Chapter Nineteen
Though Miss Dickson avoided looking at him for the next few hours as they endured an excruciating dinner seated on opposite ends of the table, Ralston was incapable of the same. His gaze continually slid in her direction. As did his thoughts.
The woman confused the hell out of him.
She said she’d come to London for vengeance. But what the devil did that even mean? She’d insisted they could not continue, then demanded the pleasure he was so desperate to give her. The experience had rattled him beyond belief. She’d been stunning in her climax. Unabashed and beautiful and bold.
And now, she wouldn’t even look his way.
She pushed and pulled with such swift interchangeability; he was utterly disoriented.
When dinner was over and the guests returned to socialize in the drawing room, Ralston made his excuses to the host and left the party. He would not get any answers tonight. Not here anyway. He’d have to wait for later.
But later didn’t happen that night. Even though he waited in their room at the Lyon’s Den for more than two hours, she didn’t come.
The next night he waited for three hours after checking four times to ensure his message was delivered.
The next night, he paced the room, already certain of the outcome.
And as his frustration overrode his impatience and he finally decided to leave, he was stopped before he managed to exit the building entirely.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon would like to speak with you,” the burly bouncer declared, gesturing toward a hallway with the full expectation that Ralston would simply follow his direction.
Angry enough to confront the woman and demand the answers to questions he should’ve asked long ago, he followed the bouncer through the club to a black door. Mrs. Dove-Lyon answered the man’s knock with a call to enter and Ralston was left on his own.
Entering the large, stately office, he was not surprised to see the lady alone, dressed in her usual widow’s weeds and veil.
“Come in, my lord. I’ve been meaning to have a conversation with you.”
Ralston grunted—an arrogant, dubious sound—but strode forward to a chair set across the desk from her. Once he took a seat, the lady seemed to release a gentle sigh, though she still didn’t speak for a long moment.
Neither did he. Even though he’d have liked to demand information, he decided to wait her out and see what she wished to discuss first.
After a long while, Mrs. Dove-Lyon made a small sound of satisfaction. “You’ve a great deal of self-control, Lord Redington.” Since it wasn’t stated as an obvious compliment, Ralston didn’t reply. And the lady continued. “Have you enjoyed the opportunity to relinquish that control?”
Now he frowned, rather fiercely. He hadn’t expected her to reference the intimate nature of his activities at the club.
Seeing his response, she laughed throatily.
“Don’t worry, my lord. You can trust me to keep such things carefully guarded.
It’s what I do.” She waited another beat before continuing.
“I assume you’ve found pleasure in your experiences here or you wouldn’t keep returning.
Unfortunately…” she paused to tilt her head, “it seems as though Madame does not feel the same.”
Ralston ground his back teeth. “It would seem so,” he muttered.
“Shall I suggest another lady to occupy your time?”
“No.” His answer came quick and definitive.
“You want no one else,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon mused.
“What do you know of her?”
The woman chuckled. “I know everything, my lord. Now, let me ask you a question. What do want with the woman? And I’m not talking about your time in the room upstairs. I mean…out there. In the real world,” she added with a sweeping gesture.
Ralston frowned heavily. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you?” her voice hardened a bit. “I’ll be more concise. I’m asking what are your intentions toward Miss Dickson?”
That she would so boldly speak the lady’s name made him tense. What if he hadn’t figured out her identity? It could’ve been a significant betrayal to Miss Dickson’s anonymity.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon laughed. “Don’t worry, Lord Redington. The lady’s name is kept safely within these walls. She is safe with me. Is she safe with you?”
“I would not dishonor her,” he replied tensely.
The woman tipped her head in inquiry. “Wouldn’t you? Are you saying you intend to offer for her?”
Ralston flinched. Offer marriage? He couldn’t do that. Miss Dickson was not a possibility for him. His family—his father—his legacy had certain expectations of him.
“Do not look so shocked,” the lady continued. “You have danced with her, which is more than you’ve done with any other lady for years. People have begun to talk. And speculate. Once they’ve done that…”
Though she let her voice trail off, Ralston knew exactly what she was saying.
Once rumors started in a certain direction and assumptions were made, it would be seen as a great insult for him not to declare himself.
Then people would speculate even more. Miss Dickson’s reputation would be at risk. It might already be in question.
Frustration over the injustice of gossip and the endless social pressures of his station, Ralston tried to deny what the woman was saying, but he knew…
“Do you know why Miss Dickson came to London, my lord?”
The question surprised him. He considered avoiding it, but realized that this well-informed woman might actually have the answers he needed. “She came here for some sort of revenge,” he replied.
“Indeed,” her tone of voice suggested she was pleased by his response. “And do you know how she intends to achieve this revenge?”
He waited for her to supply the answer since she clearly intended to.
“Marriage. To a man who is wealthy enough and powerful enough to influence all of society.”
A dark suspicion formed but before it could fully solidify, Mrs. Dove-Lyon continued.
“Not you, Lord Redington. If that’s what you’re thinking. She expressly said she didn’t want you. But she still must find that husband if she is to succeed. I should make it clear that this plot means a great deal to her.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
The lady shrugged. “Oh, I reckoned you might benefit from greater insight into the lady. If she has not come to your summons these last few nights, I assume she has recommitted herself to her purpose. You would do best to respect that, I should think.”
“I appreciate the advice. Is that all?”
Though there was a distinct note of annoyance in his tone, the lady smiled wide behind her veil.
“I believe so. For now, anyway,” she added. “You may go.”
Rising stiffly to his feet, Ralston gave a courteous bow of his head before striding swiftly from the room. His mind whirled with the woman’s words. Revenge. Marriage. Wealth and power. She wanted those things while specifically stating she didn’t want him.
Ralston ignored the sharp twist in his core.
He would certainly be best served by heeding Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s none-too-subtle warning by staying far, far from Miss Dickson. The lady herself might be better off as well. If she truly wanted nothing more than to avenge whatever wrong she’d perceived, then he should leave her to it.
She’d also made it quite clear that he did not play into her plans. More than once.
But Ralston had never been very good at following other people’s advice when it came to sorting out a troubling issue. And a great deal of his conversation with Mrs. Dove-Lyon left him with more questions than answers.