallway and headed for home. He had a sudden pressing need to reacquaint himself with his brandy decanter.

Six

When he arrived to collect her for their outing the next day, Lucas was irritated to find Cecily surrounded by a small army of suitors.

“My dear Miss Hurston,” Lord Deveril said, a grin rendering the blighter’s handsome face even more so. “You are such an original. I cannot understand how you are as yet unmarried.”

Instead of giving the crackbrain the set-down he deserved, Cecily rapped him on the arm with her fan. “It is quite simple, really, my lord,” she said, wry humor infecting her voice. “No one has ever asked me.”

Seeing that more than one of the crowd seemed eager to rectify the situation then and there, Lucas stepped forward, the Hurstons’ elderly butler announcing him.

“Oh, Your Grace,” Cecily’s stepmother fluttered, as Lucas bowed over her hand. “What an honor you do us.”

“The honor is mine, Lady Hurston,” he returned. “And may I inquire after the health of your husband, ma’am?”

The lady’s famous violet eyes shadowed.

“I’m afraid Lord Hurston’s condition has not changed,” she said. “But I do thank you for your concern. Everyone has been quite kind to us since his illness began. Quite kind.”

It was easy to see what had drawn Hurston to the lady. Not only was she incredibly beautiful, but there was an air of helplessness about her that called out to the protector in every male. The exact opposite, in fact, of her stepdaughter, he thought, looking over to where Cecily was trying to conduct a conversation with the hapless Lord Fortenbury in Latin. There was nothing weak about Cecily. And yet, he found himself wanting to rescue her all the same. Perhaps because she seemed so determined to hide the fact that she needed it. Bowing correctly over the hands of both Miss Juliet Shelby and Lady Madeline Essex, who were surrounded by their own, albeit smaller, cadres of suitors, Lucas cast an eye over the men surrounding Cecily. He’d hoped to find her ready to leave as soon as he arrived. Unfortunately, it would appear that she had other ideas.

“I was wondering, ma’am,” he said to Lady Hurston, “if I might take Miss Cecily for a drive in my phaeton.”

Lady Hurston exchanged a glance with her sister, clearly surprised by the request. But she agreed readily enough.

“Of course, you must ask Cecily,” she added, looking at him with open speculation. Lucas had been a bachelor for long enough to know what the look meant.

Thanking his hostess, he wandered over to the corner where Cecily held court.

“What ho, Winterson,” Lord Pennington said to the newcomer. “Didn’t think you was in the petticoat line.”

“Every man must succumb at some point, Pennington,” he replied, his eyes on Cecily.

“Miss Hurston,” he drawled. He may have imagined it, but her hand gave the slightest tremble as he pressed his lips to the back of it. “You are looking radiant today.”

So quicksilver fast was the array of emotions that flitted through her eyes that Lucas was unsure he’d seen anything at all. Whatever had bothered her was gone again before he could remark upon it, and by the time she responded to his greeting she had returned to normal.

Though normal was not the way he supposed she would describe the crowd gathered around her.

“I’m afraid I must leave you, gentlemen,” she announced when Winterson reminded her of her promise to drive with him. “His Grace has kindly offered to take me for a ride in his high-perch phaeton.”

The chorus of disappointed groans that met her announcement was gratifying, if a bit jarring. Still unused to being the center of so much masculine attention, she had not yet come to terms with the fact that she was, no matter how she still viewed herself, a social success.

“Come, come, gentlemen,” she chided, taking Winterson’s arm, steeling herself not to show the way her body responded to his proximity. “I leave you in good company. My cousins and my aunt and stepmama are here to lend you their support.”

Though Pennington looked as if he might argue, Lord Deveril, perhaps remembering his manners, smiled. “Indeed you are right, Miss Hurston,” he said heartily. “We could not have asked for lovelier hostesses to make us welcome.”

Cecily allowed Winterson to lead her to the door and help her on with her pelisse, a rich royal blue that went nicely with her light blue morning gown. Was it just accidental, the way his hands lingered on her shoulders once her outer garment was in place?

Still thrumming with awareness, within minutes she found herself several feet off the ground, seated in Winterson’s bright yellow high-perch phaeton. But when she looked down, all thoughts of attraction fled.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, leaping into the seat beside her and taking the reins from his tiger, before sending the lad on his way.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Cecily asked, trying to maintain an expression of nonchalance while gripping the side of the carriage like a woman overboard with a life preserver. “Just because this phaeton is higher off the ground than one is normally accustomed to does not mean that I am in any way feeling anxious.”

“No indeed,” Winterson said, giving her a quick look before turning his attention to the horses while he guided them into the street. “Though I think you might feel more comfortable if you move a bit closer to me on the seat.”

Cecily narrowed her eyes. She had enough trouble ignoring the maelstrom of feelings he set off in her without having him plastered to her side …

Perhaps reading her suspicions, he gave her a guileless grin. “You might feel … ahem … more secure if you’re nearer to the center.”

“Hmmph,” she returned, sliding closer to him all the same. And he was correct. She did feel less precarious in the middle of the seat. Though now she was faced with the discomfort of feeling his warm body pressed up against her own. She wasn’t sure which situation was more disturbing to her equilibrium.

“Where are we going?” Winterson asked after they had driven in silence through the streets of Mayfair for a block or so.

“Neddy lives in Bloomsbury,” she said, trying not to reveal just how disconcerted she was both by his proximity and the height of the phaeton.

“Blue becomes you.” Winterson kept his gaze on the horses even as he delivered the compliment.

Cecily sighed. She had a very familiar acquaintance with her looking glass, and what it told her every morning was that she was passable at best. No amount of wardrobe changes could alter that. His insistence on paying her false coin was both unnecessary and foolish.

He turned to look at her more closely. “What? Am I not allowed to mention it when I notice such a thing?”

“Your Grace, you need not attempt to turn me up sweet with empty flattery. I have agreed to assist you in your quest to learn more about your brother’s disappearance, and that is that. I keep my word.”

Winterson gave a low laugh. “I do not know whether to be offended that you would think me such an unprincipled fellow as to give you false praise simply to ensure your assistance, or to be angry on your behalf.”

“I meant no offense,” Cecily was quick to say. “I simply thought you were—”

“You thought I was lying to you. Because that is what we men do? Is that it?” His tone was curious, but underlying it Cecily heard a note of bitterness.

Before she could respond, he went on.

“Miss Hurston, whether you believe me or not I must needs inform you that when I remark upon your appearance, I do indeed mean it. You are quite a pretty girl. You have the sort of figure that men enjoy looking at. Surely that lot of preening peacocks who have surrounded you for the past several days have intimated as much.”

“Oh, they do not mean their compliments, either.” Cecily waved a hand to dismiss the notion, forgetting for a moment that she was terrified at being so high up off the ground.

“They have simply taken me up as their newest fashion because they saw me dancing with a couple of smart young gentlemen at the Bewle ball,” she explained. “I believe they see me as something out of the common way and are diverted by the novelty of conversing with a sensible creature for a change. They certainly are not doing so because they find me attractive. I
am
an Ugly Duckling, after all.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Hurston,” he replied, shaking his head as if in sorrow for what he was about to say. “But as a gentleman … as a man,” he corrected himself, “let me be the first to inform you that you are utterly, splendidly wrong.”

“So you would deny the fact that my cousins and I have for the past three seasons been known as the Ugly Ducklings?” she asked. “You, sir, are mad.”

“Oh, I do not dispute that silly nickname that’s been inflicted upon the three of you for so many years. I simply am informing you that as a man, I know what men hold up as standards of feminine beauty, and you, my dear, are dam … er … dashed close to the ideal.”

He turned to look fully at her. Meeting her eyes in a manner that sent a thrill of excitement down her spine.

“This is a most improper conversation, Your Grace,” she said, for once falling back on the social niceties that she normally found so annoying.

Lucas laughed, his full, rich baritone sending another shiver down the same path as the last one.

“My dear Miss Hurston,” he said, a wicked grin bringing forth the dimples she’d found so enticing on the day they met. “I thought never to hear you accuse anyone of impropriety. I must have become very scandalous indeed.”

“Perhaps not scandalous,” she offered, unwilling to be thought overly prim, “but definitely less than absolutely proper.”

He grunted. “Then pray accept my apologies for offending your delicate sensibilities. Do, however, know that despite your despicable nickname, you are quite fetching when you choose to be. Indeed, I have heard more than one gentleman remark upon it.”