Chapter Three
Portman Square
Marylebone, London
Dante left one of the card rooms at Nottingham’s townhouse, for though the wagering had been set at a brisk pace, he had grown bored quickly, especially because the Duke of Eggleton was in a rather foul mood tonight. Clearly, his duchess hadn’t wished to accompany him to the ball.
As soon as he popped into the drawing room where it had been transformed into a ballroom of sorts, he heaved a sigh.
Christmas décor was everywhere in the space with glitter, candlelight, and velvet ribbons on fir boughs.
The pungent scents of pine and cinnamon infused the air to compete with the perfumes, powders, and pomades.
When his gaze fell on a couple of men from Club Damnation, relief pushed through his veins.
As he made his way over to them, he flirted with a few women in his path before the next set got underway, which was a country reel.
Two of the ladies he’d seen before, and they always made eyes at him, for clearly, they’d heard of his carnal reputation, but tonight, he wasn’t interested in their overt invitations.
Tonight, his tastes ran more to drink and conversation. In fact, he’d imbibed in more brandy than he usually would, and as a result, he was a bit tipsy, which meant he felt reckless.
“Good evening,” he greeted the other men with nods to Averly, Blackhawke, and the Duke of Darkemore—or the Duke of Hearts if one listened to the various on-dits that swirled about him—who’d just returned to Town from his estate in Cornwall.
“Why are you lot gathered in here in a knot instead of circulating through the room?”
Averly chuckled. “I don’t need to mingle; I’m happily married.
And speaking of which, now that my wife and I have made our appearances, I rather think we’re going home.
She fatigues easily these days in any event.
” He clapped a hand to Dante’s shoulder.
“Enjoy yourself tonight. No doubt you’ll go home with a lady on your arm. ”
“That remains to be seen. Thus far, the women in question are too overblown and desperate for my liking.” As Averly melted into the crowd, Dante shook his head.
The crowds shifted in preparation for the country reel and his gaze collided with a young woman with dark brown hair and deep sapphire eyes.
He lifted an eyebrow in question. She glanced away, and he grinned.
“I’ve not seen her before. Any of you chaps know who she is? ”
Darkemore frowned as he followed Dante’s gaze. “I believe that’s Baron Hampton’s oldest daughter. Bit of a loner, on the shelf, lost her mother, brother, and fiancé within a couple of years within each other.”
“Ah, then that means she’s as desperate as the others.” He shook his head and put the woman from his mind. The uplifting notes of the country reel filled the air to blend with conversation and laughter. “I don’t relish that sort of liaison.”
“I don’t blame you,” Blackhawke said as he grabbed a flute of champagne from the silver tray of a passing footman. He stood in such a way that the scarred and twisted skin on the left side of his face wasn’t directly on display. “Women are trouble.”
“Especially in that family. Dark secrets, you know. The new baroness had a bit of scandal surrounding her before she married him.” Darkemore shrugged. “Not that you can judge anyone on that. What family in England doesn’t have a least one skeleton in their closet?”
“True.” Just for the hell of it, Dante glanced across the room. Between the movement of the dancers on the makeshift floor. The baron’s daughter again met his gaze, and this time, he made a show of inspecting her form with leisurely disregard for propriety.
To be fair, the gown she wore was a gorgeous white lawn trimmed with red velvet ribbon around the waist, the bottom hem, and the low bodice.
A few holly sprigs and berries had been embroidered across the skirt, but it was that decent bosom that kept his regard centered on her décolletage.
Her dark brown hair had been upswept, and there was a sprig of real holly tucked within the tresses over her left ear.
When she gestured with her head to the drawing room door, he frowned. Did she wish for him to follow? “Look there,” he murmured to Blackhawke. “I believe she wants me to leave with her.” His frown deepened. “What would you do?”
“Depends on how you wish for the remainder of the night to go.” The duke tightened his hand on the silver head of his cane.
As the reel wound down, Darkemore shrugged. “When was the last time you had a woman in your bed?”
“A month or so. I’ve been out of sorts and merely wished for my own company for a bit.”
The duke nodded. “Then go after her. Might as well spend the cold rainy night fucking a willing woman, and the baron lost his stones when he married his second wife, so it’s doubtful he’ll cry foul if the scandal comes to light.”
Dante snorted. “I’ll wager she’s a virgin, though. I’m not in the habit of stealing innocence these days. Too messy on multiple fronts.”
“Agreed,” Darkemore said with a shake of his head. “Then merely fondle her in a shadowy corner or encourage her to suck you off. Same end result without the histrionics.”
There was that.
“Unless the baron is desperate to have his oldest daughter married off, I don’t see an issue in trifling with her.
” Blackhawke tightened a hand on the head of his cane.
“To that end, stay prudent. Holiday revelry can hide a myriad of ills. Something about this time of year brings out the best—and worst—in people, and I rather think you’ll prove the worst.”
Dante snorted. “You’ve become quite dull, Blackhawke.”
“I have, rather.” He shrugged. “I want my fire, my dog, and my dinner and to be alone. No one wishes to keep company with a beastly man like I am.”
He frowned, for he wouldn’t know about that. “Yet you came here.”
“I need the company of friends at times. Keeps the darkness at bay… until I’m alone again.”
“Unfortunately, I understand that all too well.” When he looked at the space where he’d just seen the woman, she was gone.
Damn, had he waited too long? But when he glanced at the door, he caught a glimpse of her skirts as she exited the room.
“If you will excuse me? I’m going to see what an on the shelf miss can offer.
” On his way out, he retrieved a glass of champagne from a footman’s tray then downed it in a few gulps, returning the glass to the tray with a nod.
He saw her moving down the stairs shortly after he left the drawing room.
Not knowing her name, he couldn’t hail her, but he followed, nodding and smiling to a few acquaintances as he plunged down the staircase.
A hint of her skirting vanished into the back parlor, and since the bulk of the guests on the ground level were congregated in and around the library next door, it was fairly easy to duck into the parlor.
Dimly lit, clearly his host wasn’t expecting the room to be used tonight. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the low illumination, for the woman had moved to the far side of the room that was mostly shrouded in shadow.
“Is there something you wanted of me, Miss…?”
“Miss Courtney,” she responded in a voice that felt like the brush of soft lawn against his soul.
Odd, that, and odder still that he would think of such a thing. “Miss Courtney. Baron Hampton’s oldest daughter, correct?” Damn, but he shouldn’t have had that last glass of champagne, for his head felt a bit fuzzy and light.
“Yes, that’s correct.” She nodded and took a few steps toward him to pause close to his position. “And who might you be?”
“Mr. Cunningham, or you may refer to me as the Duke of Udolpho.”
Her mouth turned slightly down with a frown. “When I saw you across the drawing room, I was instantly intrigued about your good looks, the way your left eyebrow forms a point at the top of the arch where the right one does not. It makes you quite…devilish.”
“I’m well aware of the shape of my eyebrows.
” Why the devil had she noticed that slight detail?
“More to the point, did you need me for something, Miss Courtney? I have quite the skill in recognizing a come-hither look when I see one.” To be fair, she was a complete scare, but she wasn’t traditionally beautiful either.
It would be no hardship to fuck her. At least he’d get his rocks off tonight.
“Oh, yes.” She had the audacity to lay a gloved palm on his chest. The heat of her touch seared into his skin.
“What better way to start the Christmastide season than with a kiss?” One of her black eyebrows rose in question.
“That is if you might be interested in a bit of kissing… and some things a bit more satisfying than what is offered at the ball.”
“How interesting.” The floral scent of her perfume wafted to his nostrils. It was elusive but captivating, and he had no idea what flowers had been involved in the blend, but he did detect the veriest hint of vanilla in the mix. “Why me?”
“Why not?” She gave his cravat a tug. Her eyes were the deepest pools of sapphire. Damn, what would it feel like to become lost in those eyes?
“Indeed.” Far too tipsy to think clearly, he shrugged. “Why the hell not? I’ll leave directly after anyway.” He hooked a hand behind her nape then dragged her against his body. She was several inches shorter than his five-foot eight-inch height, but he fit his lips to hers easily enough.
She froze for a few seconds, which led him to believe she was an innocent just as his friend warned, and that first kiss was decent enough once she began to thaw.
Dante slipped a hand to her arse, and after squeezing the soft cheek, he pressed her more firmly against him, then proceeded to kiss her again with more authority.