Chapter Twelve
Fear and fascination pinned her to the spot.
She was transfixed by the poison green triangle of his face, seen clearly for the first time in the light of day.
It filled the space before her. The finely scaled snout with its delicately waving whiskers, the cavernous nostrils mounted by expressive ridges, the webbed ears arching back from its brow, and suddenly, as two sets of eyelids flicked open above and below, the golden eyes, whirling at the center in a molten starburst, hypnotizing her, stoking an answering conflagration deep within her.
—The Dragon and the Blue Star by Analise Crewe
“Are you quite certain that my nephew invited us to his club today? He didn’t say anything to me about it.” Lady Glynis was always suspicious when it came to any pronouncement from Ana.
“He extended the invitation this morning before you came down for breakfast. They are hosting a tea for ladies.”
“At a gentleman’s club?”
“It’s a charity event, I believe.”
She had to get inside that club. Last night she’d stayed up past midnight writing a chapter set inside an art gallery.
She’d used Patrick Fellowes as a model for Lord Fortescue.
The writing had flowed more easily than anything she’d previously attempted.
She had now reached eighty pages and she was beginning to feel as though she might finish the book.
The scene she’d written last night was worlds better than anything she’d written before.
She didn’t need Mr. Norwood to tell her that it was good. She knew it in her heart.
The next chapter was Lord Fortescue and Sir Archer Falconer conversing in their gentleman’s club. This was her opportunity to visit such a club, and she was prepared to bend the truth in pursuit of her goal.
Lady Glynis buttered her toast liberally. “I have heard that the club hosts a charity ball every year at Rydell House.”
“I think this might be related to that event. A planning meeting, most likely.”
“Did he give the names of the other ladies in attendance?”
“No.”
“Well, if he requested your presence I suppose we must attend. It could be a useful test of your manners and comportment.”
“I’ll be the very portrait of propriety.”
Lady Glynis sniffed. “I highly doubt that, but if you do well today, I may consent to take you with me to Mrs. Frinch’s musical luncheon, featuring performances on the pianoforte from all of this Season’s leading debutantes.”
Not if she could help it. That sounded tedious and not at all like a scene in her book. “I should love that,” she said insincerely.
“Had enough?” Dalton asked.
Dex raised his bruised fists, ignoring the stabbing pain in his gut. “Just getting started.”
“Getting thrashed, more like.”
“I’ll best you this round.”
“Not likely,” Dalton scoffed.
Boxing with his friend helped break up the hard core of rage within him.
He was angry with himself for bringing his company into danger.
Angry at the men who controlled the governments who were so happy and eager to sacrifice other peoples’ sons, other lives, but never their own, sitting so safely in their ivory towers.
Angry at his former self for being so cocksure and unfeeling.
Seething, roiling fury festered inside him and this was one of the only ways he could release it safely. This and riding his horse or driving his carriage at breakneck speed.
Though today was different. It wasn’t anger he sought to exorcise, it was something even more dangerous, something made up of contagious laughter, flashing green eyes, and damnable impertinence.
His wild uppercut missed its mark, and Dalton moved in for a clinch. Dex shook him off with an effort and they squared off again.
“Your mind is elsewhere.”
“I thought I heard my ward’s voice.”
“I saw the way you looked at her last night. It wasn’t very guardianly.”
“More boxing, less talking.”
Dalton obliged with a barrage of blows and Dex raised his fists to protect his face.
When he attempted to counter with a right hook, he missed the mark and lurched to his knees, off-balance and unable to shake the thoughts of Analise.
Damn it. He was her guardian. He’d promised to protect her, to find a worthy partner for her.
He rose, head down, fists raised. “Again,” he said, spitting blood onto the sawdust.
A liveried porter met Ana and Lady Glynis at the door. He stood stiffly, blocking their entrance. “May I help you find the location you seek, ladies? For this is not it.”
Oh dear. Even the doorman at the duke’s club was determined to keep her out. “We’re here for the charity event,” Ana said blithely.
“Ah . . .” The man looked confused. “There’s no event I know of, but if you care to wait here I’ll go in and—”
“The charity tea,” Ana interrupted. “The one my guardian, the Duke of Warburton, is hosting today. I’m sure he’s waiting for us to arrive.”
“The Duke of Warburton is here, my lady, he’s round back by the stables, but he’s occupied with—”
“Then you shall take us to him.” Ana did her best to imitate Lady Glynis’s supercilious tones but the porter was unconvinced.
“Move aside,” Aunt Glynis said. “I would speak to my nephew.”
Her clipped tones had more of an effect. The porter hesitated, not wanting to engage with the formidable lady. Finally, he ushered them inside a dimly lit hallway.
They followed him into an airy club room with groupings of tables and chairs and a long bar at the back. Men glanced up from their card games and brandy glasses to give them curious and increasingly incredulous looks.
Ana catalogued it all in her mind: the men drinking and conversing, boots propped up on tables, smirks on their lips . . . the general air of rakish dissipation.
“Are you certain the event was today?” Lady Glynis asked, staring through the windows at the yard with its gleaming carriages and horses pawing the turf.
“Absolutely certain. Perhaps we’re early?”
The porter led them out a set of French doors, onto a lawn, and around the corner of the building and then . . .
Ana stopped abruptly, confronted by the sight of Warburton and his friend the Duke of Osborne stripped to the waist and pummeling each other on a bare patch of earth near the stables.
Her hand flew to her mouth. She hadn’t anticipated such a brutish reception.
Sweat glistened on Warburton’s broad, bare chest, sparkling in the dark hair that disappeared into his tight, white trousers.
They hadn’t seen Ana and Lady Glynis yet.
The men circled each other like wild animals, all glaring eyes and raised fists.
She’d most definitely write this scene when she got home.
The two men locked in a primal dance, fists raised, grunting with exertion.
Osborne was probably a fine figure of a man but Ana only had eyes for her guardian.
He was solid rippling muscle, gargantuan and powerful.
Dripping with sweat. A huge, lethal creature poised and ready to strike .
. . She couldn’t catch her breath, her stays were too tight.
Then Warburton’s arm shot out, his fist catching Osborne under the jaw. Osborne’s head wrenched backward but he stood his ground in a wide, dominant stance and suddenly he countered, the sickening thud of his fist connecting with Warburton’s jaw sending Ana running toward them.
“Your Grace!” she cried, attempting to catch him as he staggered. The weight of his body knocked her off-balance and they fell together in a heap.
And then the world narrowed to slick sweat, the heat of his skin contacting hers, his ragged breathing, his massive body pinning her down and knocking the breath from her.
“Miss Crewe,” Lady Glynis admonished sharply. “Come here this instant!”
A silly suggestion as Ana wasn’t currently able to move, being pinned to the ground by an enormous duke.
“Miss Crewe?” The duke raised himself onto one arm, staring down at her. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”
“If . . . if you release me I’d be happy to explain,” she said breathlessly, every part of her body that was in contact with the duke’s tingling and humming with awareness.
Osborne laughed heartily. “This round’s over, I’d say. I win again.” He pulled a shirt over his head. “Lady Glynis, Miss Crewe, what a delightful surprise.”
“I was told there was a charity event for ladies at this club today,” Aunt Glynis said frostily. “Apparently I was misled.”
Warburton rolled off Ana, leapt to his feet, and held out his hand to help her rise.
“You told me about the charity luncheon at breakfast, remember?” Ana asked, staring into the duke’s eyes and willing him to back her up.
“I did, did I?” His eyes danced with humor as he threw a shirt over his head.
Don’t put a shirt on. He should be like this always, a magnificent beast, his true nature.
He caught her staring. She blushed.
Aunt Glynis narrowed her eyes and tapped the point of her parasol on the stone path. “What’s going on here?”
“A bout of boxing, Aunt. You know the Duke of Osborne.”
“Well? Is there a charity event here today or not?”
“It’s tomorrow. I mixed up the dates. Dreadfully sorry.” He lied so smoothly.
“Then we’ll leave immediately.”
“But we only just arrived,” Ana protested. “I want to see the stables. I must be able to describe a gentleman’s mount in vivid detail.”
“This is no place for a young lady.”
Osborne approached the highly incensed chaperone. “Lady Glynis.” He bowed over her hand, fair hair swooping over his brow. “I can’t tell you how mortified I am that you had to witness this most distressing of sights. Allow me to make my heartfelt apologies.”
Lady Glynis’s countenance softened. “It was rather distressing.”
“There, there,” Osborne said soothingly, taking her hand and leading her toward the clubhouse. “I know just the thing. A restorative nip of fine brandy. I could use one myself. And I’ve been meaning to ask you how the renovation of your townhouse is coming along? Warburton told me all about it.”
To Ana’s great surprise, Lady Glynis allowed herself to be led away by the glib, handsome duke.
“Gracious,” Ana exclaimed. “Mr. Fellowes isn’t the only charmer in that family.”
“He’ll keep her occupied for a few minutes. Which is all you’ll have in the stables. I’m only taking you there because I know that if I refuse, you’ll attempt to enter the club a different way. At least you didn’t wear your groom disguise.”
“I’m in disguise as an innocent young debutante.”
Warburton made a scoffing noise. “An impudent hellion, more like.” He steered her down the path toward the stables.
“Miss Crewe, meet Odysseus. He arrived in London only last week.”
“Hello there, Mr. Odysseus. Aren’t you a magnificent beast! You match your name perfectly. I can picture you defeating mythical monsters with those enormous hooves of yours.”
The horse flared its nostrils and regarded her suspiciously.
“Offer him this.” Warburton handed her a carrot.
“I don’t want to put my hand close to his teeth.”
“He’s still skittish from the journey but he won’t bite you. Hold out your hand, let him sniff it first.”
She held out her hand, unable to stop the slight trembling. The horse nosed at her hand and stamped his hooves.
“Was that an approving stamp?” Ana asked.
“Now the carrot.”
To her surprise, Odysseus nibbled gently on the carrot, though when his teeth got too close to her fingers, she relinquished the entire vegetable to him and took a few steps backward.
“Isn’t that nice,” crooned the duke. “Aren’t you a lucky fellow? Such a luxurious new home. You’ll be well cared for here. This is the best stall, the sweetest hay, and I’ve brought you the prettiest young lady to feed you carrots.”
A pang of something in her heart. Surely she wasn’t jealous of a horse? He continued to murmur endearments, gently smoothing his hand down its flank. Making prolonged, deep eye contact. She wanted to be under his hands, hearing those words, feeling his gaze, strong and steady on hers.
Stop focusing on the duke and observe the horse. “What breed of horse is this?”
“He’s a Yorkshire Trotter. An elegant and powerful breed. He’ll pull a carriage or I’ll take him riding or hunting. We’re going to be fast friends. Isn’t that right, Odysseus?”
“He has very intelligent eyes.”
“Doesn’t he just? Horses are highly intelligent creatures. Odysseus has already displayed his acumen for recognizing me, responding to my commands, and even showing a sense of humor. What?” he asked, noticing the way she was staring at him.
“Do you realize that you are conversing more civilly with that horse than you’ve ever conversed with me? It would appear that all I need to do is become a horse to be favored with your confidences.”
“I’ve always had a bond with horses.”
“Tell me about your first horse.”
He smiled, still stroking Odysseus’s flank.
“Shadow was his name. My father’s head groom taught me how to ride.
I was frightened at first and then I learned to love the freedom that riding gave me.
I could leap onto a horse’s back and ride away from all the responsibilities, the lessons in how to become a duke.
My younger brother, Rupert, was frightened of horses but I’ve always felt an affinity for these proud, wild creatures that we tame to our purposes. ”
“You’ve never spoken of your brother before now. Does he live in London?”
“Sometimes. He’s in Surrey at the moment.”
“At your ancestral estate?”
“No. He has his own residence.”
“Is he married? Does he have children?”
“Yes and no.” He gave Odysseus another carrot, his face turned away from her.
She blew a curl away from her eyes. “You’re back to monosyllables.”
“And you should be back with Aunt Glynis.” He took her arm so firmly that she had no choice but to accompany him out of the stables.
“Goodbye, Odysseus,” she said over her shoulder. “I do hope we’ll meet again.”
As she and Lady Glynis were leaving, Ana turned back for one more glimpse of the duke. He was standing with his huge arms folded over his chest, one sardonic eyebrow raised, a purplish bruise visible on his cheek, and his usual unreadable, stoic expression stamped across his face.
This wasn’t over. She must find a way to return.
She wasn’t nearly finished observing the gentleman’s club.
As they departed, Lady Glynis marching purposefully in front of her, Ana had an inspiration.
Ever so subtly, she pulled a fan out of her pocket and let it drop by the wide French doors, grateful for the lady’s haste in exiting.
Congratulating herself on her own quick thinking, she followed out into the street.
Her new delicately carved ivory fan with its bewitching scallops of lace?
Why, she’d simply have to return for it later . . .