How to Dance With a Duke (17 page)

He was saved from completing
that
disturbing thought when one of the nodcocks, the dandyish Lord Deveril, approached. Though he was slightly acquainted with the younger man, they had never run in the same circles, mostly because of their age difference, but also because Deveril, as heir to a viscountcy, was so far above Lucas socially. The fact that he now outranked Deveril amused him in some small way.

“Winterson.” The viscount bowed slightly, his elaborately embellished bottle-green coat contrasting with the bright yellow of his waistcoat. “I wonder if I might have a word.”

Lucas waved a casual hand toward the empty chair across from his, wondering what business the younger man might have with him.

“Deveril,” he said when the other man was seated. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Nodding at the waiter who appeared as if by magic at his elbow, Deveril ordered a coffee, and turned to Lucas. “Your Grace, it has not escaped my notice that you have been seen of late showing a … partiality for a certain young lady.”

Years of military discipline kept Lucas from reacting in any perceptible way to Deveril’s statement, but every part of him went on alert. “I’m not sure I understand what business it is of yours what young ladies I do or do not pay attention to,” he said in a deceptively languid tone. “Pray, explain it to me.”

If he had expected Deveril to be intimidated by the underlying threat of his words, Lucas would have been disappointed. Instead the blond man simply shrugged. “You’ve hardly been at pains to hide it,” he said. “At every social event the two of you attend you spend at least part of the evening in a tête-a-tête. Surely you are not unaware that there is talk.

“But,” Deveril continued, “that is neither here nor there. I do wish to talk to you about Miss Hurston, but not about your … ahem—”

“Careful, man,” Lucas warned with a raised brow, unable to stop himself from enjoying Deveril’s discomfort. “You’re nearing dangerous territory.”

In an unexpected burst of nervousness, Deveril thrust a hand through his carefully coiffed blond curls. “Dammit, I am not trying to insult you. Either of you. I’m trying to warn you.”

All amusement at the viscount’s predicament fled. “Warn me about what?”

Moving his chair closer to the table, Deveril spoke in a low voice, as if afraid they’d be overheard. “You are aware, I think, that I am a member of the Egyptian Club.”

When Lucas nodded, Deveril continued. “Your investigation into the disappearance of your brother has gotten the attention of the club.”

“Has it indeed?” Lucas took a thoughtful sip of his brandy. “I should think they might have been interested when news of my brother’s disappearance first broke, but then I suppose I am ignorant to the ways of the Egyptian Club.” He made no attempt to soften the acidity of his words.

“Oh, there has been interest,” Deveril assured him.

“Well, that is good news,” Lucas returned, his voice sticky with false cheer.

“Your Grace,” Deveril said, ignoring Lucas’s sarcasm. “Though there are those in the club who have sought to discredit your brother as a thief and a liar, I am not one of them. I had some dealings with Will from Lord Hurston’s previous expedition, and I believe that I can say with truthfulness that he and I were friends.”

“But…?”

“But there are those in the club, who, I am sure you suspect, have decided that it would be in the club’s best interest to discredit both Will and Lord Hurston.”

“Why?” Lucas demanded. “What possible motive could the club have for wanting to discredit the two men who have been almost single-handedly responsible for building the bulk of the club’s current collection?”

Deveril shook his head slightly. “I know not,” he said regretfully. “But what I can say is that after Lord Hurston’s return to England, the powers that be within the society made it abundantly clear that unless we wished to have our membership revoked, we should avoid any conversation regarding Hurston’s last expedition. And though it was not ordered, it was strongly suggested that we do our part to see that Miss Hurston was married off by the end of the season. To someone who would…” His eyes grew hard. “Well, let’s just say, someone who would keep her busy.”

Only too aware of what the younger man must have sanitized for his benefit, Lucas tucked his anger over that tidbit away to mull over later. Telling himself that his concern for Cecily was merely that of a friend, since her father’s possible involvement with Will’s disappearance would make anything else between them impossible, he seized upon the other part of Deveril’s revelation.

“So you are saying that the upper echelons of the Egyptian Club have no interest in determining what happened to my brother—a member in good standing of your blasted club, and someone who has overseen the excavation of countless artifacts, documents, and treasures for your damned club. Moreover, that in order to keep Miss Hurston quiet, they have ordered the entire club to work together in order to ensure that she marries the sort of man who will keep so tight a rein over her that she will have no opportunity to bother with her silly investigations and inquiries into the club, which her father founded. Do I have that right?”

“In a nutshell,” Deveril responded, “yes. Though there is not nearly the level of compliance to these orders from on high as the powers that be would hope for.”

“Why tell me all this?” Lucas wondered. “Why take the chance that I might leave here and shout this news from the nearest clock tower?”

“In part because of your … ahem … closeness to Miss Hurston,” Deveril admitted. “It stands to reason that if you care for the girl at all, and one would suspect at least some remote affection for you to have spent so much time with her of late, that you would wish to either protect her from these machinations, or warn her against the plot. Either way, I imagine that you will do your part to counteract the attempts by the Egyptian Club members to see her bound to some man who will do his damnedest to snuff out the curiosity that makes her who she is.”

“Oh, indeed, how noble of you, my good fellow.” Lucas leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out before him.

“Well.” The fair-haired man actually blushed and ran a nervous finger beneath his collar. “I have an interest in one of Miss Hurston’s cousins.”

*   *   *

Cecily was pensive when she returned to Hurston House some time later. Her conversation with Lady Entwhistle had given her much food for thought. Why had her father never written about his disagreement with William Dalton? And more importantly, who was putting it about that the members of the expedition were the victims of some silly curse?

She had done extensive research into the various warnings etched into the stones of the tombs that had been uncovered in Egypt thus far in the quest for knowledge about that ancient civilization, and the warnings ranged from the unsettling to the ridiculous. One in particular she’d always found amusing warned that whoever disturbed the eternal slumber of the pharaoh inside should have his face spat upon. So, it was clear to Cecily that whoever perpetuated the story that the tomb her father had unearthed on this latest expedition was dangerous had no notion of how these curses worked. They were intended to frighten would-be grave robbers, who were in all likelihood the superstitious and uneducated thieves of their own culture. She doubted that the ancient men who considered themselves gods had had any notion that their resting places would be disturbed hundreds of years later by men who viewed their beliefs with skepticism at best.

Seating herself behind her tidy writing desk, Cecily took out her personal journal and began to record her thoughts about the happenings of the past few days. Writing in her journal was an activity that never failed to calm her, and seeing the emotions she so often had to suppress in company written out on the page had a cathartic effect.

She was lost in her recounting when she heard a brisk knock on the door.

Violet, her luminous beauty framed perfectly in the doorway, stepped firmly into the room.

“I see you have returned,” she said, an unaccustomed diffidence in her expression.

Wondering what could make her usually confident stepmother falter so, Cecily gestured for Violet to enter the room. Cecily was still grateful for Violet’s help in transforming her appearance, but she knew that their relationship was still not as easy as that which her cousins enjoyed with their own mothers. For all that Violet had been a part of her life for nearly twenty years, the beauty had never quite understood how to handle her bookish stepdaughter.

“Yes,” Cecily replied calmly, stepping out from behind her desk, thinking with some amusement of how their interactions now—she, behind the desk, Violet coming in with some petition or other—were the mirror image of the child entering the father’s study in expectation of a set-down. “I went to see Lady Entwhistle not long after Winterson brought me home. You still had visitors and I did not wish to disturb you.”

This seemed to placate Violet, but once they were both seated before the fire she spoke out.

“Cecily, it has been brought to my attention that you have been spending an inordinate amount of time in the company of the Duke of Winterson.”

This gave Cecily pause. “I have, but it has been perfectly innocent, I assure you. He is simply concerned about his brother’s disappearance. I have offered to introduce him to those members of the expedition with whom I have an acquaintance.”

Violet nodded, though she still seemed agitated. “I do know this, and I did try to assure … them that you were merely being helpful, but since your change in hairstyle, and mode of dress, there has been some talk that perhaps you have set your cap at him. He is, after all, a handsome man, and it would not be unheard of for a lady to single him out for her attentions. Ever since he inherited the dukedom he has been the target of such schemes.”

“I have not made him the object of a marriage scheme, I assure you.” Cecily laughed. Though she had a marriage scheme, the Duke of Winterson was certainly not the object of it. “I have perhaps changed my mind about marriage. Papa’s illness and the fear that I might have to live with Cousin Rufus for the rest of my days have done their part to ensure that. But that does not mean that I have chosen the Duke of Winterson as my intended groom. Why, I cannot think of anyone more unsuitable.”

She did not add that that was because of the real possibility that her father might be responsible for the disappearance of Winterson’s brother.

“I am relieved to hear you say so,” Violet said, relaxing. “For I must tell you that some of the gossip that was whispered about you this afternoon during my at-home was quite alarming. The Duchess of Bewle was telling everyone who would listen that she saw you and Winterson looking like April and May in the park the other day. And that you had quite deliberately rebuffed that nice George Vinson in order to chase after Winterson for his title alone!”

“As I am not quite sure what April and May look like, I have nothing to say to the former accusation, but I vehemently deny the latter. I accepted Winterson’s invitation to ride in his phaeton for no other reason than to escape Mr. Vinson’s prattle. He is quite sweet, but hasn’t much conversation. And though Winterson is a better conversationalist, I am most certainly not engaged in any sort of improper behavior with him.”

“Then you will see no great hardship if I were to request that you do not see him quite as frequently as you have done of late? It must be done to safeguard your reputation.”

“That is not possible,” Cecily said with a frown. “I have agreed to assist the duke, and I cannot do so if I do not see him.”

“Cecily, you have a reputation to maintain.” Violet clearly did not like rebuking her, but the determination on her countenance told her stepdaughter that she would not shy from her duty. “And as your father is unable to look after you now…”

“Violet, I am a grown woman of five and twenty. There is no need for anyone to ‘look after me’ as you put it. I am perfectly capable of keeping my own counsel and protecting my own reputation. Simply because Father is unable to do his usual policing of my every move is no reason for you to do the job for him.”

“I am not…” Violet pursed her lips in agitation. It was the one expression she made that made her less than beautiful. “I am simply looking out for your well-being, my dear. I know that you have little use for the
ton
and its ways, but if you wish to make an acceptable marriage, then you must allow yourself to be led by me in this matter at the very least. It is all well and good to say that you have no designs upon becoming the next Duchess of Winterson, but that is not how the scandalmongers see it. There has already been speculation about the two of you in the scandal sheets. And my sister warned me today that there have been whispers of your name linked with his in that ridiculous betting book at White’s.

“Please,” she continued, her voice softening. “Do not let your dismissal of gossip trick you into assuming that it has no effect on your life. It does. Take it from someone who has been the subject of some very nasty rumors. If there is a way to spare you from such, I will do it.”

This was not the first Cecily had heard of the whispers that had circulated about her stepmama and her newly widowed father; even so many years later, there were those members of society who thrived on ensuring that everyone who had missed such tales when they first were bandied about were apprised of them at the first opportunity. She had been told of her stepmama’s campaign to win over her father’s grieving heart on the night of her own come-out. She could still remember the gleam of pure malice in Lady Bedford’s expression as she told the still-nervous debutante about the rumors that had made the rounds before her papa and Violet wed. The insinuation that she might learn a thing or two from Violet when it came to husband-hunting had been hurtful considering that her stepmama was a famed beauty while Cecily was a gawky, overtall bluestocking with a distrust of crows.

Now she said, “I do appreciate your fears, Violet. I do not wish to make you the object of talk any more than I wish for it for myself. But I have made a vow to the duke and I do not wish to renege on that promise. He and his family are, understandably, worried about the disappearance of his brother. And I know that Papa, as William Dalton’s employer, would not wish for us to ignore that.”