How to Dance With a Duke (12 page)

So, he waited a full five minutes before rising from his seat and walking briskly toward the exit, only to be interrupted by Miss Amelia Snowe as he neared the end of the neatly aligned rows of seats.

“Your Grace,” she said, her speculative expression sounding an alarm in his head as he headed for the exit. “The music will resume in only a few more minutes. I should hate for you to miss it.”

Biting back a sharp retort at the interruption, Lucas decided a half-truth would not go amiss here. “I fear that I have recalled another pressing engagement, Miss Snowe.” Which was true. He had an appointment with Cecily. Besides, Amelia was hardly his personal confidante. He found her about as trustworthy as a hyena. Which was reinforced when she gave a perfectly constructed titter and popped him on the arm with her fan. “Oh, it is not necessary for you to deceive me, Lord Winterson. It is quite apparent that you are trailing after the…”—she paused as if searching her brain for just the right word—“memorable Miss Hurston.”

Lucas scowled and rubbed his arm. What was it with ladies hitting him with their fans tonight? Before he could respond, she went on, “It has been quite a surprise to me to see her attract attention from a certain impressionable group of young gentlemen. I do hope her head has not been turned by their flattery. I fear it is a little game they play from time to time. They will single out a young lady for the season, bring her into fashion, and then when the season ends, they simply cut the connection. They mean nothing by it, of course. Just a little harmless fun.”

Looking down at the pretty blonde, Lucas realized that she was even more conniving than he’d supposed. But nothing she said would make him see Cecily as anything other than what she was. A highly intelligent, if headstrong, young lady who was worth one hundred Amelias.

He wondered for a fleeting moment if the other attendees of the musicale would read his departure so soon after Cecily’s in the same way that she had done. It was irrelevant, of course, given that he intended to follow her whether it caused talk or not. But he did not wish for Cecily’s reputation to suffer as a result. So he decided to redirect Amelia’s attention with a bit of flattery.

“We gentlemen can be a fickle lot, can we not?” he said in response to her dismissal of Cecily’s newfound popularity. “Still, I thought it would be kind to show Miss Hurston a bit of attention this evening. She is, as you say, quite popular right now. And I hear her father is unwell. Let’s keep this our little secret, shall we? Not everyone can be lucky enough to sit next to Miss Amelia Snowe, can they?”

With a conspiratorial wink, he stepped away from the soulless beauty and headed out the doors leading into the grand hallway.

Whereas the music room had been filled to capacity, with many of the ladies plying themselves diligently with their fans, the hallway was as empty as the proverbial tomb. A lady’s laugh from somewhere down the north corridor, however, had Lucas striding purposefully across the black-and-white checked marble tiles.

He cursed inwardly when he realized he hadn’t learned exactly where the Red Room was located. A friend lived in this same row of town homes, and rationalizing that the layouts of the two homes were probably similar, he headed for the second floor where the library should be located.

The first door he opened led into a small sitting room. It was well lit, but deserted, so Lucas closed the door and tried the next one. He had no luck until three doors farther down where he discovered a couple locked in a passionate embrace. As the lady was very clearly a redhead, Lucas ducked back out of the chamber and pulled the door closed. From the looks of things, he doubted the couple was even aware of his interruption.

Finally, as he neared the end of the hall, he heard more voices, male this time. Not wanting to broadcast his presence to the occupants of the room, he opened the door carefully and was pleased to note the Moroccan red of the walls. The gathering of men was hidden from the view of the door by a number of screens and potted trees that surrounded what appeared to be a large round table.

Thick Turkish carpets masked the sound of his footsteps as he crept farther into the room, which was a masterpiece of gilt and all things Egyptian. From the crocodile carvings that adorned the screens, to the golden pyramids that stood out in relief on the pots that held the trees, everything in the room was somehow linked to the ancient culture on the Nile.

Even the tall, evening-gowned figure hovering behind a particularly ugly wooden screen depicting Cleopatra wrestling with an oddly winsome asp.

*   *   *

When she felt a warm body press up against hers, and an arm snake around to cover her mouth, Cecily squealed in alarm.

“Shh,” whispered Lucas, his warm breath sending a shiver that had nothing to do with fear through her. “It’s just me. What have I missed?”

Thanks to the tall potted trees that were arranged just so, they were invisible to the men in the room.

Cecily breathed a sigh of relief as he removed his hand from her mouth, but it was impossible to ignore the feel of his strong body pressed against the length of hers. Not to mention his scent, clean and masculine and spicy, which made her want to turn around and burrow her face in his neck. And she had thought sitting next to him was uncomfortable. Her agitation of earlier was now increased tenfold.

Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on calming herself and shook her head to indicate that she couldn’t answer his question yet. She didn’t wish to alert the club members to their presence.

But Winterson wasn’t satisfied with being put off.

Touching her chin with one long finger, he turned her face toward him, his lips only a fraction from hers, and mouthed, “Tell me.”

Irritated by his high-handed demand, but unable to look away from him, she decided it would probably be faster and easier to just tell him. He didn’t exactly strike her as the sort of man who would wait patiently for an answer.

“They are discussing the club’s latest acquisitions,” she hissed.

At his brisk nod, Cecily turned back to watch the proceedings in the room beyond them. To her delicious agony, instead of moving to stand next to her, he remained behind her and slipped an arm around her middle to pull her closer to his body.

She knew very well that such contact was highly improper. And if anyone were to catch them like this, they’d be betrothed faster than Lord Deveril went through cravats. A few kisses in the park was one thing, but now they were for all practical purposes embracing in a room full of potential witnesses. Even so, the mixture of comfort and agitation his closeness brought her was utterly irresistible. And besides, she rationalized, if she made a fuss she’d give them away to the club members.

“We have added to the club’s collection this month alone,” Lord Peterborough, a portly older gentleman, spoke to the group. “Three mummified cats, acquired from a merchant in Billingsgate, for the sum of…”

As Winterson shifted behind her, Cecily swallowed, hard. She turned to scowl at him, just for propriety’s sake, but he appeared not to notice, his eyes fixed firmly on the scene before them. Could he really be unaffected by their closeness? she wondered. Was she the only one who felt the least bit of excitement here?

“A bejeweled figure of Horus, the falcon-headed god,” Peterborough continued, “dating from the fourteenth century
B.C.
, estimated value unknown…”

Behind the screen, Lucas began to absently caress her with the hand against her midriff. Up. Down. Up. Down. The movement of his hand beat in counterpoint to her heartbeat. Cecily tried to concentrate on what Lord Peterborough was saying, but it was nigh impossible to do so with six feet and then some of solid male pressed up against her back and a strong arm wrapped around her waist.

“A wood cylinder seal from the third century
B.C.
, worth an estimated sum of one thousand pounds.”

But enough was enough. If this continued much longer she would combust and surely the smell of burning flesh would call attention to their presence if nothing else did. Reluctantly turning her head to request that Lucas step back, Cecily was startled to find him watching her. Their gazes locked and Cecily knew without a doubt that she wasn’t the only one who found their embrace stimulating. But the moment was broken when Winterson winked at her, then twirled his forefinger to indicate that she should turn back around.

Cecily’s mouth fell open in disbelief, her enjoyment forgotten. Insufferable fellow! First he took her in a highly improper embrace, and then he took over her spying session. This was her clandestine observation. It was only because of her that he even knew about it! He had no right to tell her how she should—

Her indignant thoughts were interrupted by the tickle of his whispering lips at her ear.

“I am standing behind you so that you will be shielded should someone discover us here. But I am only human. Stop wiggling or I won’t be answerable for the consequences.”

She tried to turn fully around to look at him so that she might gauge his expression, but his forearm held her firmly in place. Cecily fumed, but couldn’t very well protest aloud given their circumstances. Besides, she’d wasted too much time on distractions as it was. But when they were safely away from prying eyes, there were one or two choice words she would share with her noble partner.

*   *   *

He deserved a medal at the very least, Lucas told himself, trying and failing to ignore the press of sweet curves against his body.

Not only had he managed to hide Miss Cecily Hurston from any wandering musicale guests who might stumble into the room, but he had done so without taking a single liberty with her infinitely delectable person.

Well, unless one counted the way he held her firmly pressed against his … He stopped his mind from finishing the thought. Technically, he affirmed, that did not count. If he had not done so, she would surely have given their hiding place away. And protecting her good name was more important than whether or not her body happened to oh so gently rub against his.

Repeatedly.

Definitely such selfless behavior deserved accolades of some sort. A parade, perhaps? He closed his eyes as Cecily wiggled her bottom against him.

An estate. With lots and lots of beautiful land and sweet, luscious hills just the right size for a man’s hands to …

“And now, gentlemen.” Peterborough’s voice, louder now, penetrated the lust-soaked fog of Lucas’s thoughts. To his relief, Cecily stilled, listening intently to the older man’s words.

“Now I come to the Egyptian Club’s most valuable acquisition to date. As you all know, before his recent illness, one of the club’s founding members, Lord Hurston, donated to the club not only the entirety of the artifacts he unearthed during his last trip to the Nile basin…”

Cecily must not have been informed of the gift to the club as Lucas felt her stiffen with anger at Peterborough’s words.

“But his lordship has also, quite generously, donated all of his writings pertaining to that trip, as well as the right to publish them, with all proceeds going into the club treasury as funding for the club’s next trip to Egypt.”

Though Cecily had not made a sound, Lucas knew instinctively that she would not be able to hold back her outrage for long. Such moments demanded questions and answers, and though he knew that she longed to pose those questions now, alerting the club to their surveillance was likely to have far-reaching consequences for both of them.

Before she could speak, he half dragged, half carried her backward out the door and into the hallway, ducking them both into an empty parlor several doors down from the meeting.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as soon as the door was closed. The only light was from the fire, which had burned down and lent the room an otherworldly glow. Her dark hair gleamed with hints of mahogany and russet. Her eyes flashed with annoyance.

He gave her a look.

“I would never have approached them there,” she protested haughtily.

“How could I be sure of that?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “It was quite clear to me that what Lord Peterborough just announced came as an unpleasant shock to you. Battle-worn soldiers have cut up rough over less.”

She gave a hollow laugh. “Yes, well, no battle-worn soldier am I. Ladies aren’t allowed there, either.”

“That is not a disappointment to you, surely?”

Scholarly activities were one thing, but the battlefield was no place for females. Those who did end up there were either no better than they should be or the wives and daughters of military men who ventured onto the field after a battle to search for their loved ones’ bodies. The thought of his vibrant, strong-willed Amazon in such a place sent a shard of panic stabbing into his heart. He’d die before he saw her in such a position.

“No,” she responded, her ire seeming to seep out of her, only to be replaced with weariness so strong it was palpable. “That is one place where this lady has no desire to venture.”

Cecily lifted her eyes to his. “Does that make me a hypocrite, do you think?”

He offered her a half smile and, without conscious thought, stepped closer to her. “Only if you have campaigned that ladies should become men. Which I am quite sure you have not.”

She lowered her lashes, then looked up at him again. “No, I never have.”

“I’m glad,” Lucas said, unable to look away as her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips. “Because I think you make an exceptional lady.”

“D-do you?” Cecily looked up, her eyes warm as they locked with his. And for the space of a moment they leaned closer, inexorably drawn together by a thread of mutual attraction that crackled between them. Lucas placed his hands on her shoulders to draw her closer to him.

But the loud pop of an ember in the fireplace startled them apart, ruining the moment.

They stood there for a moment, staring at one another, breathless. Lucas ran a hand through his artfully tousled curls.

Cecily pressed a hand against her bosom, putting him in mind of a scandalized governess. He hid a smile at the thought. It was somehow reassuring to know his Amazon wasn’t immune to every sort of agitation.