Dalliance with the Duchess (Seducing the Duchess #3)

Chapter Six

H ettie Devenish’s house was ablaze with lights, and laughter drifted from the doorway. Sophia made her way through the rooms of what had once been a private dwelling and was now a gambling house. Hettie, finding herself abandoned by her husband and in deep debt, had been desperate. But instead of selling up and retiring in poverty to the country, she had decided to open a hell. At first it was a curiosity. However, in the years that followed, it had become fashionable to be seen there and to play a game or two. These days, men and women flocked to her establishment, even the respectable members of society. Because they had once known Hettie socially, they felt comfortable in her company. Besides, there were large fellows on the door to repel undesirables.

It was a year since Sophia had been here, but nothing much seemed to have changed. Perhaps the covers on some of the chairs and the supper menu, but the rest was as before. Even the faces looked familiar. Hettie, pretty and plump, greeted her effusively, until, remembering at the last moment that Sophia was now a widow, she clutched her arm and leaned in close.

“My condolences, Duchess. I was sad to hear about . . . You must be . . .”

“Thank you, Hettie. I am of course devastated.”

The two women exchanged a knowing look. “You are out of mourning,” Hettie said, her gaze taking in the new gown. “Very nice, Your Grace. I am glad to see you have not faded away to a shadow.”

“I am rather like you in that respect,” Sophia said, enjoying the chance to converse with the perceptive woman. “I do not let circumstances get the better of me.”

Hettie smiled. “I must say that opening this place was the best decision I ever made. Are you here to play? I have several ladies here tonight if you wish to join them.”

“Thank you, but I am looking for Chatham.”

Hettie’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth as if to ask questions or issue a warning, and then changed her mind. “I am sure you know your own business, Your Grace. He and his friends are in the pink room.” Hettie pointed up the stairs. Then called after her, “Are you sure you won’t join me at the Faro table?”

“No, thank you. Perhaps later.”

The pink room was so called because of a large painting hung on one wall of a woman whose opulent curves were barely restrained by her pink gown. The tables and chairs were not as crowded in here as the other rooms, and there was even a sofa to rest upon. Sophia saw her quarry at once. The marquess and his two friends and a young handsome gentleman whose flushed face and bright eyes looked very much out of place in such jaded company.

Sir Gordon Robinson, she presumed. He appeared to be even younger than she had expected, his brown hair styled fashionably, his cravat carefully tied, and a glass beside him that looked almost full. As she watched, she saw Arnold lift the bottle to add to Robinson’s glass only to frown.

“You are tardy tonight, Robinson,” he complained. “Drink up.”

The young man smiled and took a restrained sip. Sophia wondered if that was on purpose, to prevent his glass from being refilled too often. Perhaps Gordon wanted his wits about him. Or perhaps he wasn’t much of a drinker of the watered-down wine Hettie Devenish served in her hell.

Chatham had glanced toward the door, and he started when he noticed her. “My dear Duchess!” he cried out in surprise, his usual drawl missing. He quickly smothered any emotion and rose languidly to make his bow. “How delightful to see you.”

Sophia approached with a smile and accepted the chair he gestured for her to take beside him. “And you, Chatham. I have been incarcerated in my house for far too long, and tonight I was desperate for some company. And as luck would have it, here you all are!”

She beamed about at them, and if they were surprised by her excitement they hid it well behind smiles of their own.

The table before her was covered in cards, and it appeared from the pile of money in the center that there had been some deep play. She turned to the young man who sat opposite her. “You are new, sir. We have not been introduced.”

The color rushed into his face. “I am—” he began but was interrupted.

“This is Sir Gordon Robinson,” Chatham said. “Robinson, I’m sure you have heard us speak of the Duchess of Oldney.”

“Although words can never do her justice,” Lord Butcher said.

“Huh, still a flatterer, my lord,” Sophia responded.

Chatham chose to lean in to her then, close to her ear. Too close. She tried not to stiffen and pull away, because she suspected he knew how much she disliked him and that was why he did it. “This dear boy has taken Oldney’s place. Not that anyone could ever do that, of course. Oldney was irreplaceable.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and Sophia said somberly, “He was.”

“We miss him a great deal,” Chatham added in that emotionless drawl, and yet as Sophia met his watchful blue eyes she believed him. He did miss Oldney; the two men had been bosom bows since their school days.

The others had now joined in, vying with each other to express how much they missed her husband, and she thanked them for their kindness. It was strange, but she almost expected the late duke to arrive and sit down beside her. It felt so much like old times. But they were all a year older, and Chatham especially looked as if that year had not done him any favors. He was of a similar age to Oldney, and his hair had grayed markedly, while there were new lines of debauchery carved into his once-handsome face. Lord Butcher was in his late thirties but wasn’t wearing it well. He had a petulant twist to his mouth, his auburn hair cut severely short, and his belly had grown rounder from overindulgence at the dinner table. Sir Tomas Arnold, the youngest of the three, was pouring himself some more wine, and Sophia noticed his valet had missed a section of his jaw when he’d shaved. Unless Arnold had run out of funds and had had to turn off his valet again—it used to happen regularly.

Once they were all settled again, Sophia gave the newcomer a chilly smile. “Sir Gordon, I am surprised you are not with gentlemen your own age.”

Another flush of color, but this time Robinson also looked annoyed. “I am twenty-five, Your Grace, and if you must know I am bored with gentlemen my own age. They are no fun.”

The marquess squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “We are honored to have him here.”

But there was something so false in his expression, in his tone, that Sophia almost burst into laughter. It was obvious to her that young Sir Gordon had something these gentlemen wanted, and because she knew them so well, she guessed it was money. Chatham barely made ends meet, and she thought she remembered that Lord Butcher had recently been accused of spending his wife’s dowry on horses. Sir Tomas Arnold was more of a mystery, but over the years his fortunes, too, had waxed and waned.

She did not join their game in progress but watched as it played out. Robinson lost, but he seemed good humored about it, especially when the others praised him for some clever play. “It won’t be long before you are wiping the floor with us, my boy!” Chatham said, sounding almost jovial.

Sophia doubted it. Robinson was a flat, the perfect soft touch, and he was the only one who didn’t know it.

“Have you been acquainted with these gentlemen for long?” she asked as the money was raked into the marquess’s pocket.

“A few months,” he said with a manic grin. “They are dashed good fellows.”

A smile was passed around, and it wasn’t a nice one. “Our young friend here has proven himself a courageous fellow,” Sir Tomas said. “Butcher had an encounter with an angry husband last week and Robinson saw him off. Didn’t you, lad?”

Gordon flushed again with pleasure. “Well, to be fair, sir, you helped,” he said, but Sophia could see the boy was flattered enough to believe it was mostly his doing.

“The night is young,” the marquess drawled. “We would love for you to join us, Duchess.”

Sophia shook her head regretfully. “I have an unexpected guest, and I must get back.”

It occurred to her then to mention Oldney’s mistress, but at once she decided against it. These men would not be sympathetic to Marianne, and they would certainly not want Sophia to have anything to do with her. They might even accuse Marianne of being a liar. It was a further complication she didn’t need at this time.

“Pity,” Chatham said. “But we plan to visit Diablo’s tomorrow night. It is a new hell that has recently opened. The play is deep but the company amusing. You will join us there, won’t you?”

The others bowed to her as they rose. “It is almost as if Oldney is back with us again,” Butcher said.

Chatham smiled politely and Arnold smirked. As they left and headed downstairs, Hettie Devenish was lingering beside the door and drew her aside, with a glance to make sure they were not overheard.

“I do not wish to speak out of turn, but... you’ve seen Robinson, Your Grace?”

“Indeed I have.”

Hettie raised her brows. “He is going to be taken advantage of. Damaged. You need to keep an eye on him.”

Sophia hesitated, but she knew Hettie would not gossip. They had known each other for years. “He is the reason I am here.”

Outside, her coach was waiting for her, and still deep in thought she stepped into it. She had barely settled herself in her seat as the vehicle moved forward, the horses clip clopping over the cobbles.

“How did it go?”

The voice, coming out of the shadows, made her jump violently and she let out a squeak. The intruder moved, so that the light from the coach lantern fell on his face, and she was both relieved and disturbed to see it was Nicholas Blake.

Sophia tried to catch her breath, her hand to her breast, beneath which her heart was pounding. Being in the company of those men had made her jumpier than she would otherwise have been. She had had to be on her guard the whole time, and Blake’s sudden appearance just as she had thought herself able to relax had discombobulated her. And what was he doing here?

“Did I ask you into my coach?” she demanded sharply. “I’m sure I would have remembered if I had.”

His dark eyes shone in the lamplight. “I was hardly going to allow you to enter that dragon’s den without protection, not once you sent me word you would be here tonight.” He said it as if the answer was obvious.

“ Allow me ?” she repeated in disbelief. “You were the one asking me for a favor.”

He appeared to consider several replies before discarding them, and when he spoke he ignored what had gone before. “And did you find out how Gordon is faring?”

He really was the most infuriating man. Sophia took a breath and strove to hold back her temper. “He is well entrenched with them, and they are very happy to have him there. Tell me, Blake, is he wealthy? Does he have relatives who may be of use to desperate men? Because I do not believe they are ensnaring him in their group for the sake of his blushes and his pretty smile.”

As he listened, she could see his features hardening. “He is very wealthy, yes, and has full access to the family coffers since his father died. His father was already one of the richest men in the country when he married his mother, also from a prominent family. I don’t know a great deal about his other relatives.”

“What of you?” Sophia asked curiously. “Could he call upon you for a favor, and would you grant it to him, even if it were outside the law?”

Nicholas frowned. “That is a clever idea, Duchess. I will give it some thought.”

Sophia yawned. “Now that I have done as you asked,” she said wearily, “can I withdraw from this unpleasant game?”

He seemed perplexed. “I am assuming you are jesting. Assessing his situation has only just begun. I want you to keep an eye on the boy. If I need to act swiftly, it will be at your say so.”

The truth was she was relieved not to bow out, although she wasn’t going to tell him that. She was concerned for Sir Gordon, and she felt that same do-gooder urge as before, to save him. Not that she was going to tell the man opposite her that either.

“But what do I get out of this little charade? Apart from late nights that interfere with my beauty sleep.” She chose the words that would irritate him the most.

He smiled, damn him. “Your beauty is unchanged, but if you want a reason to behave like a good citizen then you should consider this a way to right the wrongs your husband was guilty of. You might be losing sleep, but you can wake up in the morning and feel good about yourself.”

She curled her lip. “You, sir, are an arrogant prick.”

His eyes flared, but his grin was unrepentant. “Ah-ah, that is not something a lady should say. But I am sure you have had a testy evening, so I will ignore your insult.”

He really was infuriating. “Get out,” she said between gritted teeth.

He laughed, and now she really was so angry it was as if there were a flame-red cloud of fury spinning in her head. It was rare that Sophia lost control, but she did now. She launched herself at him, her hands balled into fists. He caught her with a huff of laughter, which only made her angrier. He wrapped his strong arms around her struggling form, his breath warm against her cheek.

“Duchess, please . . . Sophia, stay calm . . .”

“I’ll give you calm,” she said. “I did what you asked, and instead of thanking me, you speak in that unutterably smug way. Those men... those men...” But she couldn’t go on. Suddenly the fight went out of her, and she slumped against him. She thought he would let her go then, but he didn’t.

“Sophia,” he whispered, “I am grateful, I do thank you. And I apologize if you did not know that.”

Her eyes were squeezed shut, but now she opened them and looked up at him. He was very close. She realized then that he was holding her so that she was on his lap, and her hair had come loose and was a dark tangle against his jacket. He ran the back of his hand down her cheek and paused to stroke his thumb over her lips.

The air began to fizz for an entirely different reason.

For a moment they stared into each other’s eyes, and then abruptly he leaned forward until his mouth brushed hers. It might have begun as a gentle kiss, but it soon turned into something else entirely. And Sophia was helpless to stop it.