Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham) (6 page)

Minerva smiled. “Quite fine.”

With a huge sigh, Grace slumped back against the cushions. “Thank God. I hardly slept a wink last night thinking of you going to that decadent place. I’m so glad you didn’t.”

“But I did.”

Grace sprang forward. “So it’s done?”

The heat rushed to Minerva’s face, nearly scalding her with its intensity. “Not exactly. Seems I didn’t have the nerve for it after all.”

“But you went.” Grace glanced around as though she expected to see spies hidden behind the plants. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “What was it like?”

Minerva laughed. “After all your warnings, you have the audacity to ask?”

“I’m curious. I would never go there, but now I have an opportunity to hear all about it.”

“That’s really why you’re here, isn’t it? Curiosity, not concern that I might be suffering through misgivings.”

“I’m here first and foremost for you. I’ve been so worried that you’d select someone who wasn’t kind or someone who cared only about his own needs. I didn’t want you to have a selfish lover.”

She didn’t think Ashebury would have been selfish. If his kiss were any indication, he would give far more than he received.

“So come on, Minnie, don’t be cruel. Satisfy my curiosity. Tell me about this wicked, wicked place.”

She almost suggested Grace ask her brother, but she was obligated not to reveal who all she’d seen there even if it was someone she considered family. “It wasn’t what I expected. It was all very proper. People stood around talking. Ladies masked for secrecy. Men not caring who knew they were there.”

“Who was there?”

“I can’t say.”

“Because you didn’t know them?”

“I took a vow not to reveal any identities. The woman in charge wears an emerald green gown and matching mask. Very flashy. You have to reveal yourself to her so she knows who everyone is. She’ll come after you if she learns you’ve spoken the name of anyone there. I don’t know how she would manage to find out, but I believed her.”

“But you can tell me. I won’t tell.”

“I really can’t.”

“Well, you’re no fun.”

“So more than one gentleman has told me.”

“Minerva, I didn’t—”

She squeezed Grace’s hand. “I know. I’m just being difficult. And the truth is that I’m not bothered by the myriad of ways that gentlemen find me lacking. It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks as long as I’m true to myself—as my mother, bless her, constantly reminds me. Last night, for the first time, I actually believed it. It was quite liberating.” While everything that happened there was not to be spoken of, this was Grace, her dearest friend. “I caught a very fine gentleman’s attention.”

Grace’s eyes widened as she leaned forward. “Who?”

Minerva scowled.

“Right then. You can’t tell me. Was he handsome?”

“Why does everyone care about looks? But, yes, exceedingly so.”

“Charming?”

“Very.”

“Nobility?”

“Yes.”

“Dark hair?”

Laughing at her friend’s blatant attempt to deduce who he might have been, she shook her head. “Enough, Grace. I’m not going to play your little game. You’d never guess anyway. But I will tell you that he was immensely intriguing. He spoke about the beauty of the human form, in particular my legs.”

“He saw your legs?”

“Well, not the entire leg. Just up to my calf. But when I arrived, I had to change into this silky bit of nothing, very similar to what is depicted in paintings that reflect the women of Rome. It’s extremely easy to get into and, I suppose, exceedingly easy for a gent to get you out of. While I was almost completely covered except for my arms and décolletage, it didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. No corset, no petticoats. I rather liked it, actually. It was light as a feather. But I suppose its purpose is to provide a more accurate assessment of one’s figure.”

“What did the men wear?”

Minerva scoffed. “That was the irritating part—they wore everything. I shall never understand why men and women must have different rules.” She smiled. “But he removed his boots, so I would be more comfortable. Still, I just couldn’t get comfortable enough to climb into bed with him.”

“So what did you do?”

“It’s going to sound silly, but we talked.” She moved closer. “Here’s the thing—he looked into my eyes when we conversed. So intensely as though he was truly interested. I have sat in the front parlor with gentlemen who were mesmerized by the design of their teacups. I ask a question, they answer with a solitary word. I attempt to start a discourse, and they can’t be bothered to keep it going. I’m irrelevant. They seek to impress me by merely making an appearance. My man last night was attentive. He asked me questions. He told me a story from his past.” She sighed. “It was bittersweet, Grace. To experience what it is to have the attention of a man who was intrigued by me. After I arrived home, I rather wished I hadn’t left the Nightingale.”

“It wasn’t real, Minnie.”

“Trust you to be so honest and blunt. Still it felt real. I’m rather convinced that not everyone is there for what goes on between the sheets.”

“Why are they there?”

“I’m not sure. I expected to see people hungrily kissing or maybe even fornicating on a table or a chair—but there was none of that.” She gave her head a slight shake, lifted a shoulder. “Oh, people sat closely together, and I saw a hand on a thigh here or a hip there, but they weren’t ashamed of what they were doing.”

“How could you tell? They were wearing masks.”

“Not the men.”

“But men are never ashamed.”

Minerva smiled. “I suppose you have a point. Still, it would be nice if we were a bit more open about things.”

“So you were open with your parents and told them where you were going?”

“Absolutely not!” She shoved playfully on Grace’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean we should be that open about things. No, I waited until they’d gone to bed. I slipped out, found a cab. Then my gentleman insisted his driver bring me home—only I had him take me to the Twin Dragons. I couldn’t risk his discovering who my parents are. I don’t think he’s the blackmail sort, but you know my father. He would protect me and my reputation at any cost.”

“Well, jolly good for your man, not letting you roam the streets searching for a cab at all hours of the night. If you should ever decide to go there again, you’re to let me know, and I’ll have one of our carriages waiting for you at the end of the street. I should have thought of that before. I was just so muddled with the notion of your actually doing it that I wasn’t thinking.”

“And how will you explain the carriage to my brother?”

Grace smiled slyly. “Not to worry. I can handle Lovingdon.”

“You’re the dearest of friends, but I doubt I’ll go back. Although I can’t seem to stop thinking about what might have been.”

“It can still be, just not there,” Grace assured her. “My mother was on the shelf when she fell in love with my father.”

“I’m not certain she could be considered on the shelf when she didn’t have a Season. She was a commoner, a bookkeeper. I don’t think commoners worry about getting married as much as we do.”

“I suppose you have a point, there.”

“I’ve also been a terrible hostess. Shall I ring for tea?”

“I can’t stay. I’m meeting my mother in a bit, and we’re going on a round of the orphanages. You should come with us.”

“You’re kind to invite me, but it was a rather late night, so I shall probably take a nap. By the by, did you receive an invitation to Lady Greyling’s soiree this evening?”

“The one welcoming the hellions back to London?” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why their return is given such fanfare.”

“They went on safari. I think everyone wants to hear about it.”

“Are you going then?”

“I was thinking of it, yes.” Especially as Ashebury was certain to be there. She knew it was silly to take an interest in him, to place herself in his path so soon after last night, but he intrigued her. Besides, it was unlikely he’d approach her, that he would realize she was Lady V, but she would still have the opportunity to gaze on him—and to imagine what might have been between them.

“Shall we go together?” Grace asked. “Lovingdon and I could pick you up at half past seven.”

“That would be lovely.”

“Jolly good. I’ll see you tonight then.” Standing, Grace leaned in and kissed Minerva’s cheek. “I’m glad nothing untoward happened last night.”

“As am I,” she lied.

Chapter 5

T
HE Countess of Greyling’s drawing room was packed to the gills with ladies sitting on sofas and chairs while gentlemen stood about wherever they could find a few spare inches of space. Minerva and Grace had managed to secure tight spots near the center of the room, sharing a sofa with Ladies Sarah and Honoria.

Leaning against the wall, near the fireplace, the Duke of Ashebury radiated confidence and openly flirted with the ladies nearest to him, while gifting others with a secretive look that made each think she had his unfettered devotion. Not that he directed any of his heavy-lidded gazes Minerva’s way. Fighting not to let his inattention sting her pride, she was incredibly grateful that she hadn’t allowed him to bed her. It would have hurt immeasurably to see him showering others with his attentiveness while she received not an ounce of interest from him—even though her purpose in going to the Nightingale had been to ensure her anonymity. She could hardly bemoan his not dashing over to greet her when his not even batting an eye at her arrival was reassurance that he didn’t recognize her from the night before.

All the trouble she’d gone to in order to hide her identity had worked. Her success should be met with pleasure rather than disappointment.

Standing in front of the fireplace, Mr. Edward Alcott, for the better part of the last half hour, had been regaling his audience with tales of their adventures in Africa. He was animated, constantly using his hands to add excitement to the various accounts of their exploits.

Minerva had been so caught up observing Ashebury, hoping in vain that he might at least give her a passing glance, that she’d barely listened to Mr. Alcott, but Lady Honoria’s pressing a hand to her throat with a startled gasp had Minerva redirecting her attention to their orator.

“So there we were on the African savanna standing around for the better part of half an hour while Ashe set up his photography equipment,” Mr. Alcott continued in a mesmerizing cadence that had the ladies sharing the sofa with Minerva scooting to the edge of their seats.

“When all of sudden”—Mr. Alcott took a quick step forward and swept his arms in a dramatic gesture—“out of the blue, the lion pounced.”

Ladies inhaled sharply, jerking back as though that very creature had leaped from his fingertips. Gloved hands covered mouths. Eyes widened. Minerva took some satisfaction in not visibly reacting—she had little tolerance for women pretending they were far too delicate for the realities of life—although her heart was hammering madly.

“It was an incredibly spectacular sight. Muscles bunching, sinew stretching, a roar that echoed—”

“For God’s sake, Edward, get on with it,” Ashebury said from his far-too-relaxed stance, arms crossed over his chest. With gaslights rather than flickering candles illuminating the room, his black hair, unfashionably long, served to make the blue of his eyes that much more noticeable. He appeared bored. She wished she’d had a clearer view of him last night when he’d seemed more interested, wished she hadn’t closed her eyes when he’d kissed her. Had he closed his?

Mr. Alcott straightened. “Weaving a tale that mesmerizes is my talent. If you will be so good as to indulge me—especially as you serve as the hero of the story.” He turned back to his audience. “As I was saying, the lion sprung forth from the tall grasses so magnificently. Locksley and I were quite taken aback by the sight of nature at its most primitive, its most feral. I daresay, it took us a few seconds to actually register that
a lion
had indeed
attacked
Ashe, taken him to the ground. That the duke was the huge fellow’s prey, that the creature was in fact intending to make a meal of him.”

“Oh, my dear Lord, you might have been eaten,” Lady Honoria exclaimed. “What a ghastly way to go!”

Ashebury lifted a shoulder laconically and tilted his head slightly in a manner that implied he’d never doubted he would be the victor. Arrogant man. Minerva didn’t know why she found that so appealing.

“Its roar still echoing around us, we sprung into action and readied our rifles.” Mr. Alcott lifted his arms, leaned forward slightly, lowered his hands and his voice. “Unexpectedly, the great beast went completely and absolutely still. A hush settled over the grasslands. Then we heard a muffled cry. ‘For God’s sake, get him off me!’ Locksley and I rushed forward. Somehow Ashe had managed to pull his knife from its scabbard and kill the creature.” He straightened. “Not before it got its teeth into his shoulder unfortunately.”

As the ladies sitting near Ashebury fluttered their hands and looked on the verge of swooning, he slowly rubbed his hand over his left shoulder. Minerva wondered if he were even aware of the action. Then a corner of his mouth hitched up. “But I got my photograph.”

“Indeed you did,” Mr. Alcott admitted. “And a splendid one it is.”

There was such pride reflected in Ashebury’s tone, in his mien. Minerva couldn’t help but wonder if he would have exhibited the same satisfaction if he’d had success in convincing her to pose last night. Had he wanted the photograph of her as badly as he’d wanted the one of the lion? Not that he’d come anywhere near to placing his life at risk, but he’d spoken so passionately about the human form. She had to wonder now if he’d been terribly disappointed by her refusal to give in to his request. Or was the evening simply one of many? Had he already forgotten Lady V? Although he’d claimed that he wouldn’t seek a substitute, she couldn’t help but believe that he would have found someone to replace her quite easily, someone more adventurous, less prudish. She’d always taken such pride in her willingness to explore opportunities, to engage in new experiences. In hindsight, she couldn’t be more disappointed in herself.

“You must have been so terrified,” Lady Sarah said, breathlessly, both hands pressed to her chest, drawing Ashebury’s eyes to her cleavage. The duke, blast him, grinned wickedly at Lady Sarah and her heaving bosom, and Minerva fought back a spark of jealousy as she wondered if he might want to photograph those ample orbs.

“Petrified,” he admitted cockily, “but then I realized that if I didn’t take some action I’d never get back to England, and it became quite clear rather quickly that neither Edward nor Locke were going to be of much assistance.”

“You had to be incredibly strong to kill the awful beast,” Lady Angela said.

“Incredibly so. Perhaps you’d like to test my muscles later.”

Lady Angela turned red as a beet, her face splotchy, looking as though she’d broken out in hives. She never had been one to blush becomingly.

“That will be quite enough of that bawdy talk,” Lady Greyling admonished, coming to her feet. It had always amazed Minerva that she could so easily control the hellions. “Refreshments are waiting for us in the main salon, along with the displays of Ashe’s photographs. Let’s make our way there, shall we?”

Ladies began to rise and join the gentlemen. Ashebury sinuously shoved himself away from the wall, so very slowly as though he were mimicking the great cat that he had killed. Minerva had seen lions on display at the zoological gardens, knew their graceful movements. She couldn’t imagine the terror of facing one in the wilds.

“I’m going to make my way to Lovingdon,” Grace said, touching her arm, obviously wanting her attention.

“Yes, all right. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

Grace departed. Minerva considered making her way to Ashebury to commend him on his quick thinking, his strength, his ability to stare death in the face and come out the victor, but two ladies approached him, and he graciously offered each an arm, then began escorting them from the room. Last night for a few fleeting moments, he’d been hers.

“I wonder where Lord Locksley is?” Lady Sarah mused, holding Minerva back as though she had the answer.

“Is he the reason you’re here?” Minerva asked.

With a little wobble of her head, Sarah sighed. “Well, yes, I have to admit to being somewhat curious about him. He always makes an appearance in Mr. Alcott’s stories and yet he so seldom attends any social functions.”

“Why the interest?”

“Because he’s mysterious, and I’m fascinated by mysteries. Besides, aren’t you fascinated by the lords of Havisham? They’re so adventuresome and brave and—”

“They’re indulged,” Minerva cut in, as they wandered from the room and into the hallway. “People let them do whatever they want with no consequence. Other than Greyling, I don’t think any of them are seeing to their duties. How can they when they’re always traipsing about the world?”

“But their parents were killed in that awful railway accident.”

“A lot of parents were killed.” Sisters, brothers, sons, and daughters. Not that Minerva had any recollection of the event. She’d been a child, yet all these years later, people still spoke of the awfulness of it, especially when the hellions were about.

“They were left to fend for themselves,” Lady Sarah said, as though they’d been abandoned on the streets with no means whatsoever.

“Hardly,” Minerva stated. “They had a roof over their heads, food in their bellies, clothes on their backs.”

“But they ran wild over the moors. No one cared about them.”

Minerva had heard those stories as well. Mr. Alcott had an entire reservoir of mishaps to share at dinner parties. “I believe Mr. Alcott embellishes.”

“You’re no fun at all.”

Worse things had been said of her. They walked into the parlor. “Why? Because I want the facts?”

“Precisely.”

“They can ruin a good story,” a deep voice announced.

Minerva spun around to find Mr. Alcott standing against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his dark blond hair a riot of curls that seemed to mark him as untamable. The only reason she knew he wasn’t Greyling was because the earl seldom left his wife’s side. She wondered how much he might have heard, how much of their conversation might have echoed up the hallway. His eyes, the shade of hot cocoa, dark and somber, gave little away. Lady Sarah might have thought Locksley was the mysterious one, but Minerva couldn’t help but believe that Mr. Alcott had secrets of his own.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to have that now, would we, Mr. Alcott?” she asked, fighting not to have quite so much sarcasm dripping from her voice.

A corner of his mouth lifted into a seductive smile that, if rumors were to be believed, had ladies surrendering to his every whim. “Please, call me Edward. And stories should be designed to entertain.”

“They should not be purported as the truth when they stray from the facts.”

“Did Ashebury really kill the lion?” Lady Sarah asked, with hero worship fairly lending a dreamy-like quality to her voice.

“He did.”

“With a knife?” Minerva asked, not bothering to disguise her disbelief.

“It had a wickedly long blade and was incredibly sharp.” He lifted a broad shoulder in a casual half shrug. “Although he might have been assisted by some of our guides, who jumped into the fray. But where is the excitement in a story such as that?”

“There is beauty in facts.”

“Miss Dodger is terribly practical,” Lady Sarah said in the same tone that one might use when referring to an eccentric aging aunt who was boring people to death at a dinner party.

“So it would seem,” Edward said. “But the question is: Did you enjoy the story?”

“I adored it,” Lady Sarah responded enthusiastically.

But his gaze remained focused on Minerva. “No embellishment, Miss Dodger. Only the truth or if you prefer: only the facts. Did it hold you enthralled?”

Blast him. She relished the truth too much not to admit, “I found it rather fascinating.”

“High praise indeed. I consider the night a success.” With a laziness to his stride, he walked off. Undoubtedly, she had somehow managed to insult him. Was it a fault to value honesty?

“Drat,” Lady Sarah murmured. “I should have asked him about Lord Locksley.”

“I’m sure you can catch up with him if you really want to know.”

“Wish me luck.” Then she was gone, leaving Minerva to wonder why luck was needed to receive an answer to a simple question.

Shaking her head in wonder at the girl’s youthful exuberance—dear God but she suddenly felt old—she glanced around the salon. In its center, a table was adorned with food, another sported an assortment of spirits. Footmen meandered around offering tiny bits of pastry or glasses of wine. Along the outer edges of the room were the photographs, displayed on easels. Ashebury’s work.

It called to her, enticed her to draw near. She approached the photograph of a crouched lion barely visible through the tall grasses, but his gaze was intense, that of a hunter. And she regretted with everything inside her that they’d killed such a proud beast.

A
SHE surmised that the guests weren’t really interested in the photographs. Oh, they gave them a passing glance as they flirted, stuffed tiny pies into their mouth, or sipped fine wine. But they were here to have fun, to take delight in each other’s company, to flirt. All except her.

Miss Minerva Dodger.

She took her time studying each photograph as though she appreciated what he had created with shadow and light, as though she understood it, as though it spoke to her. Once he even saw her lift her hand as though she wanted to pet the creature that he had captured with his lens. Photography was more than a pastime for him; it was a passion. Yet so few appreciated it. Not that he did it for public accolades. However, for some reason, he’d wanted these images to be admired. Perhaps because they’d nearly cost him his life.

So when Grey’s wife had expressed a desire to host a small party so she could display them, he’d been only too happy to oblige her request. Except now he felt quite self-conscious and wished he’d merely lent her the photographs and avoided the tedious affair. Unlike Edward, he didn’t crave attention, abhorred it, actually. He would do anything to escape the ladies presently fluttering their fans and cooing to him that he was remarkably brave and incredibly strong. One lady had even managed to discreetly squeeze his upper arm, testing his muscles, her eyes slumberous with invitation. He could no doubt find a secluded place to take her so she could squeeze to her heart’s content any part of him that she wished—