brilliant pale color. Her skin betrayed her advancing age. Her manner was too forward. He shoved her away.
He sat on the stairs, his clothes smelling like whiskey, and thought. Three thousand pounds. Where would he come up with it? His property was already mortgaged. He owed his friends too much money to ask for more. No one was allowing him to borrow on his expectations of inheriting the dukedom any longer, now that dear Uncle Cyrus had taken a young wife. And Uncle Cyrus had made it clear no more money would be forthcoming until his death.
Ah, death; now there was an idea. He was heir to a vast dukedom. Uncle Cyrus had held it far too long. Certainly, Alastair deserved a turn at all that money lying around in bank accounts, gathering dust. Of course he had no need for Uncle Cyrus’s businesses or his seat in the Lords. Just the money.
And Uncle Cyrus’s widow would need hours of comforting—with her legs spread. He rose and exited the gaming hell, whistling a chipper tune.
CHAPTER SIX
Lucien walked among the throng of people attending the Raddingtons’ rout and surveyed the ever-thickening crowd, but found no sign of his mystery lady.
Niles turned to him with a sigh. “I do not see her.”
Lucien scanned the room, his eyes still seeking a luxurious head of white-gold hair. “Neither do I. Keep looking. She will certainly show her face in public again someday.”
“Perhaps,” Niles hedged. “But clearly she’s done very little of that in the past.”
The woman, his woman, weighed heavily upon Lucien’s mind as the days passed, and tonight in particular. Was she well? Did she ever think of him, too?
“Hello, Lord Daneridge. Did my brother drag you here to help him endure my soirée?” a feminine voice asked from behind, turning both men in her direction.
Wearing a faint smile, Lucien glanced at Niles before gazing back to his friend’s sister. “Actually, no. I enjoy your parties, Lady Raddington. I consider it a privilege to be on your guest list.”
“La, how you flatter. Is that a nasty habit you acquired from Devon?”
“Not me, little sister,” Niles interjected. “I’m all manners, don’t you know?”
“Yes, I know all too well.” Anne laughed, then drifted off to greet another guest.
Niles took a sip of champagne. “So what will you say if you find this woman again?”
Lucien shrugged, not certain himself. Would he scream, implore her to see reason, or simply succumb to his urge to kiss her?
The smell of gardenias lingered in the air. Every time he breathed that pungent scent, he half expected her to precede it. He could almost feel her here. Something in the air made his spine tingle. He scanned the room for her again.
And saw her.
Dressed in a low-cut creation of the most tantalizing shade of sapphire, she shimmered around the dance floor in the arms of an elderly, portly gentleman. Her cloud of white-gold hair was piled exotically on her head, a trail of curls caressing her neck. Her flawless honey skin held a hint of becoming rose tonight, he noted, studying her delicate profile. As before, raw desire slammed into him, stealing his breath, leaving him shaking and hungry.
“There! Do you see her, Clayborne?” Niles asked beside him.
Eyes never leaving her, Lucien nodded.
“Who is the old gent with her? Looks like the Duke of Warrington. Her guardian, you suppose?”
“That would be my guess. He’s old enough to be one of her father’s or grandfather’s cronies.”
With a low whistle, Niles commented, “Powerful guardian, old man.”
Lucien nodded, a determined tightening in his jaw. “Quite so. But I will convince His Grace I am the appropriate suitor for his charge.”
“Will you tell him the truth?”
Lucien paused. “Only if he forces the issue.”
Anne, wearing a harried smile, strode by then. Niles grabbed her arm, halting her progress.
“Dear sister, who is the lovely blond creature over there?” Niles pointed
He sat on the stairs, his clothes smelling like whiskey, and thought. Three thousand pounds. Where would he come up with it? His property was already mortgaged. He owed his friends too much money to ask for more. No one was allowing him to borrow on his expectations of inheriting the dukedom any longer, now that dear Uncle Cyrus had taken a young wife. And Uncle Cyrus had made it clear no more money would be forthcoming until his death.
Ah, death; now there was an idea. He was heir to a vast dukedom. Uncle Cyrus had held it far too long. Certainly, Alastair deserved a turn at all that money lying around in bank accounts, gathering dust. Of course he had no need for Uncle Cyrus’s businesses or his seat in the Lords. Just the money.
And Uncle Cyrus’s widow would need hours of comforting—with her legs spread. He rose and exited the gaming hell, whistling a chipper tune.
CHAPTER SIX
Lucien walked among the throng of people attending the Raddingtons’ rout and surveyed the ever-thickening crowd, but found no sign of his mystery lady.
Niles turned to him with a sigh. “I do not see her.”
Lucien scanned the room, his eyes still seeking a luxurious head of white-gold hair. “Neither do I. Keep looking. She will certainly show her face in public again someday.”
“Perhaps,” Niles hedged. “But clearly she’s done very little of that in the past.”
The woman, his woman, weighed heavily upon Lucien’s mind as the days passed, and tonight in particular. Was she well? Did she ever think of him, too?
“Hello, Lord Daneridge. Did my brother drag you here to help him endure my soirée?” a feminine voice asked from behind, turning both men in her direction.
Wearing a faint smile, Lucien glanced at Niles before gazing back to his friend’s sister. “Actually, no. I enjoy your parties, Lady Raddington. I consider it a privilege to be on your guest list.”
“La, how you flatter. Is that a nasty habit you acquired from Devon?”
“Not me, little sister,” Niles interjected. “I’m all manners, don’t you know?”
“Yes, I know all too well.” Anne laughed, then drifted off to greet another guest.
Niles took a sip of champagne. “So what will you say if you find this woman again?”
Lucien shrugged, not certain himself. Would he scream, implore her to see reason, or simply succumb to his urge to kiss her?
The smell of gardenias lingered in the air. Every time he breathed that pungent scent, he half expected her to precede it. He could almost feel her here. Something in the air made his spine tingle. He scanned the room for her again.
And saw her.
Dressed in a low-cut creation of the most tantalizing shade of sapphire, she shimmered around the dance floor in the arms of an elderly, portly gentleman. Her cloud of white-gold hair was piled exotically on her head, a trail of curls caressing her neck. Her flawless honey skin held a hint of becoming rose tonight, he noted, studying her delicate profile. As before, raw desire slammed into him, stealing his breath, leaving him shaking and hungry.
“There! Do you see her, Clayborne?” Niles asked beside him.
Eyes never leaving her, Lucien nodded.
“Who is the old gent with her? Looks like the Duke of Warrington. Her guardian, you suppose?”
“That would be my guess. He’s old enough to be one of her father’s or grandfather’s cronies.”
With a low whistle, Niles commented, “Powerful guardian, old man.”
Lucien nodded, a determined tightening in his jaw. “Quite so. But I will convince His Grace I am the appropriate suitor for his charge.”
“Will you tell him the truth?”
Lucien paused. “Only if he forces the issue.”
Anne, wearing a harried smile, strode by then. Niles grabbed her arm, halting her progress.
“Dear sister, who is the lovely blond creature over there?” Niles pointed
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